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fr0stf4ll · 4 months ago

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Forge of starlight - Part 6

paring; Azriel x reader

summary; In the heart of Velaris, a skilled blacksmith's quiet life is turned upside down when unexpected bonds begin to form with the enigmatic Spymaster of the Night Court. As she navigates the challenges of her craft and the complexities of newfound relationships, she discovers that love and loyalty may be the strongest forces of all in a world where darkness often lingers just beyond the light.

word count ; 7.7k

warning; /

notes; Pretty big chapter again today, i hope that you guys will like it. I'm wondering if you guys would like me to do open request for azriel or other characters of the ACOTAR universe ? bisous bisous and see you tomorrowwwww //>_<//

here is the link for part 5 or part 7

The first light of dawn didn't had yet to touch the sky when you quietly slipped out of bed, the soft creak of the wooden floorboards barely audible in the stillness of the early morning. The house was cloaked in shadows, the only light coming from the faint, silvery glow of the moon filtering through the curtains. You moved with practiced ease, pulling on your training clothes—a simple but sturdy outfit made for movement and endurance.

Once dressed, you padded softly to Alex’s room, where the young boy was still deeply asleep, sprawled across his bed with one arm hanging off the side. His peaceful expression made you pause for a moment, a soft smile tugging at your lips. But as much as you hated to wake him, you knew it was time to start the day.

Gently, you placed a hand on his shoulder and shook him awake. “Alex, it’s time to get up,” you whispered.

A soft growl emanated from under the covers as Alex buried his face deeper into his pillow, clearly not ready to leave the comfort of his bed. “Just five more minutes, Nana,” he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep.

You chuckled softly, shaking your head. “You know we can’t be late for training. Come on, up you get.”

With a reluctant groan, Alex slowly peeled himself out of bed, rubbing his eyes as he sat up. His hair was a wild mess, sticking out in all directions, and he blinked blearily at you, still half-asleep. “Why do we have to train so early?” he grumbled, though there was no real bite in his words.

“Because,” you said with a smile, “this is the best time of day. The city’s quiet, the air is fresh, and it’s just us and the forest. You’ll feel better once we’re out there.”

Alex sighed, but he nodded, already moving to get dressed. “Okay, okay, I’m coming.”

Within a few minutes, the two of you were ready, your footsteps silent as you slipped out of the house and into the cool pre-dawn air. The sky above was still mostly dark, with only the faintest hint of light on the horizon where the sun would soon rise. The streets of Velaris were quiet, the city still asleep, and the world felt hushed and peaceful as you made your way towards the forest.

As you approached the gates of Velaris, you spotted the familiar figures of the guards stationed there, keeping watch over the entrance to the city. These were the same guards you saw every morning on your way to the clearing, and over time, you had come to know them well.

“Morning, Y/N! Alex!” one of the guards called out with a friendly wave as you approached. He was a tall, broad-shouldered male with a beard that always seemed to be impeccably groomed, despite the early hour. His name was Rylan, and he had a reputation for being one of the friendliest guards in Velaris.

“Morning, Rylan,” you greeted with a smile. “Quiet night?”

“Quiet as can be,” Rylan replied with a grin. “Though I’m not sure how you two manage to get up this early nearly every day. I’m just glad I’m the one on watch and not the one doing all that training.”

Alex, still rubbing the last traces of sleep from his eyes, gave Rylan a small wave. “Morning, Rylan. You should join us one day. Nana’s training is tough, but it’s fun.”

Rylan chuckled, shaking his head. “I think I’ll leave the tough stuff to you young folks. Besides, someone’s got to keep watch while you’re out there.”

Another guard, a younger male named Darian, leaned over with a teasing grin. “Don’t let him fool you, Alex. Rylan here used to be quite the fighter back in his day. He’s just gotten soft with all these night shifts.”

Rylan rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “Says the one who can barely lift a sword without complaining about his back.”

You laughed, enjoying the banter between the two guards. “Maybe we should all train together sometime. Keep everyone sharp.”

Rylan held up his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright, I’ll think about it. But for now, you two should get going. The forest awaits.”

You nodded, giving them both a wave as you and Alex continued on your way, the guards’ laughter fading into the background as you left the city behind and entered the forest.

The path through the trees was familiar, one you had walked countless times before. The forest was alive with the sounds of nature—the rustle of leaves in the breeze, the distant call of birds just beginning to wake, and the soft crunch of leaves underfoot. The air was cool and crisp, carrying the earthy scent of the woods, and you felt yourself relax as you breathed it in.

Alex, now fully awake, walked beside you, his earlier grumpiness replaced by the quiet focus that always came with these early morning sessions. “Do you think we’ll see any animals today?” he asked, his voice hushed as if he didn’t want to disturb the peace of the forest.

“Maybe,” you replied with a smile. “The forest is full of life at this time of day. If we’re lucky, we might catch a glimpse of a deer or two.”

The clearing came into view a few minutes later, a peaceful spot nestled deep within the trees. It was a place of quiet solitude, far enough from the city that you could train in peace, but close enough that you could return quickly if needed. The ground was soft and even, covered in a thin layer of grass, and the trees around the perimeter provided a natural barrier, shielding you from prying eyes.

As you stepped into the clearing, the first light of dawn began to break over the horizon, casting the forest in a soft, golden glow. The sky above was slowly transitioning from deep blue to shades of pink and orange, and the beauty of the scene was enough to take your breath away.

Alex, standing beside you, let out a small sigh of contentment. “I guess you’re right, Nana. This really is the best time of day.”

You smiled down at him, ruffling his hair affectionately. “I knew you’d come around. Now, let’s get to work. We’ve got a lot to do before the sun fully rises.”

With that, the two of you began your morning routine, the clearing filled with the sounds of training—sharp breaths, the swish of weapons through the air, and the quiet, steady rhythm of feet moving across the ground. The world around you was waking up, but in that moment, it was just you, Alex, and the peaceful solitude of the forest, ready to face whatever the day might bring.

The clearing was bathed in the soft, golden light of the early morning as you and Alex moved through your training routine. The air was cool, refreshing, and filled with the scent of damp earth and pine, a perfect setting for the physical exertion that awaited you both.

You began with the basics, going through a series of warm-up exercises to get the blood flowing and muscles ready. Alex mirrored your movements, his focus sharp and determined despite the early hour. He had come a long way since you first started training him, his small frame now stronger and more agile with each passing day.

Once the warm-up was complete, you moved on to sword training. You handed Alex a wooden practice sword, and together, you began a series of drills, the rhythmic clashing of wood echoing through the clearing.

“Remember to keep your guard up,” you instructed, your voice calm but firm as you parried his strikes. “You’re doing well, but don’t let your focus slip.”

Alex nodded, his brow furrowed in concentration as he adjusted his stance and brought his sword up to block your next move. The two of you moved in a synchronized dance, your swords connecting and separating with precise, practiced movements. After a few more exchanges, you could see that Alex was getting into the rhythm, his confidence growing with each successful block and strike.

“Good,” you said, stepping back to give him space. “Now, let’s try something different.”

You set the wooden swords aside and walked over to a small area of the clearing where you had set up a simple target—a wooden post with a painted bullseye on it. You handed Alex a bow and a quiver of arrows, watching as he adjusted his grip on the bowstring.

“Archery is about precision and control,” you explained, demonstrating the proper stance and how to draw the bow. “You need to find your center, steady your breathing, and focus on the target. Don’t rush the shot; let the arrow fly naturally.”

Alex nodded, following your instructions carefully as he nocked an arrow and pulled back the string. You could see the determination in his eyes, the way he focused entirely on the target in front of him.

“Relax your shoulders a bit,” you advised, moving behind him to gently adjust his stance. “And keep your wrist steady. There you go—now, when you’re ready, release.”

He did as you instructed, and the arrow flew from the bow with a satisfying twang, embedding itself in the outer ring of the target. Alex’s face lit up with a mixture of surprise and pride at his success.

“Nice shot!” you praised, giving him an encouraging smile. “You’re getting the hang of it. Let’s try a few more, and focus on refining your technique.”

As Alex continued to practice, you took the opportunity to stretch, easing your muscles after the earlier sword drills. You moved through a series of stretches, leaning into each one with practiced ease. As you stretched your legs, your body moving into a graceful split, you kept an eye on Alex, offering tips and guidance as he shot arrow after arrow.

“Remember to keep your core engaged,” you advised, your voice calm as you reached forward, your fingertips grazing the ground. “It’ll help you stay steady. And don’t forget to follow through with your shot. Let the energy flow all the way from your feet to your fingertips.”

Alex, now fully immersed in his practice, nodded at your words, making the small adjustments you suggested. His shots grew more consistent, each one landing closer to the center of the target as he honed his technique.

After several rounds of archery practice, Alex finally lowered the bow, breathing heavily but with a satisfied smile on his face. He had clearly made progress, and it showed in the way he carried himself—more confident, more self-assured.

You finished your stretches and stood, rolling your shoulders to ease the tension. “Great job, Alex. You’re improving with every shot.”

He beamed at your praise, though he still looked a little unsure. “Thanks, Nana. But I think I still need more practice.”

You chuckled, ruffling his hair as you often did. “We all do. But that’s what training is for. You’ve done well today.”

Feeling the morning wear on and satisfied with the training session, you led Alex in a series of cool-down stretches, guiding him through each movement to prevent stiffness and ensure his muscles recovered properly. He followed your lead, the two of you moving in sync as the morning light grew stronger, casting long shadows across the clearing.

As the session came to a close, you both stood in the clearing, the sounds of the forest waking up around you. Alex stretched his arms above his head, a yawn escaping him as the exertion of the morning began to catch up with him.

“That was a good session,” he said, his voice a mix of tiredness and satisfaction.

You nodded, glancing up at the sky where the sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon, bathing the world in a soft, golden light. “It was. But now, I think it’s time we head back home and get some breakfast. What do you think?”

Alex grinned, his earlier grumpiness forgotten. “Definitely. I’m starving.”

With that, the two of you made your way back through the forest, the familiar path leading you back toward the city of Velaris. As you walked, you couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of contentment. The morning had been well spent, and as you returned home with Alex by your side, you knew you were ready to face whatever the day had in store.

After finishing your morning training, you and Alex returned to the house, the warmth of the interior a welcome contrast to the cool, crisp air outside. The shop could wait for a little while longer; right now, breakfast was calling, and you both needed to refuel after the exertion of the morning.

As you moved through the house, you could hear the soft sounds of Alex humming a tune to himself as he washed up, clearly in high spirits after the training session. You took the opportunity to freshen up as well, quickly washing away the sweat and dirt from the morning’s exercises. Once you were both clean and dressed in more comfortable clothes, you headed to the kitchen together to prepare breakfast.

The kitchen was filled with the comforting aromas of freshly brewed tea, warm bread, and sizzling eggs. Alex had insisted on helping, and you were more than happy to let him. He was getting quite skilled at cooking, and you enjoyed the quiet moments you spent together, preparing meals and chatting about whatever came to mind.

With breakfast ready, you both carried the plates to the living room, settling down on the couch with your food. The sunlight streamed through the windows, casting a warm glow over the room, and you felt a sense of contentment as you began to eat.

But it wasn’t long before Alex’s curiosity got the better of him. As he took a bite of his toast, he shot you a mischievous look, his eyes gleaming with barely-contained excitement.

“So, Nana,” he began, his tone teasing, “what’s this I hear about you having dinner with Azriel tonight?”

You paused mid-bite, raising an eyebrow at him. “And where exactly did you hear that?”

Alex shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant, but his grin gave him away. “Oh, you know, just some rumours going around… mostly from you and him talking last night. So, is it true? Are you going on a date with him?”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his antics, shaking your head in amusement. “Yes, Alex, it’s true. Azriel asked me to have dinner with him tonight.”

Alex’s grin widened, and he waggled his eyebrows in a way that was clearly meant to be playful. “Ooooh, a date with the Spymaster! Sounds serious, Nana. You must really like him.”

You felt a warmth rise to your cheeks, but you kept your tone light. “I do like him, Alex. He’s… different from anyone I’ve met before. But it’s just dinner. No need to get too carried away.”

“Uh-huh,” Alex said, his tone clearly teasing. “Just dinner. Sure. But you know, Nana, I’ve seen the way he looks at you. It’s not just dinner to him.”

You took a sip of your tea, trying to hide the smile that was tugging at your lips. “And how exactly does he look at me, Mr. Expert?”

Alex leaned back on the couch, crossing his arms with a smug expression. “Like you’re the most important person in the world. Like he’d do anything for you. I mean, I’m just a kid, but even I can tell when someone’s got it bad.”

You chuckled, reaching over to ruffle his hair. “You’re too smart for your own good, you know that?”

He grinned, clearly pleased with himself. “I know. But seriously, Nana, I’m happy for you. Azriel’s a good guy, and I think you two would be great together.”

You smiled softly at his words, feeling a swell of affection for the boy who had become like family to you. “Thanks, Alex. That means a lot to me.”

For a moment, the two of you sat in comfortable silence, enjoying the warmth of the morning and the simple pleasure of each other’s company. The teasing might have been playful, but there was a truth to it that you couldn’t deny. Azriel was special, and the thought of spending more time with him, of exploring whatever was growing between you, filled you with both excitement and a little bit of nervousness.

As you finished your breakfast, Alex gave you one last grin. “Just promise me one thing, Nana.”

“What’s that?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“If you and Azriel do end up together, you’ve got to let me be the one to give the toast at your wedding.”

You burst out laughing, shaking your head at his cheekiness. “Alright, Alex, you’ve got yourself a deal. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves, okay?”

“Deal,” he said with a wink, clearly satisfied with himself.

With breakfast finished, you both got up to clear the table, the lighthearted mood lingering in the air. As you moved about the house, preparing for the day ahead, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of anticipation building. Tonight’s dinner with Azriel was going to be special—you could feel it. And whatever the future held, you knew you were ready to face it, with Alex by your side and, perhaps, Azriel as well.

The day had settled into a comfortable rhythm as you and Alex worked quietly in the shop. The clinking of metal and the gentle hum of the forge created a soothing background noise as you focused on your tasks. You were working on a set of generic weapons to display in the shop—well-crafted swords and daggers that could be sold to walk-in customers. Alex was nearby, organising the shelves and occasionally asking you questions about the different weapons you had made.

The morning had passed without incident, the shop quiet but steady with the occasional customer coming in to browse. It was a typical day in Velaris, and you found yourself enjoying the calm after a busy few weeks.

Just as you were finishing up the polishing of a particularly intricate dagger, the soft chime of the bell above the shop door rang out, signaling the arrival of a new customer. You glanced up, expecting to see a familiar face, but instead, a stranger stepped into the shop.

The man was dressed in a dark, hooded cloak that obscured much of his face, only his sharp, calculating eyes visible beneath the shadow of the hood. He moved with a quiet grace, his footsteps almost silent as he approached the counter where Alex was standing.

“Good day,” Alex greeted the man with his usual cheerful demeanor. “Can I help you with something?”

The man’s eyes flickered over the various weapons displayed around the shop, but he made no move to examine any of them. Instead, he reached into his cloak and produced a sealed letter, placing it on the counter with a deliberate motion.

“I have a request,” the man said, his voice low and measured. “Everything you need to know is in this letter.”

Alex looked at the letter with curiosity before glancing back up at the man. “We usually discuss orders in person. Can you give me a bit more detail about what you’re looking for?”

The man’s expression remained unreadable, his eyes narrowing slightly. “The details are all in the letter. The payment will be made upon delivery of the weapon.”

Alex frowned, clearly not satisfied with the vague response. “We typically work on a two-payment basis—half upfront, half upon delivery. It ensures that the materials and work are covered.”

The man didn’t respond to Alex’s statement. Instead, he simply pushed the letter closer to him, a silent insistence that the terms would be followed as written.

You had been listening from the back of the shop, where you were tending to the forge, but the strange exchange piqued your interest. Wiping your hands on a cloth, you stepped out from behind the counter and approached the mysterious customer, giving him a polite but curious look.

“Is there a problem?” you asked, your tone calm but with a slight edge of authority. You had dealt with difficult customers before, but there was something different about this one—something that put you on alert.

The man turned his attention to you, his gaze briefly scanning you as if assessing your worth. “No problem,” he said smoothly. “As I told the boy, everything you need to know is in the letter. The weapon must be crafted according to the specifications provided, and the payment will be made in full upon delivery.”

You exchanged a glance with Alex, who still looked uncertain, but you decided to take the letter and see for yourself what was so important. You picked up the sealed envelope, feeling the weight of it in your hand, and nodded to the man.

“Alright,” you said, your tone firm. “I’ll take a look at the request. But you should know that we don’t usually proceed without a down payment. It ensures that both parties are committed to the transaction.”

The man’s lips curled into a faint, almost imperceptible smile. “You’ll find the payment terms satisfactory once the weapon is delivered. The craftsmanship you’re known for will be well-compensated.”

With that, he turned on his heel and walked out of the shop, leaving the door to swing shut behind him with a soft click. You watched him go, a strange feeling settling in your gut. There was something off about the entire interaction, and you couldn’t shake the unease that lingered in the air.

Alex looked up at you, his brow furrowed. “That was… weird, right?”

You nodded slowly, still holding the letter in your hand. “Definitely weird. Let’s see what this is all about.”

Carefully, you broke the seal on the envelope and unfolded the letter inside. The parchment was of high quality, and the handwriting was elegant, almost too perfect. As you read through the contents, your unease grew.

The letter detailed a request for a weapon that was unlike any you had crafted before. It was to be a blade of ancient design, infused with a specific type of magic that was rarely practiced anymore. The materials required were rare and dangerous to obtain, including a metal that was said to only be found in the darkest parts of the continent. The weapon needed to be completed within a week—an almost impossible deadline given the complexity of the work.

You frowned as you read further, noting the vague references to the purpose of the weapon. The client mentioned only that it was intended for use against a formidable enemy, but there were no specifics given. The secrecy and urgency of the request set off alarm bells in your mind.

“This doesn’t feel right,” you muttered, half to yourself and half to Alex, who had moved closer to read over your shoulder.

“What do you mean?” Alex asked, his voice tinged with concern.

“The materials, the timeline, the secrecy… it’s all too much,” you replied, folding the letter and setting it down on the counter. “And the fact that he refuses to pay upfront is another red flag. Something about this feels… dangerous.”

Alex nodded, his expression serious. “So, what do we do? Are we going to take the order?”

You hesitated, torn between your curiosity and your instincts. The challenge of crafting such a weapon was undeniably intriguing, but the risks were high, and you didn’t like the idea of being drawn into something you didn’t fully understand.

“I’m not sure yet,” you said finally. “I need to think about it. Maybe do some research on the materials and the magic involved. But I’m not making any decisions until I know more.”

Alex nodded, trusting your judgment. “Alright. Just… be careful, Nana. This feels like it could be bigger than we realize.”

You gave him a reassuring smile, though the unease still lingered in your chest. “I will, Alex. Don’t worry. We’ll figure this out together.”

With that, you turned your attention back to the forge, the mysterious letter still weighing heavily on your mind. Whatever this order was, it had the potential to change everything—and not necessarily for the better.

——

The evening was drawing closer, and you found yourself in your apartment, standing in front of the mirror with a growing sense of frustration. You had been rifling through your wardrobe for what felt like an eternity, trying to find the perfect outfit for your date with Azriel. The more you looked, the more you second-guessed yourself, and now your room was strewn with discarded clothes, each one deemed "not quite right."

Alex was sitting on the edge of your bed, watching you with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. Stellan, your loyal white direwolf, was lying at the foot of the bed, his dark eyes following your every move with what seemed like a judgmental gaze.

You held up a tunic in front of the mirror, frowning at your reflection. "What do you think of this one?" you asked, turning slightly to get a better look.

Alex rolled his eyes dramatically, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Nana, aren't you like, over a hundred years old? And you're struggling to pick an outfit for a date? Seriously?"

You shot him a playful glare through the mirror. "Age has nothing to do with it, thank you very much. And picking the right outfit is important!"

Alex snorted, leaning back on his hands. "Uh-huh. Sure. But honestly, you look good in everything. I don't think Azriel's going to care what you wear."

You sighed, tossing the tunic onto the growing pile of rejected clothes. "Easy for you to say. You don't have to impress anyone."

Alex grinned, clearly enjoying the role reversal. "Oh, come on, Nana. It's just a date. You should be more worried about what you're going to say, not what you're going to wear."

You turned to face him, hands on your hips. "And what exactly do you suggest I say, oh wise one?"

He shrugged nonchalantly. "I dunno. Maybe start with 'Hey, Azriel, nice wings. Wanna fly me to the moon?'"

You burst out laughing, shaking your head at his antics. "I think I'll pass on that one."

Stellan, sensing that this was a lighter moment, let out a low huff, almost as if he was agreeing with Alex. The wolf’s eyes seemed to sparkle with amusement, and you could have sworn he was judging your fashion choices just as much as Alex was.

You sighed again and picked up a different top, this one more form-fitting. You held it up in front of the mirror, trying to gauge if it was too casual or too dressy.

Alex’s eyes narrowed as he examined the outfit with a critical eye. “Are your boobs bigger?” he asked, completely deadpan.

Your eyes widened, and you turned to him in mock horror. “What? Do I look like I’ve gained weight?”

Alex’s expression quickly shifted to one of concern as he realized his joke had backfired. “No, no! I didn’t mean that! You’re not fat, Nana, I promise!”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his flustered reaction, shaking your head as you tossed the shirt aside. “I’m just messing with you, Alex. Relax.”

He let out a sigh of relief, clearly relieved that you weren’t upset. “You had me worried for a second there.”

You smiled warmly at him, ruffling his hair as you walked past him to grab another option from the wardrobe. “You’re sweet, Alex. But seriously, does this look okay?”

You were dressed in a deep, midnight blue tunic that fell gracefully to mid-thigh, the intricate silver embroidery along the edges mimicking the swirling patterns of wind and shadows, reminiscent of the Night Court itself. The sleeves were fitted, flaring slightly at the wrists, ending in cuffs adorned with the same silver embroidery. Beneath the tunic, you wore black, form-fitting trousers that allowed for ease of movement, and knee-high boots made of soft, supple leather, both practical and stylish. A delicate silver chain belt sat low on your hips, catching the light with each movement.

To combat the winter chill, you had chosen a warm, dark jacket to wear over your tunic. The jacket was made of a rich, dark material, lined with soft fur along the collar and cuffs, providing both warmth and a touch of luxury. It complemented the rest of your outfit perfectly, giving you a regal yet grounded appearance.

Alex, who had been observing your preparations with a mix of amusement and interest, gave you an approving nod as you fastened the jacket. "Now that's what I’m talking about, Nana. You look amazing. Azriel’s going to be speechless."

You smiled, feeling a warmth in your chest that had nothing to do with the jacket. “Thanks, Alex. I think this is the one.”

Stellan, your ever-faithful direwolf, gave a low, approving rumble as if to agree. His dark eyes gleamed in the dim light of the room, his presence a comforting constant.

Just as you finished getting ready, there was a soft knock on the door. Your heart skipped a beat, knowing who it was. Alex, ever the eager one, darted to the door with a mischievous grin on his face.

“I’ll get it!” he called out, clearly excited to greet your guest.

You watched as Alex opened the door, revealing Azriel standing there, but tonight he looked different. Gone were his usual fighting leathers, replaced with something more relaxed yet still undeniably stylish. He wore a tailored, dark grey tunic with subtle silver accents that highlighted his broad shoulders, paired with black trousers that fit him perfectly. A deep, rich cloak hung loosely around his shoulders, the fabric swaying gently as he moved. The entire look was casual yet elegant, perfectly suited for a night out in Velaris.

Alex, not missing a beat, looked up at Azriel with a teasing grin. “Wow, you clean up nice, Azriel. Ready to take Nana out for the night?”

Azriel chuckled, a rare, genuine smile gracing his lips. “I think so, Alex. And you, Y/N…” His eyes softened as they took in your appearance. “You look stunning.”

A blush crept up your cheeks at his compliment, and you couldn’t help but smile. “Thank you, Azriel. You look quite handsome yourself.”

Alex, always quick with a quip, shot you a look that clearly said, “Told you so,” before turning back to Azriel. “Make sure she has fun, okay? And don’t worry about me—I’ll be just fine.”

You ruffled Alex’s hair affectionately, laughing at his antics. “There’s food on the counter if you get hungry, and Stellan will keep you company. Stay safe at home, alright?”

Alex grinned, giving you a mock salute. “Aye-aye, Captain. You two have fun.”

With a final glance at Alex and Stellan, you stepped out of the apartment, closing the door behind you. Azriel offered you his arm, which you took with a grateful smile, feeling a sense of warmth and comfort in his presence.

As you walked down the quiet streets of Velaris, the cold winter air nipping at your cheeks, you couldn’t help but feel a mix of excitement and anticipation. The stars above twinkled brightly, reflecting off the river as you made your way to your destination.

Azriel’s presence beside you was steady and reassuring, and as you walked together, he glanced over at you with a soft smile. “I’m glad you agreed to this, Y/N. Tonight feels… special.”

You returned his smile, feeling the truth in his words. “It does. I’m looking forward to it.”

The walk through Velaris was quiet and peaceful, with only the soft murmur of the city and the gentle rush of the Sidra River accompanying your steps. Azriel led you through winding streets, each more charming than the last, until you arrived at your destination—a small, secluded restaurant nestled at the edge of the city, overlooking the river.

The restaurant was a hidden gem, its entrance tucked between two tall buildings, with a beautifully carved wooden sign hanging above the door. Soft, golden light spilled from the windows, casting a warm glow onto the cobblestone street outside. As Azriel opened the door for you, you were greeted by the cozy, intimate atmosphere inside. The interior was all dark wood and rich, deep colors, with low-hanging chandeliers that gave off a soft, inviting light. The tables were set with fine linens and polished silver, each one adorned with a small vase of fresh flowers.

Azriel guided you to a corner table near a large window that offered a stunning view of the river, its waters shimmering under the starlit sky. The space was quiet, the other patrons speaking in hushed tones, as if respecting the privacy of each table.

“This place is beautiful,” you remarked, taking in the ambiance as you settled into your seat.

Azriel smiled, clearly pleased with your reaction. “I’m glad you like it. It’s one of my favorite places in the city—a bit of a hidden secret.”

You glanced around, noting the small details that made the place feel special—the soft music playing in the background, the delicate scent of the flowers, the way the light flickered gently from the candles on the tables. It was clear that Azriel had chosen this place with care, and the thoughtfulness of the gesture made your heart warm.

As you both perused the menu, the conversation flowed easily, beginning with the lighter topics of the day. After placing your orders, you found yourself curious about Azriel’s childhood, a side of him that you had never truly explored before.

“So,” you began with a playful smile, “tell me, what was it like growing up with Rhysand and Cassian? I imagine the three of you must have gotten into quite a bit of trouble.”

Azriel chuckled, a soft, genuine sound that made his eyes crinkle at the corners. “You could say that. Rhysand was always the leader, even back then, and Cassian… well, he was always looking for the next adventure. I was the quiet one, trying to keep them out of too much trouble, but somehow, I always ended up in the thick of it with them.”

You leaned forward, intrigued. “Any stories you’re willing to share?”

Azriel thought for a moment, a distant look in his eyes as he recalled memories from long ago. “There was this one time when we were barely teenagers. Rhys had this idea to sneak into the Night Court’s library after hours. There was this old, restricted section that we weren’t supposed to go near, full of ancient texts and magical tomes.”

You smiled, already picturing the scene. “Let me guess, Rhys wanted to read something forbidden?”

“Of course,” Azriel replied, his tone amused. “He convinced Cassian and me to come along, promising it would be worth it. We managed to sneak past the guards, and Rhys found a book he’d been eyeing for months. But as soon as he opened it, a magical trap triggered. The entire library lit up, alarms blaring. We barely made it out before the guards arrived.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I’m surprised you didn’t get caught.”

“Oh, we did,” Azriel admitted with a grin. “And we were punished accordingly. But Rhys, being Rhys, somehow talked our way out of the worst of it. He’s always had a way with words.”

You could see the fondness in Azriel’s eyes as he spoke of his friends, the bonds they had formed over the years clearly unbreakable. It was a side of him you hadn’t seen often—relaxed, open, and willing to share pieces of himself that he usually kept hidden.

“And what about you?” Azriel asked, turning the conversation back to you. “What was your childhood like? I know you traveled a lot with your master, but there must have been some interesting moments along the way.”

You took a sip of your wine, considering how to answer. “It was… different. My master was strict, but he cared for me in his own way. I learned a lot from him, not just about blacksmithing, but about the world. We traveled to so many places, each with its own challenges and adventures. I suppose I grew up faster than most.”

Azriel nodded, his gaze thoughtful. “You must have seen and experienced so much. It’s no wonder you’re as skilled as you are.”

You smiled softly, appreciating his words. “I suppose I have. But I’ve always felt like there’s more to learn, more to explore. That’s what keeps me going.”

The conversation continued, flowing effortlessly as the night went on. The food arrived, each dish more delicious than the last, and you both took your time savoring the meal, the comfortable silence between you punctuated by occasional remarks about the flavors and presentation.

Eventually, as the meal began to wind down, Azriel leaned back in his chair, his gaze settling on you with a mix of curiosity and concern. “So, how are things at the shop? It seems like you’ve been busy lately.”

You nodded, setting down your fork. “Busy is an understatement. We’ve had a lot of orders coming in, which is great, but it’s been a bit overwhelming at times.”

Azriel’s brow furrowed slightly. “Anything in particular causing the stress?”

You hesitated for a moment, then decided to share the details of the strange order you had received that morning. “Actually, there was something unusual that came in today. A man came by with a sealed letter, requesting a weapon that’s… well, different from anything I’ve crafted before. The whole thing felt off, to be honest. He didn’t want to discuss the details in person, just handed over the letter and left.”

Azriel’s curiosity was piqued, his expression serious now. “What kind of weapon did he request?”

You described the contents of the letter, the specific materials required, the urgency of the timeline, and the vagueness of the client’s instructions. As you spoke, Azriel’s frown deepened, his concern evident.

“That does sound strange,” he said after a moment. “And dangerous. You’re right to be cautious.”

You nodded, grateful for his validation. “I’m not sure what to make of it. I’ve been debating whether to take the order at all. It feels like there’s more to this than I’m being told.”

Azriel leaned forward slightly, his tone gentle but firm. “I think you’re right to be wary. Whoever this client is, they might be hiding something. If you’re going to proceed with this, you should be prepared for anything.”

You appreciated his concern, and the protectiveness in his voice didn’t go unnoticed. “I’ll show you the letter when we head back. Maybe you can help me figure out what to do next.”

Azriel nodded, his gaze steady. “I’d like that. We’ll look at it together.”

The seriousness of the conversation lingered for a moment, but Azriel was quick to steer the topic back to something lighter, easing the tension and bringing back the relaxed atmosphere.

The dinner stretched on into the night, with more laughter, shared stories, and the easy comfort of each other's company. The restaurant had thinned out as other patrons gradually departed, leaving the two of you in a peaceful, intimate silence. It felt as though the world had narrowed down to just the two of you, the rest of Velaris fading into the background.

When the time finally came to leave, Azriel stood and helped you into your jacket, the warmth of his hands lingering on your shoulders. As you stepped out into the cold night air, he reached for your hand without hesitation, his fingers intertwining with yours in a way that felt natural, as if they were always meant to be there.

The two of you walked side by side through the quiet streets of Velaris, the city bathed in the soft, silver light of the moon. The stars twinkled brightly above, casting a gentle glow over the cobblestones, and the distant sound of the Sidra River added a soothing backdrop to the night.

The winter air was crisp, and when a particularly cold breeze swept through, Azriel instinctively drew you closer, his arm wrapping around your shoulders to shield you from the chill. You welcomed the warmth of his body, the steady beat of his heart a comforting rhythm against your side.

As you walked, your thumb gently caressed the back of his hand, feeling the roughness of the scarred skin beneath your touch. You noticed how his breath hitched slightly, and when you glanced up at him, you saw something flicker in his eyes—a mix of surprise and something deeper, something tender.

Azriel’s hands had always been a point of insecurity for him, scarred from countless battles and years of wielding shadows and steel. But you had never once questioned them, never looked at them with anything other than acceptance. In fact, you had always found them strong, capable, and a part of who he was—someone you respected and cared for deeply.

The simple act of you caressing his hand, without hesitation or judgment, made Azriel’s heart flutter in a way he wasn’t entirely prepared for. It was a small gesture, but it spoke volumes about the way you saw him—not as the scarred, hardened warrior, but as someone worthy of affection and tenderness.

He glanced down at you, his gaze softening as he spoke. “You never asked about my hands.”

You looked up at him, your expression gentle. “There’s nothing to ask. They’re a part of you, Azriel. And I’ve never seen them as anything but… you.”

His heart swelled at your words, and he tightened his grip on your hand slightly, as if anchoring himself to the moment. “Thank you,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

You smiled up at him, your thumb still brushing gently against his skin. “Always.”

The two of you continued walking, the conversation shifting to lighter topics as the night unfolded around you. The streets of Velaris were nearly empty, the city’s usual hustle and bustle replaced by the peaceful quiet of the late hour. The stars above seemed to shine even brighter, casting a silvery glow over everything and creating an almost magical atmosphere.

As you walked, you found yourself asking a question that had been on your mind. ��Azriel, what do you think life will be like for you in the next few years?”

He paused, considering your question as he looked up at the night sky. “Honestly? I think it’ll be much the same as it is now. My duties as the Spymaster of the Night Court will keep me busy—there’s always something to uncover, some threat to deal with. And, of course, Cassian will never stop making jokes at my expense.”

You chuckled at that, picturing the constant banter between Azriel and Cassian. “I’m sure he keeps things interesting.”

Azriel smiled, his gaze shifting back to you. “He does. But… I think I’m starting to appreciate the moments of peace more, the times when I can step back and just… be.”

“And what about you?” he asked, his tone curious. “What do you see in the next few years?”

You took a moment to think about it, your eyes drifting to the beautiful city around you. “I think I’ll stay in Velaris for a long time. Alex and I have built something special here, and I want to see it grow. The shop is doing well, and I’d like to keep developing it, maybe even expand one day. Stellan will keep us company, of course.”

Azriel nodded, listening intently. “That sounds… peaceful. It suits you.”

You smiled softly, feeling a sense of contentment in the vision you were painting. But as you walked, the conversation took a natural pause, and you both found yourselves stopping, turning to face each other in the quiet street.

There was something unspoken hanging in the air, a tension that had been building throughout the night, and it felt like the moment to address it had finally arrived. You met Azriel’s gaze, your heart pounding softly in your chest as you spoke.

“Whatever happens in the next few years,” you began, your voice steady but soft, “I hope that… we’ll be close. That we’ll be linked somehow.”

Azriel’s expression softened, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Linked, huh? I like the sound of that.”

The world around you seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you standing there, bathed in the soft glow of the moon and stars. The night was stunningly beautiful, the kind of night that seemed to embody everything the Night Court stood for—mystery, beauty, and an underlying power that was impossible to ignore.

Azriel’s hand came up to gently cup your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin with a tenderness that made your breath catch. He leaned in slowly, giving you every opportunity to pull away, but you didn’t. Instead, you closed the distance between you, your lips meeting his in a soft, tentative kiss.

The kiss was gentle at first, a sweet exploration of new territory. But as you responded, as you pressed closer to him, it deepened, growing more intense, more urgent. His hand slid into your hair, pulling you closer still, and you melted into him, letting the warmth of his embrace and the passion of the moment wash over you.

By the time you finally pulled away, you were both breathless, your foreheads resting against each other as you tried to catch your breath. The world seemed to have stopped around you, leaving just the two of you in the stillness of the night.

Azriel’s voice was barely above a whisper when he spoke, his breath warm against your lips. “Y/N…”

You smiled, your heart pounding in your chest as you looked up at him. “Yes, Azriel?”

He didn’t say anything else, just leaned in to kiss you again, his lips claiming yours with a tenderness that made your heart ache. And in that moment, under the stars of Velaris, you knew that this was just the beginning of something truly extraordinary.

tag list: @annamariereads16 @hanatsuki-hime @elsie-bells @shizukestar @rose-girls-world @brit-broskis-cole-fanfic @faridathefairy @elsie-bells @faridathefairy @wolfbc97 @rcarbo1 @kitsunetori @hufflepuff-pa55 @proclivity-for-fantasy-97 @sometimeseverythingsucks @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @angel-graces-world-of-chaos

don't hesitate to comment if you want to be added to the tag list ;)))

#a court of thorns and roses #azriel acotar #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel shadowsinger #azriel fic #acotar fanfiction #acotar x reader #acotar #acotar x you #cassian #rhysand acotar #rhysand

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prettyinpwn · 4 months ago

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Bill and Ford and Adult Grooming - Why Gravity Falls is a Metaphor Champion for Abusive Relationships (GF Writing Analysis Pt. 4)

GF Writing Analysis Series:

Pt. 1 - Ford Pines: A Masterclass in Writing a Good Flawed Character Pt. 2 - How Gravity Falls Could Have Been Better + Poor Ford and Wendy Pt. 3 - Mabel Pines: How Well Was She Written... Really?

Hello and welcome to the fourth post in my GF Writing Analysis series! Though the title is self-explanatory, I still want to warn folks that this post will contain dark content relating to adult grooming AKA abuse. If that is content you'd rather avoid (and for some reason your filters did not catch my trigger warning tags), this is your heads up that this post will contain that type of discussion.

For those of you who are not sure what adult grooming is, no, it's not the sexual grooming between an adult and a minor like we typically think of when the term "grooming" comes up, nor does it have to be romantic at all, although sexual acts can be a part of this form of grooming. It is defined as:

"-the predatory act of manoeuvring another individual into a position that makes them more isolated, dependent, likely to trust, and more vulnerable to abusive behaviour. The goal is to prepare the other person for abuse (for example, sexual or financial) later. Therefore, the groomer’s first step is to establish friendship and trust." (Source).

It is my belief that the relationship between Bill and Ford in Gravity Falls - which The Book of Bill helped illustrate even more - is one of adult grooming. This post will explore how the concept of adult grooming applies to the relationship between Bill and Ford, how it changes our perception of them as characters, and the value of showing metaphors for abuse in media for all ages - like Gravity Falls is - to help bring to light this very real and underdiscussed issue and help victims recognize it themselves.

Defining Adult Grooming Further + Who Bill Really Is

We already visited the definition of adult grooming above, but we haven't explored the psychology behind it yet. Namely, I want to explore who partakes in adult grooming on both ends. There is the abuser, and the victim.

The abuser is described as often being:

"Narcissists, Antisocial predators, con artists and sexual aggressors practice grooming to target and manipulate vulnerable people for exploitation." (Source).

Well, very obviously, we know that Bill is the abuser. But... why? He could be a narcissist, an antisocial predator, and a con artist, just like the above description. But which? Why is he an abuser?

Well, our first inclination might be to turn to The Book of Bill and think about his backstory; how he could see in the third dimension in a two dimensional world, tried to "liberate" his dimension to see what he could see, and... then slaughtered them all. He implies it was an accident. He just "wanted the best" for his people. But... drumroll please... get ready for a U-turn into some literary talk...

The Great Gatsby references surrounding The Book of Bill were more than just a "lol random" joke. Infamously, the narrator of The Great Gatsby, Nick Carraway, is what's called an 'unreliable narrator'. This is a writing technique defined as:

"-any narrator who misleads readers, either deliberately or unwittingly. Many are unreliable through circumstances, character flaws or psychological difficulties. In some cases, a narrator withholds key information from readers, or they may deliberately lie or misdirect." (Source).

To me, after understanding just how much more Hirsch has tied The Great Gatsby to The Book of Bill's release (e.g "TJ Eckleburg" being the password to get into the associated ARG website, offering a free PDF of The Great Gatsby on said website)... I think what Hirsch is trying to say, is... Bill is an unreliable narrator, as well. Not that that wasn't already well established throughout the series.

Let's ask ourselves this question: is there anyone Bill hasn't lied to? Tried to gain sympathies from? I'll wait. Because the answer is no. Bill lies every time he opens his mouth. Even the god of the Gravity Falls setting - the Axolotl - calls him a liar in the Dipper and Mabel and the Curse of the Time Pirates' Treasure!: Select Your Own Choose-Venture book.

So as a small aside to the main point of this post: I don't think there's anything in The Book of Bill that we can guarantee is proof or canon. If I'm honest, I think The Book of Bill is the mad rambling of a monster trying to justify to us as well as himself that he's better than he really is. He's an unreliable narrator to himself because he needs to save himself from mentally shattering upon the admission that, yeah, he's really that horrible of a person.

If I were to define what The Book of Bill is, is it's a sad attempt to elicit sympathy for a monster, by a monster. It's a masterclass in how he - as an abuser - grooms someone. If you read The Book of Bill and walk away feeling bad for Bill, then congratulations! You would have fallen prey to him just like Ford did. And just like everyone who ever fell prey to him before that.

The metaphor Gravity Falls and its extra content illustrates through Bill is how charming, funny, and enticing and sexy according to Tumblr for some godforsaken reason abusers can be in real life. Because the worst of monsters are the ones who do everything to convince you they're not.

So what does this say about Bill as a character? Don't be fooled. He really is that monstrous. He doesn't have any redeeming qualities. Everything Bill does is with a goal in mind, a person to be used or manipulated to get there, and with a complete lack of conscience to stop himself from doing it. And that's what makes Bill such a strong and terrifying villain: He really is that evil. He really is that soulless. He's not a villain of great strength or power that can be easily defeated with might. He's a villain that underlines something very real beyond a screen or book page, something that we all likely have experienced in real life: an abuser.

Bill and Ford: Abuser and Abused + How Bill Does It

Getting back to the definition of adult grooming, let's explore how it works. There are typical steps abusers like Bill use. We'll list them, then list examples alongside each step that show how Bill used these tactics on Ford for the sake of both exploring their characters more, and illustrating how well Gravity Falls depicts actual abuse.

Please note that I'm using this source as my guideline on the steps of adult grooming.

Step One: Targeting the Victim

The abuser first looks for someone they can target. They learn all they can about the victim. Typically, they look for victims who are:

Unpopular or have family problems. Gee... who does this sound like?

People who have low self-esteem. GEE... sounds familiar again.

People who have mental/physical disabilities. Although Ford does not have either, at least not proven in canon, it is possible that his genius could be considered a disability in how high IQ individuals typically are more socially isolated, depressed, anxious, insomnia-ridden from overthinking, and can have troubles with making friends due to likeliness to correct others (*cough* "Grammar, Stanley." *cough), different senses of humor, and being misunderstood. (Source). Plus, we know his polydactyly caused people to outcast him.

People who have already been through abuse. I - and many others - have made the point that it's common fan interpretation that Ford's father was abusive to a point. At the very least, I have argued in previous posts that Filbrick taught Ford that "value = what money you make from smarts". He was, after all, supposed to be "their ticket outta this (New Jersey poor neighborhood) dump", right? Assuming this is true, well... Ford was already taught from a young age that his value was in how others could use him. Filbrick may have primed him to be abused by Bill, unintentionally.

Okay, so we've established step one of adult grooming, and how Ford fits 99% of these criteria at least for the type of victim an abuser targets. What about step two?

Step Two: Gaining Trust

Honestly, I don't need to elaborate much on this part. I'll just quote the article I sourced before, because any Gravity Falls fan will instantly know how this applies to Bill and Ford:

"Groomers can be hard to notice as they will do their best to appear safe and genuine. This makes it hard to identify them. Over time, they will gradually manipulate the victim to be dependent on them."

"While gaining trust, the groomer may use flattery like offering gifts, admiration, and sharing “secrets” with the person to make them feel special. The groomer may do favours for someone. The groomer may gradually begin asking for favours in return, generally starting small. This may be the start of a romantic relationship or a simple friendship."

"Groomers may share secrets with their target in order to make them feel special and trusted by the groomer. This also may make the target feel they need to share secrets of their own, which the groomer may later use to increase their power over the target."

I mean... *gestures at all of Ford's journals and interactions with Bill in The Book of Bill*. Bill couldn't get any more textbook abuser/adult groomer than this. He praised Ford, shared secrets with him, made him feel so special, etc.

Step Three and Four: Filling a Need and Isolation

These steps are quite self-explanatory. The abuser (Bill) convinces the victim that they need them. "You need me to complete your portal project, Ford.". "No one else understands you, Ford.". And then comes the isolation, and where we'll touch on Stan and McGucket.

"Groomers will likely try to isolate the victim from their loved ones. This may be evident in the way they refuse to meet family and loved ones. Or perhaps they bad mouth them, or try to point out to the victim that the groomer is the only one who really and truly cares for them. Being isolated from friends and family makes it harder for the victim to notice warning signs."

Bill convinced Ford he didn't need anyone but him. He convinced him to isolate more and more; to push his brother away, to push McGucket away, until Ford had literally no support network, making him prime prey for Bill to take advantage of.

Step Five+: The Real Abuse

This step can manifest in many different ways. After reading the article sourced above, there are so many similarities to what Bill did to Ford. I'll list them here:

Continuing isolation.

Destroying self-esteem.

Physical abuse (leaving Ford with bloody knuckles, making his body hurt, leaving him on top of the Shack in the freezing cold, etc).

Seek to take control over victims (in Bill's case, the fantasy/supernatural metaphor of possession is just that: a metaphor for control).

Normalizing behaviors that aren't normal ("Here, I'll just possess you more and more, I swear giving me complete control is normal!").

Making the victim feel helpless.

And many, many more. Folks, I'm not going to lie: I would not be surprised if Hirsch and other writers involved in Bill's creation read a manual on how abusers work (or maybe experienced it in their own lives, but hopefully not, as I wouldn't wish that on anyone) to write Bill. Because Bill does these steps on cue to Ford. He is a textbook abuser.

So... What Does This Say About Bill and Ford?

The dark humor in Bill's writing is that he portrays his shadowy side as lighthearted, but there's a very, very dark underbelly of abuse in everything he does. Even the way we interact with Bill as viewers/readers in real life is a microcosm of his abuse. Look at how he's written:

"Oh, I look like an innocent, funny little triangle guy. Don't mind me. *Does something horrifying and awful.* Oh, I'm just funny, trust me, look how sad I am for losing Ford, and how I drink about it, and I'm all sad here in interdimensional therapy, and I kept a speck of dust from my dimension in my hat! I swear I'm really regretful!"

Text in point: "I'm just a rascal! A funny little guy! But everyone seems to think I'm "evil" or "a sociopath".

He wants to be a hero, or a star, as he calls it. He shows himself on a magazine cover, as someone talked to in a live show, as the leader of the Henchmaniacs (which I'd argue are also either are abusers or victims themselves based on how Bill describes them in the book), etc.

But he's a liar. He's a conman. He's a dream demon; a demon that has power over dreams, but dreams are just that: lies and illusions. Like I said, even the Axolotl thinks so:

"Saw his own dimension burn. Misses home and can't return. Says he's happy, he's a liar. Blame the arson for the fire."

What that line and this screenshot means, is that Bill is 100% to blame for the destruction he wreaks. He didn't "show people the truth". He burned them alive because they didn't worship him as the hero he wanted so badly to be, and he blamed it on, "Well, they just didn't GET what I was trying to tell them.". And the worst part about Bill, is he knows deep down he's to blame; that he has the blood of millions on his hands. But he literally tries to describe it as "liberating" his kind. Ford knows this, too, and tells us directly in The Book of Bill that the book itself is a sham:

Key quotes being: "It will become whatever it must to deceive you, to pull you in." and "DO NOT BELIEVE A WORD".

Honestly, there's only one line Bill ever said that was truth:

Yet, even though Bill knows he's a monster, he never stops. He's had millions of years to change, yet he hasn't. And I doubt he ever will. That's why the Theraprism is effective: it's a jail of his own making. He could get out if he wanted to get better and worked at it. He's always had the key to unlock his cage. But he won't. Because he can't admit fault.

So instead of fixing himself, he keeps wanting to drag others into his cage with him. Like a man drowning who'll grasp onto anyone else struggling, pretending he's helping them float together, only to push them down to keep himself above the water. But in the Theraprism, he has no one to pretend to. He's a "theatre kid without a stage", like Ford said. A little emotional leech without someone to latch onto. He's just alone, like he was after he destroyed his entire dimension.

As for Ford, he champions the story of a victim who regained his power and heals through the love of his family. If you read his and Bill's story from the perspective of abuser vs. victim, it's the story of a man who was isolated, taken advantage of, nearly destroyed... but then wrests his power back and chases after his abuser for thirty years for revenge. However, it's telling that it's not through his thirst for vengeance that Bill is defeated, but through his brother's love for him and the rest of their family.

I mean, look at the main villains of Gravity Falls: someone who sacrificed his family (Bill), someone who was selfish and didn't give a crap about his family (Gideon), etc. And the heroes: people who self-sacrificed for their family. All the Pines wrestle with this theme, from things as small as Dipper giving up a let's be honest very minimal chance at Wendy to make Mabel happy and win Waddles at the fair, Mabel destroying her puppet show to save Dipper from Bill, Ford self-sacrificing and getting tortured for I don't even know how many days locked up with Bill during Weirdmageddon to protect others, and Stan performing the ultimate sacrifice in the finale for his family and world.

Bill is the antithesis to the Pines: a selfish abuser who killed his family. And the Pines are heroes because they learn the moral lesson of the story: to give up pride and selfishness to forgive, self-sacrifice, and love your family and do anything for them, despite your trauma or prior disagreements. They could have just as easily ended up like Bill: awful because of a refusal to admit fault or self-sacrifice. But they don't, because they learned what Bill never did.

That's also why this show focuses so much on the theme of past vs. future and letting go; the Pines learned to let go and accept change, Bill never did. He's stuck. Funny how time stops whenever Bill shows up in the real world, huh? /symbolism wink

And that's why Gravity Falls - and Ford and Bill's story especially - is a champion metaphor for abusive relationships and healing from them.

#gravity falls #the book of bill #the book of bill spoilers #ford pines #stanford pines #bill cipher #tw: abuse #tw: grooming #gravity falls analysis

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wroteclassicaly · 11 months ago

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Pick You Up At 7

(Gator Tillman x Plus size!Female Reader)

Summary: When your date goes bad, Gator reacts in unexpected ways.

Warnings: Language, implied smut/smut, low self-esteem, body dysmorphia, food insecurity, fat phobia, fat shaming, Gator and reader roast one another, have nicknames, mentions periods, Gator being a tad misogynistic, anxiety, and depression.

Word count: 2,913

Pairings: Gator Tillman x Plus size!Female Reader

A/N: This one isn’t for the faint of heart, folks! It’s straight up self-indulgent, it’s intense. So… yeah. Read the warnings and read at your own risk! Wanted to provide a little release/comfort for myself, and I’m proud of this one!

You knew they were laughing as soon as you got into the office the next morning. Not so subtle hushed whispers and baiting for remarks that you’d normally snap back with. But you keep your head down, lunch forgotten in the car. You’d never let someone tell you what he had last night, not usually, but you’re sure that it’s what you expect from the guy you hate yourself for really wanting - will do, that’s got you worked up the most.

No, that’s a lie. It’s an added situation, but what happened on your date last night, you’ve never felt so disgusted or panicked.

The men continue to talk before they go back to paperwork and shit talking, leaving you to shed your winter attire carelessly by your rolling desk chair. You sit down as if it’ll break, pulling your long gray buttoned down cardigan over your form. It’s not what you usually wear, either. Proud to show off your figure, knowing the guys here aren’t into your extra pounds, it never bothered you that much to put your cleavage on display while working in the police station as their only secretary. If they have any inkling towards you, then it’s ‘do me a favor’ or ‘get a beer for me, maybe join the rest of the boys as we hit on every other female but you’ kinda thing.

The air in the place changes before the sound of his thick leader combats approaches your desk. You keep your head down and plead, pretending to organize old files that are ready for the shredder.

Please don’t. Please don’t come over here. Please. Please.

“Hey, twerp.” He leans over the counter, vape in one hand, his newly freed arm propped across his other.

You raise a brow as your simple acknowledgement, trying to hold your breath as his cedarwood cologne and mint hair gel soak into your nostrils when he bends down to sort through the little decorative holographic candy dish you keep. Annoyingly, seconds later he’s whining. “Where’s the goods at? The fuck? Shit’s practically empty.”

Go away.

You manage to speak, cringing at how cracked your voice is, dangling over the precipice of breaking down. Here. In front of everyone. In front of him.

“I’m working right now. Go to the Dollar Tree if you want candy so fuckin’ bad.” You don’t even address him with a nickname or his last name. And it unnerves him. With a shove of your small crystal bowl, you watch the leftover mints slosh onto the counter and over your papers, and only then your reaction is what he wants. He needs you to look at him.

He’s smirking and chewing on the filter of his vape, blowing a smoke cloud into the air and making you grit your teeth. That clock in the distance sounds louder, cheaper. And Gator Tillman takes your distracted gaze and creeps around and starts looking at your desk. It’s your space here, regardless. And up until now, he used to know that too. You sigh, asking him what he’s doing,

“Where’s your purse, kid? You must be hiding it all in there. You on the rag, that it? Would explain why you’re being a bitch and the stuff isn’t here.”

“Gator…”

He kicks your coat aside, but pauses his searching when you say his name. Like a damned addiction he can’t yet admit to

“Calm your granny panties down. Where is it at?”

“It’s not here.” You’re losing control of yourself. He keeps pushing.

“Why? You know nobody gives a shit if you bring your red tide plugs in here. Can’t have you bleedin’ all over shit. It’s mighty unprofessional, you know?”

“Take your shriveled little ballsack elsewhere, I’m bored with you.” He’s grateful you’re engaging, hands sliding over his cargo pockets and patting.

“Or —“

Your heart rate accelerates, knowing exactly where this is going. It’s why he originally came to your desk, you’re not stupid.

“ — You didn’t get laid last night. Would also explain this crap.”

“Stop it.” It's pathetic, a weak demand, even to your ears, but it’s all you got, that anxiety clawing your esophagus and winding up around your lungs like a cobweb, squeezing like a vice.

“I told you he was a loser, darlin’. You never listen. So what happened?”

“I asked you to quit.”

“And I asked you what happened. What? He’s too much of a pussy to put it in when there’s a little blood? Did it make him queasy —“

You’re out of your chair and facing him, hands on his leather jacket. And he’s down in your chair, the wheels moving so fast that he flies back and hits the filing cabinet, scattering things everywhere, his legs coming up and then his heels slamming down rather comically. The guys howl in the background, making Gator having to inhale sharply to get it together. You’re walking away from him and down the hall to the restroom where he follows, walking right in behind you and slamming his hand on top of the metal stall door to prevent it from closing.

You try but it’s no use. Your fight is gone, the burn blurs your vision, scorching your throat, making everything hazy.

“You don’t fuckin’ do that to me in front of them, you hear me? You don’t disrespect —“

A sniffle that would’ve been quieter, it echoes in the expanse of the cold, gray walls. You pass him and find yourself clutching the sink, pleading. It’s like you’ve lost all ability to walk, to think, to process how to guard your tightly kept emotions.

And it scares Gator Tillman to death.

“Gator, please just go away?”

His boots creak and squish on the floor as he pivots and finds a space beside you, folding knuckles resting beside your hand, nearly touching, a warmth that threatens you both within its encasement.

“Is this about your outfit? The baggy sweater thing? You know the guys all stare at your big tits when you wear those other tops, right?”

You’d laugh, even be prideful, but you don’t believe a damned thing right now. Because in spite of what he says, you know Gator has a soft spot in his heart that isn’t touched by his namesake’s cruelty. You shake your head and watch him take the vape out, your eyes glistening with tears when you take in his form. He blows a line of smoke and damn near chokes when he sees the actual tears drip down your cheeks.

“Can I have a hit of that?” It’s a bold move. In part because you always roast him for it, and two, because his mouth has just been on it and he’ll get to taste you. You’ll be tasting each other.

He hands it to you, fingers brushing yours. He wants nothing more than to touch you, and he has to fight himself where he stands, feeling an electricity at the nape of his neck that shocks his flesh full of goosebumps, as you wrap your lips around the mouthpiece and puff a few times, coughing. He smiles softly, in spite of the situation.

You, you’re trying to mull over how you can taste his minty saliva beneath the nasty ass acidic fruit cloud that’s misting over your lungs. “Jesus Christ, what flavor is that?”

Taking it back, he’s all too eager to sample you, clicking his lips together and pocketing the vape. “Think it’s banana kiwi.”

There’s a comfortable beat before you both remember why you’re here. It dawns on Gator then, and you both know it. There’s this dark look that pools in the mossy oak of his gaze, drowning out all rationality. His voice cracks sharp, a tone that you’ve never heard before. “Did he hurt you? What happened last night?”

“Just drop it, okay?” You find your voice again, but Gator is already seeing red, a tunnel vision of fire and brimstone with your date from the night prior.

You aren’t ready for it, not in the slightest. Your skin prickles to life, body drenched in elation, relief, and struggling to catch up with your racing heartbeat. His pointer and middle fingers find your chin in the gentlest press, tilting. “Kiddo…”

“Doesn’t matter what he did.”

“You know it fuckin’ does.” Gator’s thumb twitches as it catches a teardrop. It tracks across your jaw and back.

You’re a little angry now, finally snapping at him like an animal that’s cornered. “Fine. You wanna know what he did, Mr. Prom King?” Gator winces at how you use his former title, clearly not impressed. You didn’t run in the same circles and he knows where this is going.

“Twerp, c’mon —“

“Just shut your mouth and listen for once, since you want to know so badly.” Your hands leave the speckled counter and you step away, swiping at your damp eyes. “He took me to dinner and waited until the waiter came to take our orders, to tell them that he wasn’t paying for mine. And you know, I just thought he was a douche. But I guess he had the smarts to wait until the waiter left again before he told me that what I ordered wasn’t appropriate, so he didn’t feel comfortable paying for it.”

Gator, still a little confused, speechless, questions, “Well, what did you get?”

“Steak and fries.” You want to scream at what Gator is not seeing.

“But most people like that kinda shit? I eat that every weekend —“

You blow out a breath that causes you to choke on a small whimper. This causes Gator to change his tune. “Wait…”

“He thought I should have the side salad for ‘someone my size.’ And after dinner was over, he made it a point to inform me that no one would go out with someone dressed in a dress that tight. How embarrassing it is.”

Gator is positively seething now, teeth clenching. And the fact that you wore this for the dickbag and he wasn’t all over you?

“I pointed out that at least half a dozen women in the restaurant were wearing more revealing outfits, that it’s not up to him or anyone else to judge. And he couldn’t wait to cut me off to let me know that he didn’t care about that. He cared about…” Your voice breaks and you laugh in wet disbelief.

“He cared about what?” Gator’s tone is at toxic levels now, nearing a whisper.

There’s no way to hide how you're openly sobbing now, snotting, lower lip quivering. “He cared about girls like me thinking guys like him wanna see someone who weighs this much, wearing something like that.”

“He needs his ass strung up on a barn door and used as target practice —“

“Don’t act like you give a shit, Tillman. I’ve seen the posters in your room, the girls you flirt with at the bars, the ones you talked to in school. Don’t be a fucking marauder with me.”

“How do you know? You didn’t even know me in highschool!” He’s offended and it pisses you off. Another fib. In this small town everyone knows everyone, or at least hears of them - that is a given.

“Oh, I knew you. I knew your crowd. And you all made it abundantly clear I was to stay out of the way. You’re just like all of the other assholes around here when it comes to how you treat women, nothing changes. Weight defines everything, even when it shouldn’t, no matter what body type a person has. It always does to people.”

“Then why the fuck did he ask you out if he was going to act like a bitch?” Gator goes straight for it with a sigh of confusion.

You laugh this time, a sound that levels Gator with diabolical unease. “He was bored and wanted someone to get him off, so he thought I’d be an easy enough, sure thing. Entitled fucking prick.”

It’s a somber silence after, your dying sniffles ceasing as you swipe your nose and attempt to collect yourself, stomach hollow and nauseated. You can’t stay here anymore, not after this. You manage to look at Gator and step with one hand on the bathroom door. “I’m going back to work. If you can not tell the other guys, I’d appreciate it.”

And as Gator is left alone in the cool, dim light bathroom, he’s already formulating an idea, going straight out the back entrance and into his squad car.

The next hour went by quicker than you thought, giving you time to push away all thoughts of your confrontation and reveals with Gator. You’ve given him more ammo to tease you with, but you’re also wondering why he’s not here? You’re in the midst of stacking new department funding files when you hear it. Your date’s voice.

“I didn’t do nothin’! You know I didn’t!”

And another, one that has your mouth going dry.

“Get your ass movin’, pencil dick.”

Your jaw is close to dropping, becoming unhinged seconds later as Gator rounds the corner in his gear, your date’s collar clutched in his fist, the vape in the other, and a very noticeable split across your date’s lip, complete with a bloodied nose. Gator stops short in front of the desk, shoving your date into its edge. He’s panting heavily, raising a brow at you, Gator amused from behind.

“Hey, twerp.” Gator grins like the Cheshire Cat. “Got a booking for ya to process!”

“I… what?” You come up with.

“You gonna tell her what you did, shitbird?”

“What’s going on?” You and Gator are going back and forth, your former date nearly ignored. This is not a coincidence. And you’re practically glued to your chair at the notion that Gator went after him in your honor.

Does this mean…?

“Caught this fucker side swiping candy at the damned Dollar Tree. What kind of prick does that when it’s a dollar?”

“I was not!” Your date is shouting.

The Dollar Tree? Wait…

You feel as if you’ve been hit with a pillow and swallowed the feathers, enjoying their light tickles that scratch at your throat. You want to laugh. By golly, you almost do. Gator whistles for another officer that takes your date down the hall. Seconds later he’s leaning on bended elbows, jacket crunching, his voice a whispered hum for you to hear, and you alone.

“Didn’t wanna forget this.” He unravels his arms and slides one into his pocket, his massive palm full of the candy you both like. He lets it spill into your dish, waiting a few beats before speaking again. “All good now.” With a snatching of his favorite piece of chocolate, he knocks his knuckles on your countertop.

“Get him processed in, yeah?”

You nod dumbly, watching him walk away. He turns around and waves with one finger, however, before he meets the other policeman and your ex-date.

“By the way, be ready at seven. I’m gonna pick you up and we’ll get supper.” He elgonates a leather clad arm, fingertips drumming on the doorway. His voice is raspy when he focuses back on you, eyes dark in a completely different way. “Wear that dress too.”

Your legs tighten together and you pinch at your cardigan, fanning yourself.

“You get your ass movin’ down that hallway, short stack!” Gator finishes, turning to you one last time and flashing a cheeky little wink.

Gator did indeed pick you up in his truck. Seven on the dot. He wore nice dark jeans and a crisp white button up, loosened to let a silver chain peek out, nestled amongst the thick chest hair, his leather jacket over him, hair slicked back, and his watch and normal boots. You wore that tight dress with a little unease, and slightly heeled boots over your sheer black tights, a few rings adorning your hands. When Gator walked you to your side of the car after walking you out of your house, you weren’t regretting anything about the purchase of the form fitting dress any longer.

When you got to dinner, Gator waited as you ordered, encouraging you to get the steak and fries that he knew you wanted. And after drinks, you shared the biggest piece of chocolate cake in the joint. Conversation flowed easy, felt good. Your old date wasn’t mentioned, but you both knew. Gator had taken you back to his place (per your request), where he’d laid you down in his bed and held your legs open until you were begging him to fuck you. And that he did.

His hand splayed atop yours, your dress around your waist, he’d taken you from behind, plaster escaping his paneled wall as a result. When that had ended, he’d stripped you free of everything, and walked you to his mirror, chin on your shoulder, fingers in your cunt. Showing you what he liked about your body, but telling you that it doesn’t matter what anyone but you thinks. And if anyone thinks differently, he’d put them all away. Impractical, but enough to cause you to cream his thick digits and soak his floor.

The next day, you’d worn your most low cut top with pride, settling at your desk to another empty candy dish. When you look up, Gator is smiling in your direction, that damned vape in one hand, candy wrapper in the other.

We all need someone to help us feel good about ourselves sometimes.

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placeinthemiddleofnowhere · 2 years ago

Text

(Un)bearable

Pairing: Johnny "Soap" MacTavish x Reader

Warnings: Smut (18+), Enemies to lovers, kinda dom!Soap, rough, lil bit degrading but nothing horrible, use of the nickname "puppy"

Summary: Reader is new to the 141 and despite coming in hand picked by Price, Soap can't seem to get his head round the fact that you're on his team. Soon silly little arguments turn physical and well...there's more than one way to decide who's top dog.

(No use of y/n or mention of gender/race)

A/N: Happy haggis day folks! Hope you enjoy this lovely Soap smut.

-🧼-

When you first joined the unit, you and Soap took to each other like rats to poison. It’s not that you went into the 141 with a bad attitude or were looking to make enemies by any means - but from the first moment you meet John “Soap” Mactavish you can’t help but grit your teeth and hope that you get a chance to wipe that smug smirk from his face. Preferably with a blunt object, but generally by any means necessary.

It all started when you walked into a meeting room, ready for your first briefing as a part of your new unit and the only other one there was Soap. His legs were crossed and propped up on a desk, hands resting on top of head and smoothing down his mohawk. He was sitting there casually looking as if he was about to start a nap. It made you raise your eyebrows, but you quickly shook off your surprise and said hello, introducing yourself.

“Aw, eh…nice to meet you? Are you lost?” He frowned.

You blinked at him, taking a second to figure out what he meant. Was he teasing you? Was this some kind of weird hazing thing? Though, after a few seconds of silence pervading the stuffy little room, you realised he wasn’t joking.

“No?” You answer back, just as confused. “This is the room Captain Price booked out, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, it is. Are you here to bring coffee or somethin’?”

You immediately felt your back tense up and suddenly all the dumb, slack jawed voices of recruits from your past flare up in your head, your body practically vibrating with anger. People look at you and they never assume very much, but when it comes to letting you loose in a fight they’re suddenly very glad to have you on their team. And after a few breaths to calm yourself down, you realised you’d have an opportunity to prove yourself later.

“I’m here because Price asked me to be,” you said sullenly, taking a seat as far away from the soldier as you could manage.

He raised his brows but he didn't question you further. Thankfully, he didn’t get a chance to. Everyone else started filtering in and taking their seats silently and Price stood at the head of the room, eyeing you and your lingering glare with his usual measured look. He knew that Soap probably pissed you off. Hell, you figured Soap probably pissed the Captain off most of the time.

It was when he finally introduced you to the rest of the team as “Sergeant” that Soap finally clocked why you were there for the briefing, and yet the Scotsman didn’t look embarrassed or even apologetic. No. His face erupted into a cocky grin and he would sneak looks at you every so often, measuring you up and looking like he was in complete disbelief.

When you were finally released from the meeting you could hear him and Ghost when they retreated down the opposite end of the hall. He didn’t even try to quiet his stupidity obnoxious voice, which was allowed unbidden, to bounce down the corridor like a waving red cape to a bull.

“Fuckin’ mind blowing that that is our new team member,” he laughed, “We’d be better working with Mickey Mouse.”

“Soap,” comes the Lieutenant’s voice, growling a warning.

“What? Aren’t you even a little bit shocked?”

“I’m sure Price took them on for a reason…Just fuckin’ leave it, alright?”

“…You’re probably right.”

Though, Soap didn’t leave it. He took every opportunity he could to rile you up, and that included fucking with your callsign.

You’d been out on your first mission together when he’d seen you getting into a tussle. Though just as Johnny had been about to step in and help, you’d managed to get a lucky kick at the guy's ankle and finally took him down when you regained your grip on your knife - Leaving Soap standing staring at you, gun at the ready with nothing to shoot.

“Get you, scrappin’ just like a wee bulldog,” he’d smirked, voice crackling over the comms for all to hear.

“Shut it, Soap,” you growled, already looking to fan out and move away from him.

“Ooft,” he chuckled. “You’re like one of those bad tempered ones, the little yappy horrible bulldogs. What are they called again?”

“Frenchies,” someone says through the line.

“That’s it. Wee frenchie, nippin’ at the enemy’s heels.”

You couldn’t tell who it was that provided the answer, but from then on you vowed that if you ever found out you’d pay them back for it tenfold. Soap had proceeded to tease you with it for the rest of the op and then, because everyone found your reaction so entertaining, it stuck. You were Frenchie for the rest of time.

As if that wasn’t enough, you got into some amounts of back and forth during missions, sometimes to a point that Price would threaten to bash your heads together when you got back. Though, it never deterred you both. It was like a horrible little game that you played, trying to one up the other and not lose control, a test of wills, a battle you waged privately. One that often ended in you going to sleep vowing you’d be the last one to see him through a scope one day.

On your latest mission you’d been traversing a small town one night, picking off your targets quietly and trying to avoid an all out firefight. You, Ghost and Soap were working your way through buildings like a vicious pack of wolves, picking off the men like mice. Occasionally you’d mutter through the comms link, but tried to stay off it, content to leave Ghost and Soap to their stupid jokes and chatter.

“What do you do when your doctor gives you a year to live?” Ghost asks, voice raspy as he steps away from a kill.

You sigh, knowing you’d be subjected to another one of the boys’ awful wisecracks. It was at times like those you thought of better days, days where you worked with people that didn’t clog up the comms with their shite chat. Days that you liked all of your teammates (or at least could go without wanting to seriously maim any of them)

“I dunno,” Soap replied in an almost whisper.

“You shoot them and a judge gives you fifteen years,” Ghost deadpans.

Both you and Johnny groan over the line, for once united in something. Ghost liked to tell truly awful jokes, though, had he told genuinely funny ones then it was unlikely you’d be alive to enjoy them much longer. You couldn’t afford to burst out laughing when there were still plenty of men out there in the shadows that would love to discover you and rain bullets like a monsoon.

“You’re awfully quiet, Frenchie. Still with us?” Ghost rumbles.

“Your jokes are just too funny LT,” you murmur, sighing as you realise the house you’re in is clear. “I’m laughing so hard there’s no sound coming out.”

“Cheeky cunt,” Ghost chuckles, disappearing for a moment until he speaks again. “You got anything better?”

“Maybe.”

“G’on then,” Soap urges you snarkily. “Give us your best.”

“Alright then…where’d Soap go after getting lost on the minefield?” You say, smirk dancing on your lips

“Where?” Ghost asks.

“Everywhere,” you whisper darkly.

“Fuckin’ hell, Frenchie,” Ghost snorts, covering the sound of Johnny’s sharp inhale.

They both knew you were thoroughly enjoying the mental image that swam around your head. It was distracting, but you think you still have your head on straight. You still managed to pace around the little dirt roads like a spectre, moving silently and unseen through the the dark purpling night. That is, you think so, until you’re about to be surprised.

Just as the guy was about to swing for you, he flew back and onto the ground with a thud, struggling as he let go of his last breath. The weapon he held in his hands is released as his body goes limp and it crumbles down the hill, kicking up a little dust as it goes. A piece of debris heavy enough that it would’ve bludgeoned you to death on first try.

“What's brown and bad for your teeth?” Johnny grins.

You groan quietly.

“The brick that was about to get smashed across yer smug. Fuckin’. Face. Frenchie.”

-🧼-

In the end you’d all come back from the mission alive. Despite the fact that you had to begrudgingly admit that it was, in part, due to Soap, you didn’t come back too sour. In fact you even joined drinks for once and sat with the team. It was nice to unwind together rather than laying in bed alone, head filled with all that you’d done and could’ve done better.

Though, after a few drinks and plenty of nonsense chat later you’d started to feel tired. The guys had gone from shouting and laughing up a storm to quietly chatting about this and that, going into ‘remember the time…’ stories that you had nothing to contribute to. With that realisation, you’d figured you’d just call it a night and quietly say your goodbyes.

You hadn’t really realised how sleepy you were until you’d stood up. It was only when you’d sluggishly taken a few steps that you felt a familiar heaviness descending over you, and resolved to get to bed as soon as you could, rushing to get out. Though when you’d shouldered your way out through the heavy wooden doors of the pub, you were greeted with an extremely unpleasant interruption to your plans. His smile and breath curled out into the cold air like a dragon's smoke, and he didn’t look like he was letting you go without a passing comment.

The mental warfare continues, you’d thought bitterly.

“You leavin’ already, French?”

You groaned and rolled your eyes, folding your shivering arms around your middle.

“Figure I’ve had enough. What about you? I didn’t know you smoked,” you frowned, looking at the half smoked cigarette that was dangling in his hands.

“Social smoker. Ye want one?”

“Doesn’t look very social to me,” you smirked, gesturing to his lack of companions.

“Would be if you joined,” he shrugged.

You shook your head instead of replying - thinking better of continuing the conversation. You just wanted to head inside and roll up into your sheets, in no mood to deal with any more for the day. Escape the nicotine clouds that threatened to stick to your body and cloy at your throat, the thought of anything containing his breath sticking to you in any way was enough to have you wincing.

You were just about to walk away when he piped up again.

“Why is it we don’t seem to get on very well, eh?”

You stopped in your place and felt every fibre in your body shaking. Was he seriously asking that? You had about a million answers to his question, but most of all you just wanted to strangle him and tell him it was because he was incapable of shutting the fuck up and leaving you alone.

Even after the amount you’d drunk, you managed to summon some self control and stay in place.

“You’re annoying as fuck,” you said instead.

You had still had enough liquid courage that your social filter failed, however.

“What do you mean I’m annoyin’,” he laughed.

“I mean you’re the most obnoxious fucking dickhead I’ve ever had the displeasure of working with.”

Well apparently the beast was unleashed.

“Bit harsh,” Soap choked out, laughing out a gust of smoke.

“It’s true - you’re unbearable.”

He rolled his eyes at that, but his smirk remained.

“Fine, I’m an obnoxious arsehole…what’s that make you then, wideo?

“What about me?”

“Takes two to tango, doesn’t it? I’d say it makes you as ‘unbearable’ as I am.”

A rush of white hot fury flooded your veins and you marched back up to him, attempting to invade his space as much as you could bear. You met his gaze and glared up at him, shooting daggers and whatever else you could manifest. It’s on motherfucker.

“I’m not the one that called someone out for being unworthy before they got a chance to prove themselves. I’m not the one that constantly acts unprofessional. I’m not the one that picks on people for no good reason. I’m not the one-“

“You been keepin a list of grievances on me or somethin’,” he teased, cutting you off.

You growled and before you could even think, you watched yourself bat the cigarette from his hands like a feral cat and watched it fly. It arced through the air and landed with a bouncing finish, scattering red ash into the quiet wind. It took a second of silence till either of you did anything else.

“Childish much,” Soap snorted. “I’d rather be an arsehole than a little brat.”

You’d never whipped your head up so fast. Blood vessels you’d hardly been aware of before were boiling and your heart beat was in your eyes, it raced and pulsed and had you dizzier than drinking a bottle of vodka. All you saw was red. Soap had taken every opportunity to tease and push you and finally you’d decided he’d taken it far enough. In all your drunk wisdom you felt like this was your time to make a stand and show that you wouldn’t put up with it anymore.

With what you felt was a rallying warcry, you pushed Soap back and sent him stumbling, almost knocking him into the jagged bushes behind him, their leaves stripped bare from the winter weather. He’d huffed out a hiss, hand lanced through by one of the thorny branches.

“What the fuck!” He roared, coming to his feet again.

Suddenly it felt like all that anger really had boiled your blood, and it had unfortunately nullified all the alcohol out of it. The full withering cold of the night soaked through your skin and suddenly you were standing there sober, wide eyed and stupid, wondering what you’d do next. What could you do?

Fight or flight, a sharp edged voice whispered, echoing through your mind. The man had recovered quickly, and he was soon to make the decision for you. So, you went with what you felt was best for you and your kneecaps.

Flight it is.

You ran. Not even the road runner could have competed with you that night. It felt like Hermes had imbued you with power, you sprinted so fast that you practically flew back to the base on winged feet. Your lungs burned and your throat felt like you had accepted a smoke from Soap, but even so, with all pain you came to acknowledge once you were safely locked in your room, you remained unharmed.

And when the cramps in your thighs tangled through your legs and the full craziness of the previous events crashed down on you, you similarly fell to your bed; huffing out a massive Breath. This was one to deal with in the morning, you thought.

-🧼-

If only you could be so lucky.

You’d recalled thinking you could sleep everything off with a soundless laugh, and shook your head. It wasn’t happening. Instead, you were left staring at the demonic red numbers of your alarm clock with narrowed eyes. Apparently time had a way of slowing down when it came to the sobering mind. It could only happen to you, of course.

You’d woken up an hour later with a pounding headache and dry tongue, and even after taking painkillers and a decent glug of water you still remained awake and tortured. The scene of MacTavish falling to the bushes and shouting bloody murder at you was replaying in your mind like an old timey movie, static ringing through your ears as your anxiety tore through you.

You’d accused him of being unprofessional, and there you’d gone and shoved him like a toddler in a tantrum. Right after he’d called you childish as well!

You felt sick with worry, wondering if he’d tell Price, wondering what his revenge would be. You sighed and took a deep breath, realising you weren’t going to get any sleep. There were only two options once again, either you sat and suffered till you found out or you could face up to him and go apologise before he could dream up some particularly brutal revenge. Besides, you reasoned to yourself, even if you hated him and even despite the things he said - pushing him was a bit out of order.

Everything in you wanted to go for option A, but your need to get things out the way won over and soon enough you were in your sweats and baggy pyjama top, waddling down the halls.

The walk to Soap’s room felt like a long one, like a trek through the arctic. Every painful passing minute had you digging your fingers into your thighs and thinking better of your choice. You’d turned around to go back to your room three times before you reached his door. Even then, you took a minute before you knocked softly, fists coming down on the wood like soft paws.

The silence rang out for a moment, and you’d closed your eyes for a second, praying he was asleep. Though, as your unluckiness would have it, you’d heard someone rustling about not a second later. There were a few grumblings and noises more, before the door flung open and there stood a particularly surly John MacTavish, standing in his boxers and t-shirt with a face like thunder.

“You!” He groaned, running a hand through his splayed out mohawk. “The fuck do you want?”

“I uh…Came to apologise for earlier,” you mumbled awkwardly, mirroring him and swiping a hand over your head. “Sorry.”

You watched as he craned his neck and attended to a knot below his skin, hand harshly palming it while he thought over your words. Then, in your desperation not to meet his eyes, you found yourself casting your gaze downward and realised far too late you’d made your second mistake of the night.

His thighs had completely transfixed you, they were impressive laid bare like that, and before you were able to stop yourself you tilted your head and visibly looked from his thick muscles and further to the material of his boxers - coming to land on the half hard bulge that stood out from them. It wasn’t full-on morning wood, but there was something that’d been stirring there and now your eyes were glued on the sizable tent; and you couldn’t find it in yourself to look away.

Fuck, just how big was he?

You heard a familiar snort and looked up guiltily, briefly wondering if you’d be running away from Soap for a second time that night.

“Let’s review the situation here. You wake me up at three AM with your pathetic little knock and get me out of my bed, for what’s probably the worst apology I’ve heard in my entire fuckin’ life, and now you’re staring at my cock like a shaking bitch in heat. Are you for real right now? Do we need to drug test you?” he said incredulously.

“I am not staring at your cock like a bitch in heat,” you hissed, looking around you like a caught criminal. “And keep your fucking voice down!”

“What? You don’t want anyone finding out that you’re a pervert?” He laughed, leaning against his doorframe.

“Do you want pushed again?” you growled.

“Do you want to push me again?” He cackled. “Any excuse to get your hands on me, eh?”

“No! It’s not like that. I wouldn’t- I didn’t-” you fumbled, not allowed to continue.

“Didn’t what? Didn’t want to just come out and tell me the reason you like fighting so much is because you can’t get me into bed?”

You dropped your mouth open, gawping at his leering tone. You absolutely did not like fighting with him in order to do…that. Whatever that would be like. You’d resolved that he’d be an awful lover, a selfish one, he was so shitty to you he’d probably just take what he wanted and-

And now you were thinking about sex with Soap! Yuck!

Not that the thought didn’t stir something in you. (you’d tried to plead with yourself that it was burning - throbbing - hatred)

“Your lack of an answer tells me that’s a yes,” he chuckled, going to close the door.

A phantom force willed your hand forward, and soap soon stopped trying to close it when he realised you were going to stay resolute. Your hand was shaking with effort. You couldn’t let him win this encounter, you’d thought to yourself, you couldn’t let him have the last word. You couldn’t bear to picture him lying in his bed with his stupid semi, grinning to the thought of you sitting and stewing the rest of the night.

It wasn’t happening.

“It’s not a yes. And you wouldn’t even fuck me properly even if did allow you within an inch of me,” you said proudly, hoping to turn and be on your victorious way.

No such luck.

Soap grabbed your arm before you could go and pulled you into his orbit, having you practically feel the heat radiating from his chest. His brows were pulled tight and his eyes were darker than onyx, staring at you like a dragon before it breathed fire. You gasped and blinked up at him, suddenly realising you’d bitten more than you could chew.

“I’m a lot more than an inch,” he growled.

“Doesn’t mean you know how to use it,” you fired back, not knowing why you’d continued to push him.

Perhaps all the blood that was flowing from your brain and down below might’ve had something to do with it. Maybe it was the iron grip that had your arm feeling like it might crack in his unrelenting calloused hand.

“You’re bein’ a daft cunt.”

“So are you.”

“Do you actually want fucked?” he asked, a sly smirk escaping through his lips.

“Doesn’t everyone,” you replied, trying to deflect his question.

He bit his lip and looked away, peering down into the hallway and looking for any stragglers. No one was there, just the shadows, the frigid air and empty silence.

“If you want me to show you just how well I can use this,” he said, palming his crotch with his free hand, “then tell me right now.”

It felt like all the oxygen in the hallway had filtered out and your brain was floating lifelessly in your head. It had to have been for you to have answered the way you did.

“You can show me, but try not to cry when it doesn’t work,” you sniggered.

Soap nodded his head, releasing your arm at the same time. He looked the same way that he did whenever you challenged him in training, the same way he looked when he usually found a way to throw your ass on the floor. In short, you knew you were fucked from that gritted jaw alone, but you tried not to let it show.

“Get on the bed and sit pretty, Frenchie. Be a good dog,” he goaded, opening the door up wide for you to enter.

This was it, no going back. You had the option to turn and run, but your pride wouldn’t let you do it. You’d talked a big game by that point and you couldn’t turn around then. It was the same thing that got you into the 141 that had gotten you into Soap’s room - your stupid pride. (Although maybe it was the way he was looking at you so intensely as well). You gritted your teeth and did what you were told, trying not to let the little voice in your head that said you actually really wanted him to overpower you.

Not likely.

No, you’d do what he said, but only so it would speed the process up - you reasoned. Not because when he’d made the order his voice had rumbled deep with authority and the purr had run down your spine like a bolt of lightning. No, that wasn’t it at all, you thought as you’d sank down into his messy sheets and lay your hands back behind you. That wasn’t it at all.

“Look at that, wee puppy follows commands afterall,” he said condescendingly.

He shut the door with a harsh click and locked it, your last chance of leaving gone. You couldn’t bear the embarrassment of running out at that point. You were following through with it. Only because you’d said you would, not because of the tingles of anticipation running rampant round your body and not because Soap sounded hot as fuck when he was being demanding.

There was a force pushing you back, something unseen that made you lie back on the bed as Soap took torturously slow steps toward you. It felt like you were under a spell, unthinkingly sinking into the sheets and breathing in more of his scent, catching notes of him that you’d never thought much of before, gunpowder musk filling your senses.

“You sure you want to do this?” he asked, finally coming to a stop as he hovered over you, tracing his thumb over your cheek.

“Y-yes,” you said, voice wavering as you felt his warm breath on your neck.

“Then beg for it,” he smiled, cupping your jaw. “Say please Johnny, please fuck me.”

“Get fucked,” you sneered, shoving his arm away.

“Thought that’s what you wanted.”

“Not like that! I’m not begging you.”

“Oh yeah? You sure about that?” he asked, restoring his hand to your head and weaving his fingers roughly through your hair. “I think you will be.”

You were about to come out with another quip but it died before you could, suffocated as he planted his lips on yours and stole your breath.

He wasn’t like other guys you’d kissed, he wasn’t sloppy and his tongue didn’t flop around like a dying fish. He was sure of himself, he kissed you roughly, but not forcefully. A notion that maybe he knew what he was talking about before entered your mind, but only fleetingly as you found yourself fading out.

All it took was Johnny’s hands on your body and you were lost to static and floating clouds. One hand roamed your thighs while the other trailed up your neck ever so gently. It had you stretching to give him access and unknowingly you’d given him exactly what he wanted, because now he was refocused on your sensitive flesh, kissing your neck and sending it tingling like hot flames were licking up it.

“Mmm, poor little puppy. No wonder you’re wound so tight, you’re desperate for it,” he groaned.

“Mm?” you moaned, lost to bliss and confusion.

“There’s a wet patch soakin’ through your sweats,” he teased.

You froze, horrified that he’d come across it and tried to look for yourself, but you were stopped, stuck to the bed as his hard chest prevented you from getting up. Unstoppable force had finally met an immovable object, and now you were realising just how stoppable you actually were in the face of Johnny. Just how pliant you could be under his hands, the right hands.

“Don’t do anythin’ that I don’t tell you to do,” he ordered, whispering into your ear. “Just do what I say.”

You moaned pathetically, whining like the shivering dog he said you were, before you could fully stop yourself. He caught it - and your wide eyed expression.

“Except that,” he amended, laughing harshly. “You’ll do a lot of that.”

“And if I don’t listen to what you say?” you asked, voice shaking as you tried to reclaim some kind of authority over yourself (failing pathetically).

He yanked you up and had you sitting up facing him, manipulating your body the exact way he wanted; before he stared you in the eye and all but growled. His jaw tensed and untensed, and the heat of him burned into you like an explosion.

“What do you do with a dog that misbehaves?”

“You give it what it wants before it gets bored?” you tried.

“You grab it by the collar and set it right,” he growled, taking your neck in his big hand and forcing a commanding, but not choking, grip on it.

You whined, and before you could process it he was manhandling you again, this time throwing you face down on the bed and trapping you under his solid frame. His legs pinned you down and his arms were around your sides, locking you onto your hands and knees. Little whimpers were set loose into the room and soon Johnny had your sweats down to your feet and was yanking your top off of you, leaving you bare and shivering below him.

“Mm, you’re a pretty thing,” he growled appreciatively. “So soft too.”

He ran a hand down your back, doubling the frisson that lit your body like a bonfire and kissed all over your flesh while he rutted slowly against you. His hardening cock was knocking into your ass with deliberate harshness, and just the sensation of him through the material was enough to make you feel like you were going to implode. What you’d seen was only a fraction of what was rubbing against you then. You were sure of it now.

“Johnny,” you whimpered, humping the air and searching for more sensation.

“Yes, puppy?” he asked softly, planting another kiss on your back. “Want somethin’?”

“I- I,” your face burned with humiliation, you couldn’t believe you were giving into him.

“C’mon, just ask,” he said, growling your name - your actual name - into your ear like the devil himself. “Give into me.”

“Johnny, please fuck me,” you pleaded, shoulders sagging with defeat as you stared into the sheets with embarrassment. “Want you inside me. Please…”

“That all you got?” he asked simply, taking his hands from your body and shaking the bed as he fumbled with something behind you.

You groaned out and stayed in position for a second, trying to muster up the nerve, or break yourself down enough rather, so that you could find the right words. You licked your lips and finally, with a shaking breath, looked around your shoulder and met Johnny’s eyes, blinking your lashes like you were a professional.

“Want you to fuck me hard, Johnny. Want you to make me cum,” you said breathily, feeling your heart beating like a war drum. “Fuck me…Please.”

“Mmm, that’s my good puppy,” he purred, opening the bottle of lube in his hands with a click. “Gonna show you exactly what you get when you come to my door telling me I don’t know how to use my cock. Gonna ruin you for everyone else and have you screamin’ my name.”

You practically panted at that, wobbling on your hands and knees for a moment until he pushed your head down into the bed and kept it there, fastening his hand into your hair. The cold sensation of lube hit your flesh, dripping down your ass and sending your heart into overdrive.

This was it.

“Just lie there and take it…just like that…”

#soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish #soap x reader #john mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish #jonny soap mactavish x reader #mw2 #modern warfare 2 #modern warfare fanfiction

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owlespresso · 5 months ago

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dogged pursuit. mr dr sir veritas ratio. p4 of ? / part 1, part 2, part 3 summary: you've been appointed as the bodyguard of one doctor veritas ratio after a failed attempt on his life. he's easy to get along with, so long as you learn when to plug your ears and focus on his washboard abs. tags: mentioned violence but nothing huge

It was bound to happen at some point. You’d been hired because someone tried to put their hands on him, and it was assumed that they—or someone else silly enough to nurture a grudge against him, would try again. In hindsight, you should have seen it coming.

“Is there nothing in that head of yours!? You could have been killed!” his voice cracks across the living room. He’s pacing back and forth in front of the chair where you’re splayed out, limbs hanging off the arm like a bendy willow’s branches.

“Awh, Doc, were you worried about me?” you drawled. You’re not sure what he’s talking about. There might be a few, smarting bruises on your ribs from the scuffle, but you’d done your job.

There had been a yacht excursion earlier today—one he’d practically been forced to attend because someone important to his project was there. You’re not sure of the specifics of what happened yourself. They were rabble rousers dressed in IPC uniforms who sneaked aboard. The identities of the perpetrators will be sorted out by the folks in charge and handed to you later. All you know is that they’d been trying to put their hands on him. And now, some of them don’t have hands at all.

If anything, you’ve been worried that your display of excessive violence frightened him. He’s been clammed up the whole walk back. The kind of quiet that typically preludes a massive scolding—but this time was different. He hadn’t even looked at you. The absence of that broiling glare worried you more than the glare itself ever has.

His mouth balls up, like he’s trying to keep the emotion off his face.

Though you often say you know he can take care of himself, that you know he’s a capable fighter himself—sometimes you really do forget. He moves fast, too fast for your weary eyes to track, and those big hands clap on either side of your face. He smushes your cheeks as he ducks into your space, leveling you with the meanest look you've ever seen.

“Of course I was worried! They were armed, you blithering idiot! With rudimentary weapons—but weapons nonetheless! What were you thinking, engaging them hand-to-hand!?” he seethes, and all you can do is stare at him, hapless and helpless as he continues. “When will you get it through your thick skull that I want you alive!?”

You sit up, resting your clenched hands on your thighs, spine ramrod straight as he chews you out. You’ve never had a wife, before, or a mother, but you imagine this is what it feels like to be scolded by either one. He stands above you, his arm crossed. There’s a visible tick to his brow, and a twitch to his eye that you haven’t seen since another IPC representative spilled a mojito all over his expensive silk shirt.

“You… care about me,” you repeated, blinking slowly at him.

He huffs, looking thoroughly put out. “Did you think I wished you dead? I don't know where you got the impression that I'm such a heartless monster—but I do... care. About all forms of life. I don't think it's a very far reach to say that no one should be stabbed to death and left to bleed out. Especially while surrounded by such insufferable company. Knowing them, they would only complain about how the blood has stained their suits—"

The gears in your head churn, slow as molasses. Memories filter through your hazy headspace, watery and floating, like motes of dust in the afternoon sun. Veritas always having a cup of coffee ready for you in the morning. Veritas herding you off the couch and into the second bedroom, barking at you to get a good night’s sleep. Veritas. Veritas. Veritas.

“Doc,” you say, voice trembling. He leans in. His expression softens, his brows wrinkling with concern. “I think we have to get married.”

It’s almost comical, how quick his face flattens. His hands collapse back to his side as he turns away, heading towards the staircase in long, brisk strides.

You cry out and fling yourself after him, fingers catching the tail ends of flowing, pearlescent robes. Pride be damned, you’re not letting him go after that admission—getting him to talk about his feelings is like prying teeth, unless it has anything to do with his mission statement. Something has shifted between the two of you, your dynamic changes irrevocably by his impassioned declaration. You want to see him make that face again—the one on the boat, when he’d watched you get hit in the gut. His eyes had gone real wide, face almost blank with surprise.

You want to see him make all sorts of faces. The days where all he shows you is that same, stony countenance far gone.

“Wait, wait! I’ll be more careful, I promise!” you wail, clinging onto the ends of his robe.

“You—!” he fumes, pulling at the fabric. He shuffles around, his brows furrowed and lips pulled into a thin, straight line. He looks at you like that, real stern, for a few more seconds before the wind seems to wane from his sails. His shoulders slump. “Instead of a knife, it could have been a gun, or any projectile weapon that could have incapacitated you before you even reached them.” He says, combing his fingers through his hair. It’s already tousled from the wind out on the seas. He does this whenever he’s nervous, you realize, and wonder just how much there is of him to explore. “Get up. And get changed. There’s blood all over your sleeves. The leather’s already ruined.” He grouses.

He bends over and his robes shift with the motion, providing you a glance at his other nipple, firm and rosy. Your mouth waters. Your brain feels like it’s about to melt out of your skull.

His hand wraps around your wrist, long fingers clutching you tight as he draws you to your feet. It’s almost completely unaided. Effortless. A look of the power packed within those flexing muscles.

“Now go,” your awe-inspired reverie is cut short as he releases you. He snatches his hands back from your person and gives them a cursory look over. “This is a rental. I don’t want you staining the upholstery.”

“Psh. You just wanna see me out of this jacket, don’t ya?” you sneer, poking his calf with the tip of your boot. You oblige him anyways. The black leather crumples to the pale wooden floor in a heap. Your boots, at his insistence, are placed next to the door, right up against the wall. “That good enough? It’s pretty hot today. I could stand to lose a few more layers.” It’s not your intention to be this incorrigible. Old habits are hard to kick, especially when he always gives you such animated reactions.

He lifts his head, probably just to look down his nose at you. “Do as you please,” he says. He pauses, hesitating, before letting loose another great sigh. “But you have to sit down and rest. You may not be hurting now, but the adrenaline won’t last forever. So wash off and make yourself comfortable now, while you still can, before the pain sets in—”

He continues to rattle on. You half-listen, more than happy to bask in his attention while you watch his lips move.

#dr ratio x reader #dr ratio/reader #oz write #series dogged pursuit

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collegecraze · 7 months ago

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Hi everyone, I’m really excited to share the good news: Chapter 7 is out now!

We’re nearing the resolution of the story with discoveries and fun developments to keep you on your toes! The new chapter brings 114,534 words, 86 new CGs, 7hr+ of playtime for each route, and, depending on your choices, new characters to interact and have fun with.

Your MC will get closer to people on and off campus, which will help you find your way through the intricate and sometimes dangerous social web Sugardale plunged you into. Regardless, midterms are coming and you have to hit those books!! You’ll go on dates and some of the aloof folk you’ve gotten to know will have you giggling and kicking up your feet when they finally open up to you (and you to them 😉– who said that?). You’ll also be able to find out more about the rumored Sugarman, so get ready for all the possibilities this new chapter has in store!

As always, my suggestion is to check out the gallery to know what scenes you’re missing and try to make different decisions each time. You have nearly infinite save slots to help you along, so you’re able to get information from as many different people as possible.

Remember that streamer mode censors visuals and dialogues but it does not filter out audio. So when you hear Stalker-chan’s or Dean’s voice, mute it if you don't want to hear spicy things!

That being said, here are the following dates for the release of Chapter 7 for my patrons:

MAY Dropouts & Alumni - Receive Chapter 7 on May 7th at 12 PM EST

MAY Seniors & Juniors - Receive Chapter 7 on May 14th at 12 PM EST

Sophomores will not be receiving this update. If you would like access to the latest chapters, please consider upgrading to Junior!*

Sophomores who pre-paid annually before April 19, 2023 will receive Chapter 7 via email May 21st at 12PM EST. If you pre-paid anytime after that date, you will not be eligible to receive Chapter 7.

Please note: You will only receive the newest chapter if you are at Junior or higher in the month of May. So changing tiers during April will only grant you merch for April, and you will be charged again on May 1st.

If you’re a Dropout or an Alumni on Patreon, go ahead and download it here!

We’ve got a few bloggers and streamers who’ll be sharing College Craze on their platforms next month, so be sure to show them some love by popping into their streams and/or liking their blog posts. You’ll be hearing about them on the CC socials!

Thank you all for your wonderful support, you bring this project to life! 💝

#college craze #visual novel #indie otome #interactive fiction #dating sim #life sim #pretty ink games #otome game

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winxanity-ii · 6 months ago

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⌜Know No Evil | Chapter 24 Chapter 24 | sweet sixteen⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽

❘ prev. chapter ❘༻✦༺❘ next chapter ❘

The stadium buzzed with energy as the afternoon sun cast long shadows over the arena. The echoes of laughter and cheers filled the air as the recreational activities drew to a close, leaving the audience in high spirits.

The side games had been a whirlwind of fun and competition, with students from all courses showcasing their unique talents and quirks in a variety of mini-events.

Present Mic's voice crackled through the speakers, his enthusiasm infectious. "[Yo, yo, yo! Ladies and gentlemen, let's give it up for our incredible students who rocked the side games! We saw some wild moves, crazy quirks, and epic fun! But now, it's time to shift gears and turn up the heat! Are you ready for the main event?!]"

The crowd erupted into cheers, their excitement palpable as they eagerly awaited the next phase of the festival.

"[Alright, heroes and future pros, feast your eyes on the scoreboard! Here are the lucky contestants moving on to the One-on-One Fighting Tournament! Drum roll, please!]"

With a dramatic flourish, the large video screen above the stadium flickered to life, displaying the names and faces of the fourteen students who had qualified for the tournament. The names were listed in order of their team rankings from the Cavalry Battle.

_Scoreboard_

1st Place ~ Team Todoroki: 1.Todoroki Shoto 2.Kaminari Denki 3.Yaoyorozu Momo 4.Iida Tenya

2nd Place ~ Team Bakugo: 5.Bakugo Katsuki 6.Ashido Mina 7.Sero Hanta 8.Kirishima Eijiro

3rd Place ~ Team Shinso: 9.Shinso Hitoshi 10.Akuma ____

4th Place ~ Team Midoriya: 11.Midoriya Izuku 12.Tokoyami Fumikage 13.Uraraka Ochaco 14.Hatsume Mei

Present Mic leaned forward, peering dramatically at the screen before spinning around to face the audience, slamming both hands down on the announcer's desk, causing a loud thud that echoed through the stadium. "[Wait a minute, folks! I'm counting fourteen contestants! That's...hold on...14!? That's not quite enough for a full bracket! Does this mean we'll have to pit the two strongest fighters against each other for double the action? Double the elimination?! What ever shall we do??]" The man gasped into the mic before turning his attention to his colleague. "[Hey Midnight! Is there any way we can we add more fire to this showdown?? Maybe get more contenders in here? I want this tournament to last longer, and I know you all do too!]"

The camera panned to Midnight, who stood near the center of the field. With a sly smile, she cracked her whip, the sharp crack reverberating through the arena. "I see no reason why we shouldn't spice things up a bit. Let's allow the next two highest-scoring students to join the fray and make this a sweet sixteen!"

The screen updated, adding two new names to the list of contestants:

15.Shiozaki Ibara 16.Tetsutetsu Tetsutetsu

You exhaled deeply as you left the restroom, relieved to finally be out of the cheerleading outfit and back into the Sports' Festival unfirm. As you walked back towards the stadium, the muffled cheers and Present Mic's amplified voice filtered through the walls, growing louder with each step.

"[And there you have it, folks! Welcome Ibara Shiozaki and Tetsutetsu Tetsutetsu to the tournament! Now that's what I call a proper lineup! Are you ready to see these heroes-in-training throw down? This is gonna be EPIC! Grab your popcorn, your soda, and get comfy, because we're about to witness some serious action!]"

You paused at the entrance to the seating area, glancing up at the large screen that displayed the newly updated tournament bracket. The addition of Shiozaki and Tetsutetsu brought the total number of contestants to sixteen, ensuring a full and balanced competition.

Just as you were about to head to your class's designated section, a familiar voice called out to you.

"Hey, Akuma-san!" You turned to see Kirishima jogging towards you, his face lighting up with excitement as he caught up. "Did you hear? Midoriya's up next!" he exclaimed, his eyes wide with anticipation.

You forced a polite smile, concealing your growing annoyance. Biting back the urge to snap. Instead, you nodded, your tone measured. "Oh? Well, can't miss that, can we? If you'll excuse—" Before you could finish excusing yourself to your class's section, Ashido's high-pitched squeal reached your ears. "Akuma-san, over here!" She bounded over, her eyes sparkling with excitement, followed closely by Sero and Kaminari.

Mina, grabbing your hand, "C'mon, you can sit with us to watch! It'll be so much fun!" She began pulling you towards their section before you could utter a word of protest.

Sero chimed in, a playful grin on his face: "Yeah, Akuma-san, it'll be way more interesting with you there."

"Besides, who wouldn't want to watch a match with such a captivating view?" Kaminari adds with a wink, causing Ashido to roll her eyes.

Despite your mild annoyance, you allowed yourself to be guided to the stands, settling into a seat between Ashido and Ojiro. You glanced around, noting the large screen displayed the details of the upcoming fight.

Midoriya and Shinso stood at opposite ends of the arena, their expressions a mix of determination and focus. The crowd's murmurs hushed as the anticipation built, all eyes on the two contestants.

"[Welcome to the first match of the finals tournament! It's Midoriya Izuku from the hero course versus Shinso Hitoshi from general studies! The rules are simple: immobilize your opponent or force them outta the ring! You can also win by getting the other person to cry uncle. Let's get ready to rumble!]"

The crowd erupted in cheers as Midnight raised her whip, signaling the start of the match.

"[Ready? Begin!]"

You watched intently as Midoriya and Shinso faced each other. Then, Midoriya's body suddenly went rigid, his eyes widening in shock as he froze in place.

Ojiro, beside you, leaned in, whispering urgently, "I warned him not to say anything!"

"[The fight has just begun and Midoriya Izuku is... completely frozen? He's not moving a muscle! What's with that look on his face? Could this be a Quirk at work? Shinso seems to have Midoriya completely stunned! He didn't stand out in the first rounds at all, but it's possible Hitoshi's crazy powerful! Who could've imagined this turn of events? That's the Festival for ya! Ha-ha!]"

You narrowed your eyes, focusing on Shinso's calm, almost smug expression as he began to circle the frozen Midoriya, a smirk playing on his lips, "You're lucky to have been so blessed, Midoriya Izuku. Now turn around and walk out of bounds like the good little hero you are."

Midoriya's body obeyed, his movements robotic as he began to walk towards the edge of the ring. The crowd gasped, and you could feel the tension in the air as everyone watched in disbelief.

"[Uh—What?! Ah! Midoriya's obeying him! And there you have it! Shinso Hitoshi! His Quirk: Brainwashing! When an opponent answers his question, it flips a switch in their minds, forcing them to do whatever he says. Not every question does it, though. He only brainwashes when he wants to. Not very flashy...]"

Aizawa's calm, analytical voice cut through Present Mic's excitement. "[This is a perfect example of why the entrance exam isn't rational.]"

"[Huh? Why's that, Eraser?]"

"[Since we're on to the individual matches, I had some information compiled about our final competitors. Shinso failed the practical exam to get into the hero course. Since he also applied for general studies, he probably figured that would happen. His Quirk is incredibly strong, but that entrance test consisted of fighting faux villains. Robots. It gave a huge advantage to those who had physical superpowers they could show off.]" Aizawa continued, his tone measured: "[Despite his abilities, Shinso never stood a chance at passing.]"

You watched as Midoriya's feet edged closer to the boundary, his eyes wide with panic. His internal struggle was evident, and you could almost see the gears turning in his mind as he tried to resist.

.☆. .✩. .☆.

Midoriya's mind was a whirlwind of confusion and frustration as he struggled against the invisible chains binding his will.

What's happening? My body's moving on its own. I feel like my brain is full of fog. I can't concentrate. No! Not like this. Gotta stop! Dammit!

Desperation clawed at him, and he fought to recall Ojiro's warning about Shinsou's Quirk. The memory was hazy, slipping through his grasp like sand, but the urgency of the situation sharpened his focus.

I fell for it, even after Ojiro warned me about his power. I'm an idiot. This is all my fault!

🇫‌🇱‌🇦‌🇸‌🇭‌🇧‌🇦‌🇨‌🇰‌:

In the bustling halls of the Sports Festival's recreational area, Ojiro leaned closer to Midoriya, his expression serious as he recounted his experience with Shinso. "His Quirk is that he can control other people. It's powerful, but he can't use it unless you answer his questions. He didn't get into my head until I responded to something he said."

Midoriya's eyes wide with concern. "So I have to be careful not to say anything, or I'll lose for sure."

Ojiro nodded, a thoughtful look crossing his face. "Well, not exactly. Even if he gets you, there's still a chance. At the beginning of the cavalry battle, after he approached me, I don't remember anything until I bumped into another person. It was like I woke up, and suddenly I could think clearly."

"So that bump broke his hold?"

"Maybe. It's only a guess, but it's something to keep in mind."

Midoriya's eyes darted around, searching for anything that could jolt his body back under his own control. His feet continued their march towards the edge, each step bringing him closer to disqualification.

Even in the faced of disqualification, Midoriya couldn't help but analyze his situation: Still... I don't know how much of a shock it would take to break his spell. And in a one-on-one match, I can't count on an outside force intervening to help me.

The only part of his body under his control were his eyes, and he scanned the crowd, his gaze lingering on familiar faces. Each person he saw, each pair of worried eyes, felt like a weight pressing down on him. He was letting them down. He was letting everyone down.

I can't stop it. I'm going to lose. It's all over. Even though... so many people are counting on me... Everyone is watching... Everyone!

As despair gripped his heart, his eyes finally landed on you. Your gaze met his, and for a brief, electric moment, everything else faded away. Your lips moved, forming a single, commanding word: "Move."

A jolt of clarity shot through him, igniting a spark of defiance in his chest. His heart pounded in his ears, and the fog clouding his mind seemed to lift, replaced by the fierce determination in your eyes.

What... is... that? Wait.

Shinso paced behind Midoriya, his voice dripping with mockery. He watched Midoriya's struggle with a cold satisfaction, convinced of his impending victory. "Even with a Quirk like this, I have my own dreams of becoming a great hero. So, lose for me."

The edge of the platform loomed closer, the boundary line a stark reminder of his precarious situation. Just as his foot hovered above the line, Midoriya's eyes widened in sudden clarity. In a desperate act of defiance, he summoned all his strength and snapped his own fingers, the sharp crack resonating through the arena.

Present Mic's voice rose in excitement at the spectacle. "[What's this? Midoriya stopped just in time!]"

The crowd erupted into cheers, their relief and exhilaration echoing through the stadium.

Aizawa, his eyes narrowing with interest, saying. "[His finger. He broke one in order to stop Shinso.]"

Pain seared through Midoriya's hand, but his mind was clear, his resolve unwavering. He flexed his finger, the agony grounding him in reality.

Shinso's smug expression dissolved into shock and disbelief. His eyes widened as he took a step back, the confidence in his stance faltering. "No. Impossible. You're not supposed to be able to fight back! What did you do?"

Midoriya's gaze locked onto Shinso, his eyes blazing with determination. Though instead of answering vocally, all he did was raise a brow.

Internally, Midoriya didn't have an answer for the purplenette—noy yet anyways. All he knows is that something extraordinary just happened. I'm certain I'm the one who used One For All. But I'm not the one who moved my fingers just now. It was like someone I didn't know came into my mind. And for a second, it was clear. Could it be—Later. I don't have time to figure things out right now. I have to focus.

Panic flickered in Shinso's eyes as he glanced towards the crowd. His gaze landed on you, and he saw the bored, almost dismissive expression on your face. A flicker of panic crossed his features, desperation clawing at him. He won't answer. Did he figure it out? No. He's known. That damn dog-monkey must have told him. I have to get him to talk again.

Desperation tinged his voice as he tried to provoke a response from Midoriya. "Come on, say something. I didn't know you had so much power in your fingers. I'm kind of jealous of you."

Midoriya's resolve hardened, his thoughts a whirlwind of determination and empathy. I know what that jealousy feels like. I've been there.

Shinso scoffs at the lack of an answer, his voice bitter. "Thanks to the way my Quirk works, I've always been at a big disadvantage. But someone as blessed as you wouldn't understand that."

I get it. Even though he's right. I have been blessed.

Shinso's frustration mounted, his voice laced with bitterness and desperation. "You're lucky enough to have a heroic Quirk! It'll be so easy for you to reach your goal!"

Midoriya's eyes softened momentarily, a flicker of understanding passing over his face. I've been blessed by others. That's why I'm here!

Shinso's voice rose to a shout, his desperation evident. "Say something, dammit!"

Midoriya's resolve crystallized, eyes blazing with determination. Still...I can't lose this. I'll do it for her...for them!

Shinsou's frustration boiled over, his voice cracking with anger. "You've gotta be kidding me! Get out of this ring, you lucky brat!"

With a fierce cry, Midoriya surged forward, his fist connecting with Shinso's chest in a powerful punch. The impact sent Shinso sprawling out of bounds, his body hitting the ground with a thud.

Midnight's voice rings out over the cheers of the crowd. "Shinso is out of bounds! Midoriya advances to the next match!"

"[And with that expertly performed throw, we have our first victor of the finals! Class -A's Izuku Midoriya!]"

The stadium erupted in cheers, the roar of the crowd a thunderous wave of excitement. Midoriya stood at the center of the ring, his chest heaving with exertion, but his eyes were bright with triumph. He glanced around, taking in the overwhelming support from the audience, a mix of relief and exhilaration washing over him.

He looked up at the stands, his gaze meeting yours for a brief moment. You gave a small, approving nod, acknowledging his victory before quickly scurrying to sit with your classmates before Ashido and the others noticed.

"[He focused his power like he did in the fitness test and used the throw from combat training. It's not just that he's learning from his experiences: he's using every trick he's picked up to improve his odds.]" Aizawa noted with a professional flare.

Present Mic nodded enthusiastically, his grin wide as he continued his commentary. "[Oh, yeah! That was actually kind of a boring first match, kids. But both of you fought bravely. Let's show them some love, everyone!]"

The applause swelled, a sea of clapping hands and cheering voices celebrating the efforts of both competitors. Midoriya's gaze flickered towards Shinso, who was still on the ground, a mix of defeat and frustration etched across his features. Shinso slowly got to his feet, his eyes downcast, but he squared his shoulders, accepting his defeat with a grim determination.

As Midoriya walked back towards the waiting area, the crowd's cheers continued to resonate, the excitement of the tournament reaching new heights. The first battle had set the tone for the intense and unpredictable matches to come, and you couldn't help but feel a thrill of anticipation for what lay ahead.

☆

Seated amongst your classmates—with you strategically seated between Kendo and Monoma—because, according to the blonde, it's to ensure safety from the "fake 1-A heroes from stealing you away," you watched as the seats around you buzzed with energy, your classmates' excitement palpable as they eagerly awaited the next match.

Suddenly, Present Mic's voice boomed across the stadium, drawing everyone's attention back to the arena. "[Enough standing around. Now welcome to the ring, our next players!]"

The spotlight swung to the center of the arena, illuminating Shoto Todoroki and Hanta Sero as they stepped onto the platform. The contrast between their expressions was stark—Sero's nervous determination clashed with Todoroki's cool, impassive demeanor.

"[He's got skills! But at the expense of some really creepy-looking elbows. From the Hero Course, it's Sero Hanta!]"

"That was uncalled for," Sero muttered under his breath, shaking his head with a wry grin.

"[Versus an early frontrunner in the competition who's way too strong for his own good! Someone who rightfully got into the Hero Course based on recommendations! It's Todoroki Shoto!]"

The crowd's cheers swelled as Todoroki's name was announced, a mixture of awe and anticipation rippling through the spectators. You leaned forward slightly, your eyes narrowing as you focused on the two competitors.

"[And now, for the second match of the finals. Ready?]"

Sero scratched the back of his neck, staring back at Todoroki's blank face. "Well, I don't really feel—"

Present Mic cut the teen off, shouting, "[Begin!]"

"—like I can win this fight. But, man—" Sero didn't waste a second, launching into his attack with a swift, decisive movement. His tape shot out, wrapping around Todoroki with a practiced precision, his face set in a determined grimace. "—I don't feel like losing, either!"

"[That attack could throw his opponent out of bounds! A brilliant, surprise opening from the underdog! Way to start off strong, Sero!]" Present Mic announces.

The tape wrapped tightly around Todoroki, and tried Sero pulling with all his might. For a moment, it seemed like his strategy might succeed, but with a sudden, precise movement, Todoroki used his feet to freeze the ground beneath him.

The ice spread rapidly, creating a shockwave that sent a burst of cold air rippling through the arena. Sero's eyes widened as he struggled to maintain his grip, the ice forming faster than he could react.

"Is that... an earthquake? What the heck is goin' on?" Monoma muttered beside you with wide eyes.

The ice attack created a massive wave, quickly encompassing Sero. The cold bit into his skin, freezing him in place as the ice continued to spread, leaving half the entire festival arena encased in a shimmering, frozen expanse.

"Holy crap." Sero's voice was muffled by the ice, a mixture of frustration and resignation evident as he managed a weak response. "Um... Don't you think you went overboard?"

Midnight, standing on the edge of the frozen section, raised her whip to get the crowd's attention. "Tell the truth, Sero. Can you move at all?"

"Are you kidding? Obviously not. My body is freezing!"

The crowd gasped, the magnitude of Todoroki's ice attack sinking in. The spectacle left the audience in awe, their cheers mingling with murmurs of astonishment.

Midnight swung her whip in the air with a resounding whack. "It's official. Sero has been immobilized! Todoroki advances to the second round!"

The announcement echoed through the stadium, the cheers intensifying as the reality of Todoroki's power set in. The audience erupted into applause, a chorus of "Nice try!" reverberating through the stands.

Todoroki turned to walk away, but not before throwing Sero a quick apology over his shoulder. "Sorry about that. It was a bit much. I was angry, is all."

You watched Todoroki as he left the arena, his expression unchanged despite the overwhelming display of power. The intensity of his attack and the ease with which he had executed it left a lasting impression, a clear testament to his capabilities.

Sometime after Todoroki's icy aftermath melted away, Present Mic's booming voice echoed across the stadium, rallying the crowd for the next battle. "[And now, let's welcome our next competitors! This match promises to be a real shocker!]"

The spotlight shifted, illuminating the next contenders as they stepped onto the stage. On one side was Kaminari Denki, a confident grin plastered across his face. Opposite him stood Shiozaki Ibara, her calm demeanor contrasting with the electricity crackling in the air around Kaminari.

"[Ready for a jolt? From the Hero Course, it's Kaminari Denki! And his opponent, bringing the power of nature itself, it's Shiozaki Ibara from Class 1-B!]"

Kaminari shot a cocky smile at Shiozaki, his confidence almost palpable. "Hey, Shiozaki! How about we grab a bite to eat after this match? You know, to comfort you after your inevitable loss." He chuckled, his eyes sparking with mischief. "This match is gonna be over in seconds."

Shiozaki's eyes narrowed slightly, her expression serene but resolute. She turned away from Kaminari, her hair coiling around her like a protective shield.

"[Oooh~, someone's got confidence! Let's see if Kaminari's got what it takes!]"

The starting signal blared, and Kaminari wasted no time, electricity surging through him as he prepared to unleash his attack. "Indiscriminate Shock: 1.3 Million Volts!"

Electricity crackled and surged from Kaminari, the air around him shimmering with the raw power of his Quirk. The crowd gasped, the sheer magnitude of his attack electrifying the atmosphere. The bolts of lightning arced towards Ibara, threatening to engulf her.

However, Shiozaki remained unfazed. With a fluid, almost graceful movement, she commanded her vine-like hair to form a protective barrier around her. "Shield!" The vines wove together, creating a thick shield that absorbed the brunt of Kaminari's attack.

The electricity sizzled and sparked against the vines, but Shiozaki's shield held strong. Kaminari's confident grin faltered as he watched his attack dissipate harmlessly.

"[Whoa! Shiozaki's not going down without a fight! Look at that defense!]"

As the last of Kaminari's electricity fizzled out, he stumbled, his usual cocky expression replaced by a vacant, dopey grin. His attack had backfired, leaving him in his infamous 'dumb state.' "Heh, I think I overdid it..."

Shiozaki seized the opportunity, her vines snapping forward with swift precision. They coiled around Kaminari, lifting him off the ground and suspending him in mid-air. His arms and legs were bound, rendering him completely immobile.

Shiozakis voice was calm, almost gentle as she addressed her opponent. "May the Lord forgive your sins, Kaminari-san."

With a flick of her wrist, the vines tightened, securing Kaminari in place. He dangled helplessly, a bewildered smile plastered on his face as he struggled against the restraints.

"[And there you have it! Shiozaki's defense and counterattack have Kaminari wrapped up—literally!]"

Midnight, still chilled from the lingering effects of Todoroki's earlier attack, stepped forward, her whip cracking sharply in the air. "Kaminari Denki is immobilized! Shiozaki Ibara wins!"

The crowd erupted in applause, cheers mingling with laughter at the unexpected outcome. In the stands, Tetsutetsu leaped to his feet, pumping his fists in the air. "Yeah! That's how you do it, Shiozaki! Show them what Class 1-B is made of!"

Monoma, not missing a beat, leaned over the railing, his voice dripping with mockery as he taunted the Hero Course students. "See that, 1-A? That's how a real hero fights! Too bad your electric wonder boy couldn't keep up!"

You glanced at Kendo out of the corner of your eye. Seeing this, your Vice-President's hand shot out and delivered a swift chop to the back of his neck.

Monoma yelped, holding the sore spot. "Hey, what was—"

"Enough, Monoma. Let's show some class," Kendo hissed with narrowed eyes before falling silent.

Monoma grumbled, rubbing his neck, but reluctantly fell silent. You couldn't help but smirk at the exchange, finding it amusing no matter how often it occurs.

The excitement in the stadium didn't wane as the next match was announced. "[Alright, folks, let's keep this momentum going! Up next, we've got a match that's sure to be full of surprises!]"

The spotlight shifted once more, illuminating Iida Tenya and Hatsume Mei as they took their positions on the stage. Iida stood tall, his posture rigid with determination, while Hatsume's eyes sparkled with barely contained excitement.

"[From the Hero Course, it's the speedster himself, Iida Tenya! And his opponent, ready to dazzle us with her gadgets, from the Support Course, it's Hatsume Mei!]"

The signal to start blared, and Iida immediately launched into action, his engines roaring to life as he sprinted towards Hatsume with impressive speed. "Prepare yourself, Hatsume-san! I will not hold back!"

Hatsume, however, seemed completely unfazed by Iida's aggressive approach. She activated her microphone, her voice cheerful and informative as she addressed the crowd. "Hello, everyone! Check this out—these leg braces I designed for Iida-kun here improve his mobility by 25%! Watch how he moves!"

Iida, taken aback by her casual demeanor, stumbled slightly but quickly regained his composure. He pressed forward, determined to close the distance between them. "What are you—?"

Before he could finish, Hatsume's backpack whirred to life, hydraulic attachments propelling her out of his reach with a smooth, mechanical efficiency.

"[Whoa! Did you see that, Eraser!? Hatsume's got some tricks up her sleeves!]"

As Iida attempted to adapt, Hatsume's voice continued, her excitement infectious as she demonstrated her gadgets. "And that's not all! These hydraulic attachments allow me to maneuver with ease! Oh, and let's not forget the Auto Balancers—watch how they keep Iida-kun from falling!"

Iida tried to use her distraction to his advantage, but Hatsume's backpack sensors detected his approach, activating the hydraulic attachments once more to evade him. He stumbled over the devices, but the Auto Balancers kicked in, preventing him from falling and redirecting him back towards her.

"[Looks like Hatsume's turned this match into a full-on gadget showcase!]"

"[This isn't a commercial, Hatsume-san,]" Aizawa grumbled, a complete 180 from his co-host's attitude.

Frustration etched across Iida's face as he charged again, demanding a fair fight. "Hatsume-san! Stop using your gadgets as distractions and fight me properly!"

Hatsume, her enthusiasm undeterred, evaded him once more, using her Electromagnetic Soles to glide smoothly across the stage. "But I am fighting! I'm showcasing my inventions! Look at these Electromagnetic Soles—they allow me to evade with precision!"

Iida's patience was wearing thin as he made another attempt to close the gap, but Hatsume was ready. She pulled out a Capture Gun, firing a net that ensnared Iida, immobilizing him.

"[Iida's caught in a net! What a turn of events!]"

Hatsume turned her attention to the support companies in the crowd, introducing herself with a confident smile. "I'm Hatsume Mei, and I hope you're impressed with my babies! There's more where these came from!"

For the next ten minutes, Hatsume continued to demonstrate her gadgets, much to the chagrin of Iida, who struggled futilely against the net. The crowd, initially baffled, soon found themselves entertained by her relentless enthusiasm.

Eventually, Hatsume walked out of the ring, her objective clearly met.

Midnight's whip cracked in the air, bringing the match to a close. "Hatsume Mei has stepped out of bounds! Iida Tenya is the winner!"

The audience's applause was a mix of confusion and amusement. Iida, despite his victory, looked thoroughly exasperated. "Hatsume-san! You used me as a prop!"

"I'm sorry, Iida-kun! But it worked, didn't it?" Hatsume giggled with a shrug of her shoulders.

Iida's expression darkened, his eyes narrowing in frustration. "I hate you."

Hatsume's apology, while technically present, lacked any real remorse, her attention already shifting to her next invention. "Oh~ I can totally create an 'I-hate-you-inator'! It'll track and detect levels of dislike/hatred surrounding the chosen subject..." As you watched Hatsume leave the ring, her nonchalant acceptance of her own defeat and eagerness to advertise her gadgets leaving the crowd in a mix of awe and confusion, you knew your turn was coming up.

You brushed off your uniform as you stood, smoothing out any wrinkles as you prepared yourself mentally.

Your classmates were abuzz with excitement, their voices blending into a harmonious cheer of encouragement.

"Akuma-san, knock 'em dead!"

"Yeah! You got this!"

"Show them 1-B's no second choice!"

Kendo's eyes sparkled with pride, and she gave you a thumbs-up. Tsuburaba and Shiozaki exchanged nods of support. Monoma, always the dramatic one, quickly grasped one of your hands just before you walked away.

"You got this, President!" he said, his voice filled with earnest admiration and a touch of nervous energy. His grip was firm but comforting, a tangible reminder of your classmates' support.

You hummed softly, your lips twitching in disgust at his bold actions. "Thank you, Monoma-kun," you replied, bowing your head in acknowledgment.

The walk to the arena felt like stepping into a different world. The stadium lights bore down on you, their brightness creating stark contrasts and sharp shadows on the ground. The camera flashes were relentless, capturing every moment, every expression, adding to the almost surreal atmosphere. The roar of the crowd was a constant backdrop, a symphony of cheers and excitement that filled the air with palpable energy.

Stepping into the battle ring, you felt the coolness of the arena floor beneath your feet. The space seemed to expand around you, the vastness of the stadium a stark reminder of the scale of the event.

You took a deep breath, grounding yourself amidst the sensory overload. The anticipation was electric, charging the air with a tangible tension as the crowd awaited the start of the match.

Across from you, Ashido bounced on her feet, her eyes alight with excitement. Her pink skin glistened under the stadium lights, and her smile was infectious. She seemed more like a cheerleader than a combatant, her enthusiasm almost childlike in its intensity.

"I can't wait to see your fighting style, Akuma-san!" she exclaimed, her voice bubbling with eagerness. "Is it like hand-to-hand combat? Or do you have some cool surprise moves up your sleeve? I'm so excited! I trained with my classmates during the Battle Trial, so I know some of their weaknesses, but I have no idea what to expect from you!"

Her questions came in a rapid stream, each one layered with genuine curiosity and a dash of anticipation. You could see the light in her eyes, a sparkle that made her excitement almost contagious.

Present Mic's voice boomed overhead, adding a humorous commentary to the situation. "[Wow, she's not taking this seriously at all!]"

"[Ashido admittedly does have a major issue with her attention span,]" Aizawa sighed.

The contrast between her playful energy and the serious tone of the match was almost comical.

Without a word, you began to walk towards her, your steps measured and deliberate. Ashido's eyes widened as she watched you approach, her questions spilling out even faster. "Oh my gods, what are you going to do? Is this some secret technique? Are you going to—"

You reached out, gently but firmly placing your hands on her shoulders. Her eyes sparkled with curiosity and a hint of surprise.

With a steady, unyielding push, you guided her backwards. Each step you took brought her closer to the edge of the ring, her surprise morphing into confusion and then realization.

Quickly, Ashido managed to drop and roll away from your push, her reflexes sharp despite the playful demeanor she had displayed moments before. Springing to her feet, she grinned, her hands planted firmly on her hips. "Whoops! Almost let you get me!"

Her eyes gleamed with a newfound intensity, the playful spark replaced by a keen focus. It was as if a switch had been flipped, and Ashido's entire demeanor shifted from bubbly excitement to concentrated determination.

With a swift, fluid motion, she squatted down and secreted acid from her feet. The corrosive substance sizzled as it hit the ground, and she used it to propel herself forward, sliding across the stage with surprising speed. Her movement was almost serpentine, a blend of agility and precision that cut through the air with grace.

For a moment, you considered dodging her attack, calculating the trajectory and speed at which she was approaching. But then, in a split-second decision, you chose not to evade. You let her come closer, her approach like a tidal wave of energy and intent.

As Ashido reached you, you executed a half-hearted roundhouse kick, your movements precise yet deliberately leaving yourself open. To anyone else, it would have looked like a full attempt to strike, but you knew better. It was a calculated risk, a feint meant to draw her in.

Mina, her instincts sharp, ducked just in time, her eyes widening as she saw the opening. She lunged forward, aiming a strong uppercut at your side. Her fist brushed past your face, the force of the strike just grazing your skin.

You turned with the motion, making her miss entirely, and quickly grasped both of her arms in a firm hold. The action was fluid, almost too smooth, and before she could react, you had effectively locked her in place. Your grip was steady but not overly harsh, a testament to your control over the situation.

Mina blinked, her concentration breaking for a brief moment. Her eyes sparkled with genuine admiration as she squealed, "No way, that was so cool! How did you dodge that!? I spent weeks perfecting this move..." Her words tumbled out in a rapid stream, her excitement and curiosity spilling over. She seemed almost oblivious to her current predicament, more fascinated by the mechanics of the fight than by the fact that she was restrained.

You sighed inwardly, recognizing that this conversation would likely continue unless you intervened. You glanced over her shoulder, assessing your position in the ring. To your advantage, you noticed that you were right on the edge of the platform. The realization sparked a quick plan in your mind.

Taking advantage of her distraction, you pushed her gently but firmly over the edge. Ashido, still caught up in her enthusiastic rambling, barely registered the movement until it was too late. She stumbled backward, her eyes widening in surprise as she tumbled off the platform.

Midnight's whip cracked through the air, the sound sharp and commanding. "Ashido Mina is out of bounds! Akuma ____ is the winner!"

The crowd erupted in a mixture of laughter and applause, the unexpected simplicity of your victory catching them off guard once again. Present Mic's voice echoed overhead, his tone a blend of amusement and commentary. "[And with Ashido going down embarrassingly easy, that's one win for Akuma!]"

You stood at the edge of the ring, watching as Ashido picked herself up, a sheepish grin spreading across her face. Her enthusiasm was undiminished, and she waved cheerfully at you. "Good job, Akuma-san! That was really clever!"

You nodded politely, acknowledging her words with a small smile. The lights of the arena glinted off the metal rails, and the cheers of the crowd formed a backdrop of noise and excitement. The thrill of the fight, coupled with the simplicity of your victory, left a sense of satisfaction bubbling within you.

As you walked back towards the waiting area, you could feel the energy of the stadium humming around you, a tangible reminder of the intensity and spectacle of the U.A. Sports Festival.

Instead of heading directly to the stands, you decided to make a detour. A thought had been simmering in the back of your mind, urging you to check in on someone else preparing for his battle.

Turning down a quieter corridor, you made your way towards Bakugo's waiting room. The muffled sounds of the ongoing fight between Tokoyami and Yaoyorozu filtered through the walls, a reminder of the relentless pace of the tournament.

You reached the door, noticing a small TV mounted on the wall inside, showcasing the current fight. Without hesitation, you pushed it open slightly, causing the door to creak. Bakugo's head snapped up, a snarl already forming on his lips. "I said I didn't want anyone bothering me—" His sentence abruptly cut off as he saw it was you standing there.

A brow arched, you let a smile tug at your lips. "Oh? Should I return later?"

For a moment, Bakugo's expression softened, and he quickly stood, a mix of surprise and something else flickering across his features. "Y/N," he said softly, your name a contrast to his usual gruff tone.

You stepped inside, letting the door close behind you. "I was just stopping by to see how you were faring so far," you said, your gaze steady on his.

Bakugo's jaw tightened, and he was silent for a moment, his eyes narrowing as if he were gathering his thoughts. "I'm gonna win," he finally said, his voice low but resolute. "But I want you to advance to the final round."

You blinked, tilting your head slightly. "And why would I do that?"

"Because I wanna fight you," he blurted out, the words hanging in the air between you. The proclamation seemed to take both of you by surprise, and your brows raised in unison.

"Who knew you had it out for me," you replied, your tone light but your eyes searching his face for deeper meaning.

Bakugo rolled his eyes, a grunt of frustration escaping him. "It's not that," he muttered, his gaze darting away. "It's just..."

You leaned forward slightly, prompting him. "Just what?"

For a moment, Bakugo's eyes met yours, a turbulent mix of emotions swirling within them. His mind raced, a thousand thoughts tumbling over each other. Internally, he struggled with the desire to prove his strength to you, to show that he could be someone you could rely on, someone strong enough to protect you. But the words tangled in his throat, refusing to form.

Instead, he scoffed, the sound more of a deflection than an answer. "Just wanna see how strong you really are," he grumbled, the excuse hanging weakly between you.

Before you could respond, the small TV in the upper corner caught your attention. Present Mic's voice boomed from the screen, announcing the end of the current match. "[Tokoyami Fumikage takes the win! Up next, it's the battle of steel vs. stone: Tetsutetsu Tetsutetsu versus Kirishima Eijiro! Stay tuned, folks!]"

The fight on the screen transitioned to show Tetsutetsu and Kirishima entering the arena, their faces set with determination.

Realizing the conversation had run its course, you turned towards the door. "Good luck with your match," you said over your shoulder.

Bakugo scoffed again, his bravado slipping back into place like a well-worn mask. "Not worried about Round-Face," he muttered, his tone dismissive.

You paused at the doorway, casting a glance back at him. "You should be," you said, your voice carrying a quiet warning. With that, you slipped out, the door clicking softly shut behind you.

As you left Bakugo's room, the air seemed to crackle with the anticipation of the upcoming battles. The faint sounds of the stadium crowd echoed through the hallways, a constant reminder of the spectacle unfolding just outside.

Your steps were steady as you made your way back to your class section, a mixture of determination and contemplation playing across your mind.

You were only a few steps away from the arena entrance when a familiar voice stopped you in your tracks. "Akuma-san," Todoroki called out, his tone calm yet insistent. You turned to find him standing a short distance away, his expression serious.

"Yes?" you replied, arching an eyebrow. His demeanor was different, more introspective than usual.

"Could we speak for a moment?" he asked, his eyes searching yours for any sign of objection.

Intrigued, you nodded and followed him as he led you to a large glass window that overlooked a portion of the stadium-lobby. Below, hundreds of citizens milled about, buying merchandise and food, their faces lit up with excitement.

Yet you stared down at the crowd, a dark cloud of disdain crept into your thoughts. They looked like tiny, insignificant ants.

The stark difference between these humans and those you encountered in your previous life struck you with a jarring clarity.

In that world, power and control were everything. Manipulations, grandiose battles, and the constant struggle for dominance defined your existence.

Every interaction held weight, every move was a calculated step in a larger game. Here, in contrast, the crowd's self-righteousness and superficial concerns disgusted you.

They believed in their own moral superiority, convinced that their small acts of kindness or their adherence to social norms made them good, just, worthy. They viewed themselves as heroes in their own right, clinging to a superficial sense of morality and justice.

Yet, in their simplicity, they fail to see how their so-called righteousness are nothing more than a fragile façade, easily shattered by the cold, hard truths of power and influence.

Your musings were interrupted by Todoroki's voice, soft yet clear. "Akuma-san, I like to think of myself as an intelligent person," he began, his gaze fixed on the crowd below. "But it seems that everything becomes unintelligible when it comes to you."

You turned your head, curiosity piqued. "Pardon?" you asked, unsure of where he was leading.

Todoroki took a deep breath, his eyes reflecting a turmoil of emotions. "I've been thinking about what I told Midoriya earlier," he said, his voice tinged with a mixture of bitterness and resignation. "About my past, about my father... the hero... Endeavor. It's something I feel you should know too."

He paused, gathering his thoughts, before continuing. "My father... he's not just unpleasant. He's driven by a relentless obsession to surpass All Might and views me as nothing but a tool to achieve that goal. My siblings—they're nothing but failures to him because they don't measure up to his standards. It's all been about grooming me to achieve what he couldn't."

Todoroki's eyes darkened as he continued, his hand unconsciously touching the scar on his left eye. "And my mother? She suffered greatly under his ambitions. The pressure, the constant demands and abuse—she couldn't handle it...and it broke her. I look like him, you see. Every time she saw the left side of my face—the fire I inherited from him—it reminded her of him...of everything she hated. One day, she snapped. She threw boiling water at me...said it was unsightly. That's how I got this scar."

He paused, the raw emotion in his voice a stark contrast to the stoic façade he usually maintained. "My father had her institutionalized. To him, she was just another obstacle. I grew up hating him, despising the fire side of my Quirk because it was his. I've spent my entire life trying to prove that I could be a hero without becoming him."

As Todoroki finished his story, you felt a hollow emptiness where empathy should have been. His words, dripping with a mix of self-pity and bitterness, left you cold. The tale of his troubled upbringing, designed perhaps to elicit sympathy, only reinforced your disdain for him.

Todoroki, with his tragic backstory and internal turmoil, seemed to you one of the most pathetic individuals you had ever encountered.

A soft hum escaped your lips, and a sardonic smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. You turned to face him, your eyes gleaming with a harsh light. "For someone so intelligent," you began, your tone laced with mockery, "you have an awfully bad habit of oversharing personal and horrifyingly useful information one would think to keep private. It's a wonder you've managed to maintain such a mysterious persona." You could almost hear the echo of your peers' admiration for him, their awe and reverence for the troubled hero. If only they knew the full extent of his pitiful reality.

Todoroki's eyes widened slightly at your words, a flicker of confusion mingling with the anger already etched on his face.

Your lips dropped from the semblance of a smile into a disgusted snarl. "Although you had such an unsavory upbringing, Midoriya was right about one thing," you continued, your voice sharp and unyielding. "It's an absolutely pitiful sight to see you allowing your father to win and have power over something that's yours. Your life, your choices—they belong to you. Yet here you are, shackled by his shadow, letting him dictate who you become."

Todoroki's gaze faltered, his expression a mix of shame and defensiveness, his hands curling into fists at his sides. His anger simmered just beneath the surface, his composure cracking under the weight of your unrelenting critique.

His anger, however, was not just from the truth of your words but from the familiarity of their tone.

You, with your overbearing harshness and cutting remarks, reminded him too much of his father—Endeavor's relentless drive, his unyielding standards, and his crushing expectations. But you weren't done yet.

You took a step closer, your presence towering over him. "Of course," you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm, "you can always go on this woe-is-me journey of limiting yourself. Continue rejecting your fire, the very power that makes you whole, just to spite your father. It's quite amusing, really—watching you cripple yourself for the sake of some misguided vendetta."

Todoroki's anger flared, his eyes narrowing as he tried to hold back a retort. His frustration was palpable, mingling with the pain your words inflicted. Yet he remained silent, the truth of your accusations sinking in despite his instinctive resistance.

He despised the harshness of your approach, the way you mirrored his father's brutal honesty, but he couldn't entirely dismiss the validity of your perspective.

You leaned in, your eyes locking onto his, forcing him to confront the harsh truth of your words. "Though, what's truly even more pathetic," you continued, your voice lowering to a dangerous whisper, "is how you wear this victimhood like a badge of honor. You've let him win every time you hold back, every time you refuse to use your full potential. And for what? Some semblance of moral high ground? You're a fool, Todoroki. A pitiful fool clinging to a righteous delusion."

Todoroki's face contorted further, his internal conflict evident in the tightening of his jaw and the hardening of his gaze. Before he could gather his thoughts or mount a defense, Present Mic's voice boomed through the stadium, breaking the tension. "[And we have a draw! The battle between Tetsutetsu and Kirishima ends in a tie! Up next, it's Bakugo Katsuki versus Uraraka Ochaco! Get ready for a showdown!]"

The announcement echoed around you, the festival's energy seeping back into the moment. You stepped back, a charming grin spreading across your face. "Well, that's my cue," you said, your tone suddenly light, "Must be off to support. Do try to think about what I said, Todoroki-kun. Good luck, next round." As you made your way back to your class's section, you felt a surge of anticipation for the upcoming fight between Bakugo and Uraraka.

A/N: wheewww! 7.5k DONE! anyways, sorry for the little wait, these doubles at work been kicking my ass so i decided to update while i have time on my day off 😩. anywhooo, hope you all enjoyed this chapter, don't judge me too bad for the horrible action /fightring portion, i tired my best lolololo. the next three rounds will all be in 1 chappie, so it can be long like this one. see you all next update. ❤️❤️

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gvfgal · 5 months ago

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How to Fall in Love in Ten Days

+18 series, minors DNI

A/n: Alrighty folks, things are about to start heating up. We’re getting closer to the end 👀👀 As always, let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist, leave your questions, comments, and concerns wherever you see fit, and as always, enjoy 🤍

Content Warnings: mutual pining, sexual tension, a bit of teasing?, voyeurism, masturbation (m!rec).

Word Count: 5.2K

Day Six: The Office

By the time the following day dawned, the overwhelming carnal feelings had subsided, leaving you grateful for the respite. Yet, you knew those emotions still simmered beneath the surface, ready to ignite at the slightest provocation.

The morning sun filtered softly through the lace curtains of the breakfast room, casting a gentle glow over the polished silver and delicate porcelain set for breakfast. The aroma of freshly baked bread and rich coffee filled the air, a comforting contrast to the charged emotions of the previous night. The room itself was a haven of tranquility, with its delicate floral wallpaper and the soft ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner.

Seated alone at the table, you delicately spread fresh plum jam on a warm scone. The scone, still steaming from the oven, melted the jam slightly, creating a perfect blend of flavors and textures. You took a small, appreciative bite, savoring the sweetness that contrasted with the slight tang of the fruit. Just then, the Duke entered, a roguish smile playing on his lips. A rush of relief swept over you at the sight of him, one you hardly fought to hide. Though he looked as dashing as always, your excitement had less to do with physical attraction and more with the anticipation of spending more genuine time together. You found yourself craving this connection just as much as the other. He greeted you with a bow, exaggerated in a way that made you giggle despite yourself.

“Good morning, Your Grace,” he said, straightening up with a twinkle in his eye. “Did you sleep well?”

“Good morning, Your Grace,” you replied, smiling. “I did, thank you. And you?”

“Like a log,” he replied with a grin, crossing the room to sit opposite you. His movements were fluid, almost catlike, and he seemed to bring with him an air of cheerfulness that brightened the room. “Though I confess, I had the most peculiar dream involving a race and a certain charming lady besting me.” He chuckled, his eyes dancing with mischief. He was in a bright mood, and you had a sneaking suspicion it was for reasons similar to your own.

You laughed, shaking your head. “Perhaps it was not a dream, but a vivid memory.”

“Ah, that would explain it,” he said, his tone mock-serious. “I shall have to train harder to regain my honor.”

You laughed again, the sound bright and clear, and Daniel felt his heart lift at the sight of your genuine smile. There was no need to mention the dinner of the previous evening. What had transpired was a testament to the growing feelings between you, and that was enough for the moment. He leaned forward, elbows on the table, his gaze fixed on you with such intensity that it made your heart flutter.

“Tell me,” he said, his voice low, “what shall we do today, my lady? Shall we ride again, or perhaps a walk in the gardens?”

Before you could respond, Sebastian approached and handed the Duke a sealed letter. He opened it, his expression shifting as he read. When he looked up, the playfulness in his eyes was tinged with regret. He cast his eyes to Sebastian and then back to you.

“It appears I am needed in the Duchy today,” he said, his tone apologetic. “There are some urgent matters of business that require my attention.”

The last thing he wanted to do was leave the house without you. He’d found growing comfort and pleasure in being around you, and for the first time in years, the thought of attending to his business irked him.

You didn’t want him to leave either. You had already thought up ideas of what the two of you could indulge in today, and the thought of him leaving left you feeling like the wounded bride you’d felt like on your first days together. You nodded anyway, trying to mask your disappointment. “Of course, Your Grace. Duty calls.”

Sebastian watched the two of you for a moment with a concealed smirk before slipping out of the room again, not missing the way you two seemed perturbed by not being with one another.

“I shall try to return as soon as possible, hopefully with enough daylight saved for at least one activity.”

You shook your head, “Your duty as the Duke comes first. I shall be right here when you return, there’s no need to rush.”

He wanted to shake his head in return. Suddenly his duties didn’t seem as important as spending time with you. If he could blow the whole thing off he would, but unfortunately the matter was urgent.

“Besides,” you added, trying to ease his visible displeasure, “I’m sure there are some things that need tending to ahead of our ball in a few days.”

Daniel smiled, albeit wistfully, and nodded. “Yes, of course. Until this evening, then.”

You watched him go, your heart heavy with the unspoken wish that he could stay. As the door closed behind him, the room felt a little colder, a little emptier. You sighed, turning back to your scone, trying to focus on the day ahead. The jam on your scone seemed less sweet, and the warm, inviting aroma of the breakfast room felt somewhat hollow without his presence.

You spent the first half of your morning in the stables with Elpis. You considered taking her for a short stroll, but it wouldn’t have been the same without Daniel. The remainder of the morning was spent perusing titles in the library, losing yourself in the scent of aged leather and the quiet rustle of pages. The tranquility was a welcome reprieve, but all too soon, Roslyn arrived to assist you in your office, where you finalized the decorations and menus for the rapidly approaching ball. After several hours of meticulous work, every detail was addressed, and Roslyn departed to ensure the plans were executed flawlessly.

While still in your office, you decided to turn your attention to a stack of correspondences that had sat waiting for you in the corner of your desk. Most were letters from esteemed families who had, for various reasons, been unable to attend your wedding, yet each conveyed their heartfelt congratulations and well wishes.

You responded to each letter with the same courtesy, despite recognizing only a few names from your youth, the others were mere shadows in your memory.

After signing the last letter, you gathered the stack and entrusted them to a servant for dispatch. With your tasks complete, you found yourself aimlessly wandering the halls, restless and yearning for something—or rather, someone.

Daniel had not yet returned, and you had exhausted all your tasks for the day. Your thoughts drifted to him—his stories of childhood, the infectious melody of his laughter, and the way his eyes sparkled when you shared anecdotes from your own youth. You realized then that you missed him. It was a strange, almost foreign sensation, this longing for his nearness and, dare you admit, his touch.

Your steps, guided by your wandering mind, led you to the Duke’s office. You paused before the ornate doors, debating whether to enter. The temptation was strong; you had never seen the interior, and curiosity gnawed at you. Secondly, it would offer a semblance of closeness to him in his absence until he returned. You wondered if the furniture retained his intoxicating scent, permeated by his constant presence. And lastly, entering his office would provide a further glimpse into his world, a deeper understanding of the man who was becoming so significant to you.

Technically, there was no prohibition against it. You lived there, after all, and had received no explicit instructions to stay out. Yet, it felt like an invasion of his privacy, especially in his absence.

Your hand was on the knob before you fully registered your decision. Slowly, you turned it, careful not to make a sound that might attract attention. The door opened with a soft creak, and you stepped inside, your heart pounding with adrenaline.

You hesitated in the threshold, taking in the sight before you. The room was a study in understated elegance, filled with dark, polished wood and rich, burgundy leather. Tall bookshelves lined the walls, filled to the brim with volumes of all sizes, their spines a rainbow of faded colors. A massive mahogany desk dominated the center of the room, its surface impeccably organized, papers stacked neatly beside a brass inkwell and quill.

The air was redolent with the scent of aged paper and the subtle tang of leather, mingling with the faint aroma of the cedar wood that paneled the room. It was Daniel’s comforting scent that seemed to envelop you, making you feel as though you were stepping into the very essence of the Duke himself.

The room was dimly lit, the sunlight filtering through heavy, brocade curtains that framed the tall windows. You crossed the threshold and closed the door behind you. Your fingers trailed lightly over the smooth, cool surface of the desk, the texture was pleasing under your touch, a tactile connection to the man who spent so many hours here.

A pair of high-backed chairs, upholstered in burgundy velvet, sat before the desk, inviting and regal. You could almost picture Daniel seated behind the desk, his brow furrowed in concentration, or perhaps leaned back, lost in thoughts, thoughts of you, perhaps.

Your gaze traveled around the room, noting the small, personal touches that spoke volumes about the Duke. A collection of polished stones and fossils was displayed in a glass case, evidence of a childhood fascination that had not entirely faded. An antique globe sat in one corner, its surface worn smooth by years of curious fingers tracing over its continents.

Then, your eyes fell upon a large portrait hanging on the wall across from his desk, and you felt a pang of tenderness. It depicted a young Daniel, perhaps seven or eight years old, standing between his parents. His mother, a striking woman with warm, kind eyes, had one arm draped protectively around his shoulders. His father, stern but with a hint of a smile playing at his lips, stood tall and proud beside them.

The portrait captured a moment of familial warmth and unity, a stark contrast to the solitary figure Daniel often seemed to be. You stepped closer, studying the young boy’s face. His eyes, even then, held a glimmer of the intelligence and determination that had become so characteristic of the man he had grown into.

You reached out, almost without thinking, to touch the frame of the portrait. The wood was cool and smooth under your fingertips, grounding you in the present moment. The sight of Daniel’s younger self, flanked by his parents, stirred something deep within you—a longing to be a part of his life, to share in the history that had shaped him.

Stepping back, you allowed yourself a moment to simply absorb the atmosphere of the room. It was a space that spoke of duty and diligence, but also of personal interests and hidden depths. It was, in every sense, a reflection of the man you were coming to know and care for more deeply with each passing hour.

You crossed back over to one of the cases to inspect its contents further. The glass-fronted cabinet held an array of artifacts, each meticulously arranged. There were gilded trinkets and miniature sculptures, their surfaces catching the light and gleaming with a muted luster. Among them, you spotted an ornate inkwell, fashioned from silver and engraved with intricate patterns, alongside an array of quills, their feathers pristine and elegant.

“Pretty fascinating, isn’t it?”

You jumped with fright at the sound of the Duke’s voice, clutching your chest as you whipped around to see a smirking Daniel leaning against the door frame. How had you not heard him come in?

He didn’t appear angry in any way, but you felt the need to apologize anyways.

“Your Grace,” you sighed, trying to calm the rapid pulsing of your heart, “I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to… intrude?”

Daniel stood watching you in amusement for a moment longer, his eyes dragging the length of your body before finding your face again. “There’s no need to apologize. This is your house, you can visit any room you please.”

He pushed himself off the doorframe and shut the door behind him. You were thankful for the privacy, but also fearful of what you might find yourself getting up to without watching eyes.

Daniel quietly strolled further into the room, coming to stand near you by the cases. He folded his arms behind his back and inspected his collection.

"Where did you acquire all of these?" you asked, seeking to ease the heaviness that was rapidly beginning to form in the room.

"Some of these belonged to my father," he replied, pointing out a few, "others were gifts, and some came from my travels." He gestured to a specific item on the top shelf. It was a small silver carving of what appeared to be a kraken, though you weren't entirely familiar with the mythical creature.

"That was a gift from my friend Jacob. He brought it back after one of his voyages when he was only sixteen years old."

"It is most enchanting; he must have paid a large sum for it."

Daniel smirked. "Knowing Jacob, it was probably stolen."

You gasped in shock before both of you fell into a fit of laughter.

Turning away from the case, you began, "so, this is where you spend your days hiding away, is it?"

Daniel felt a twinge of embarrassment at your statement and struggled to find words to reply. Nothing he could say would excuse his childlike behavior.

"It is rather charming," you continued, sparing him from having to reply. "I can see why one would wish to spend ample time here. There is much more to see than in my simple office."

Daniel chuckled. "Only more to get distracted by, if I'm being honest."

You leaned back against the front side of the desk, displayed in a way that immediately heightened Daniel’s senses. He tried not to show his reaction, but he rather liked seeing you there against his desk in that way. The smell of your floral perfume hung ever so slightly in the air, and he fought back the urge to inhale deeply, to experience the way your scents mingled together.

He watched as you inspected the family portrait hung on the wall, wondering what was going through your mind as you did so. In truth, you were trying your best not to look at him for too long. The more you did, the more difficult it was to restrain yourself and all your lascivious thoughts.

But the Duke felt there was too much space between you. He had raced back home to be near you, but this wasn’t quite near enough for him.

He made a movement in your direction, and when he did, your nerves sent your body jumping, causing you to knock one of the items on his desk to the floor with a thud.

"My apologies," you stammered, leaning to retrieve it, but Daniel was by your side in an instant, stopping you from moving with a gentle hand over yours.

You looked from the item on the floor to your hands together, and then into the Duke’s eyes. They were fiery and amorous as he held your gaze. Slowly, he lowered himself to the ground where the item lay beside you. Your breathing began to pick up, and while he lingered so close beside you, you couldn't move a muscle.

With the item clutched in his grasp, he began to rise from the ground, his movements deliberate and languid, a bold hand caressing the blush fabric of your dress as he ascended. Unable to resist any longer, he inhaled your scent deeply, savoring it as a memory to recall later in the solitude of his chambers.

“Your Grace,” you shuddered bashfully, “what…” Your voice trailed off as his touch continued its upward journey. He placed the item back on the desk, his wandering hand coming to rest upon your cheek, the other wrapping around your waist.

It seemed he could no longer control himself, but you did not resist. You wanted to see just how far this intimate moment would go, to see if this would finally be the moment you both surrendered to your desires.

“I could not stop thinking of you while I was away,” he breathed into the small space between you. “All day, my mind was consumed with the idea of being near you again, so much so that I could hardly bear it.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat and leaned into his touch, causing an agonizing sigh to spill past the Duke’s lips. Oh, how he craved this more and more.

“I missed you. I could not stop thinking of you either,” you admitted, brushing your lips against his but not feeling bold enough to kiss him. The touch was becoming almost painful to resist.

“Indeed?” he questioned, nuzzling his nose against yours. “What was it you were thinking of?”

When you did not, or more so, could not answer, his hand around your waist gave a gentle squeeze that made you gasp.

“Do not go silent on me now,” he spoke against your lips. “What were your thoughts while I was away?”

The Duke was enjoying this very much, but you found a sense of resilience within yourself not to give in too easily. There was still a silent battle waging.

“Why don’t you tell me what it was you were thinking of while you were away?”

The corner of his mouth turned upward in a salacious smirk. “I can admit my thoughts were rather similar to this,” he quickly assessed the way your bodies were pressed against one another, “amongst other things.”

“Things like what?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

Daniel’s brow cocked. “That would be telling, now, wouldn’t it? And if my duty speaks anything of the man I am, then you would see that I am much more a man of action than of words.”

Before he could finish his sentence, you crashed your lips against his, unable to restrain yourself any longer. He kissed you back with fervor, wrapping you in his embrace so that you would not lose your footing.

It was an ardent tangle of lips and breath, a wild and unrestrained exchange that left no room for decorum. Passion overpowered precision, each movement vehement and perfervid. It was a kiss that spoke of the raw, unbridled yearning that lay beneath the layers of conflict that had consumed your marriage, an intensity that rendered every other sensation meaningless.

When a throaty moan escaped your body, Daniel quickly realized how precipitously the moment was escalating. Summoning the last vestiges of his restraint, he tore himself away from you, stepping several paces back.

It took you a moment to regain your composure, but when you did, the Duke was regarding you with an unreadable expression.

Both your chests were heaving, and you had the mind to seek out his lips again, but he began shaking his head.

“I must apologize,” he said, you could see the disappointment washing away the lust in his features, “I should not have done that. I’m unsure of what has come over me.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but no words came forth. When the silence became unbearable, Daniel stormed out of the room, leaving the door ajar as he distanced himself from you once more.

Things were eerily hushed in Sterling house for the remainder of the afternoon leading up to dinner. You’d closed yourself in your room with your racing thoughts, and figured Daniel had done the same since you had been occupying the only other place he sought refuge in the house.

Roslyn and your maids came to help you freshen up for dinner, but they’d finished early, whisking themselves away to their next tasks, leaving you with a little time to kill before you were expected in the dining room.

Without knowing it, you found yourself wandering the halls like a ghost again.

As you turned the corner to the hallway that Daniel’s bedroom occupied, you were confound to find that the door was slightly ajar. This was unusual, the doors to the Duke’s room were usually always shut tight, even when he was absent. You tiptoed over, feeling ashamed for your constant prying, but you couldn’t seem to help yourself when it came to him. You were led on by your desires, feeling as if you were going mad trying to catch even just a glimpse of your husband.

Peeking your head in, you took in the sight of his room, a parallel to the masculine sanctuary of his office. Dark mahogany furniture, deep green drapes, and a singular shelf lined with books. The bed, grand and imposing, was impeccably made, and the scent of sandalwood lingered in the air, along with the scent that you had come to realize belonged to the Duke alone. His desk, cluttered yet organized, hinted at his mind that was constantly at work; he couldn’t escape it even in the comfort of his bedroom. There was a large painting of a ship at sea hanging over the fireplace, and on the mantelpiece, a collection of small, intricate figurines similar to ones you’d seen in his office earlier. Despite the room’s opulence, it felt distinctly his—a blend of austerity and hidden warmth, but as you looked around, you realized the Duke wasn’t present in the room like you thought he was.

You stepped in further, but stopped in your tracks when you heard a noise coming from what you assumed to be the bathroom.

You were statuesque as you waited for another sound, and it wasn’t long before one graced your ears.

A moan. Low and guttural in nature. You furrowed your brows together, unsure if you had heard correctly, but before you could step closer to improve your hearing, it sounded out again, this time with your name at its tail end. Your heartbeat began to quicken, but you couldn’t seem to find enough common sense to turn and leave.

In fact, you crept closer, your ears seeking out the sounds coming from the other side of the door as if they’d been tuned to them only. The door was closed, but not entirely, all it would take was a small push to open it. And push you did, with trembling fingers, just enough so that you could peer inside.

The Duke’s back was to you as he sat in the bathroom’s large ornate clawfoot tub, his curly hair fanned out over the edge behind him as more ragged breathing and choked groans escaped him. The water from the tub lapped in time with the movement of his arm, and though the tub shielded you from seeing what was truly taking place, you had a rather clear notion of what Daniel was engaged in, having been privy to similar circumstances with your older brother, ones that you tried not to think of in that moment.

This was an intimate moment, one that propriety dictated you should have retreated from the instant you comprehended its nature. Yet, despite your best efforts to avert your gaze and leave the Duke to his private musings, you found yourself unable to tear your eyes away from him.

You watched motionlessly, holding your breath to not give away your position. The way his back muscles tensed every so often, the motion of his arm working at himself, the salacious sounds he coaxed from himself as he did so, it was all so tantalizing. You didn’t even have the mind to feel ashamed for watching, too consumed by the show the Duke didn’t even know he was putting on for you.

Seeing him that way made it very apparent how desperately you wanted him; better yet, needed him. You desired it more fervently than your very next breath. The fear that this longing might wholly consume you if left unfulfilled gnawed at your soul, but it was a battle you no longer wished to wage.

You wanted the Duke, and from the sounds and looks of it, he undoubtedly wanted you too.

When a curse left his mouth with your name again, you found yourself suddenly too overwhelmed, and you retreated from spying before an achy moan of your own escaped.

You made your way back to your room, but you couldn’t wipe the image of the Duke from your brain. And you knew it’d be permanently etched there until you got a chance to endeavor him yourself.

Daniel did not grace you with his presence at dinner that evening; instead, he dispatched Sebastian to reassure you that all was well, though he needed to catch up on some pressing work.

You found yourself grateful for this reprieve, uncertain if you could have faced the Duke after your earlier indiscretion. Moreover, it provided a welcome respite from the internal tumult you had been contending with whenever the Duke was in your presence, allowing you to cultivate an air of tranquility. You sat quietly, savoring your meal, and wished for the presence of the violinist from the previous night to provide some diversion. This solitude was markedly different from the isolation you had felt in days past. You did not feel abandoned but rather content—well, almost content.

Once dinner concluded, you retired to your chambers, silent as your maids assisted you in preparing for bed.

Slipping beneath the fresh linens, you found yourself tossing and turning, thoughts of your husband filling your mind until, at last, they gently lulled you into slumber.

The sun cast its golden glow over a sprawling meadow, where the laughter of children echoed in the warm air. Two boys and a girl played, their faces radiant with joy. The eldest boy, dark-haired and mischievous, helped his younger sister to her feet after she stumbled. Nearby, a young boy with golden curls chased a butterfly, his chubby hands reaching out in earnest delight.

The stately manor stood in the background, its windows gleaming in the late afternoon light. Standing nearby, watching the children with a serene smile, was you, your every feature exuding grace and warmth. Your dress fluttered softly in the breeze, and your eyes, filled with love, followed your children’s every move. You turned and smiled, your gaze meeting that of Daniel standing a few paces away.

“Look at them,” you said, your voice filled with tender amusement. “They grow so quickly, do they not?”

Daniel smiled back, his heart swelling with pride and contentment. “Indeed, they do. It feels as though just yesterday we were welcoming our firstborn.”

The girl, with dark curls cascading down her back, ran over and grabbed Daniel’s hand. “Papa, come play with us!”

Daniel laughed, allowing himself to be pulled into the children’s game. “Very well, but I must warn you, I was quite the champion at hide-and-seek in my day.”

The children giggled, their joy infectious. As they played, you stood back, your heart warmed by the sight of your husband and children together.

Your eldest boy, after hiding and being found, ran to to where you were standing, his round face so similar to Daniel’s it made your heart swell all the more. “Mama, did you see? Papa found me so quickly!”

“I did, my love,” you replied, kneeling to embrace him. “Your father has always been very clever.”

As the game continued, Daniel found a moment to stand beside you again, your hands naturally finding each other’s. He squeezed your hand gently, his eyes reflecting a deep, unspoken love.

“I have never been happier,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “This is everything I ever desired.”

You smiled up at him, your eyes shining. “As have I, my love.”

Suddenly, a rhythmic, persistent tapping began to intrude upon the idyllic scene. The edges of the meadow started to blur, the children’s laughter fading into the distance. The tapping grew louder, more insistent, pulling Daniel from his dream.

With a reluctant sigh, he awoke, the tapping now unmistakably real. His head swiveled until he found the source of the noise. The latch on his window was loose, and the howling wind outside sent the windowpane tap, tap, tapping.

He threw back the covers and repositioned the lock until the wind was no longer a problem. But after his dream, one he hadn’t expected to have in a million years, he knew sleep wouldn’t find him again so easily.

Pulling on some nearby lounge clothes, the Duke slipped out of his room, down the hall, and around the corner to his office.

A few lamps were still lit in the room, illuminating the space just enough that it wouldn’t draw any attention to his whereabouts.

He walked the room aimlessly, something he didn’t do often. Usually, he was right at his desk to work, but he wasn’t seeking work this time of night. He wanted to see if your scent still lingered in the room, hoping to catch just a fragment of your being in your absence. It was faint, but he could distinguish it, and it brought him a foreign sense of relief.

His office, a place he spent many hours, didn’t feel the same anymore. It felt oddly empty, more vast than he remembered it. Colder.

He couldn’t figure out the reason why, until his mind flashed to you again. It was you that was missing from the room, giving it its inviting warmth. The room hadn’t had your presence before today, and so Daniel had never known it any differently. But now that you’d graced it with your presence, the room felt empty without you.

Daniel sighed, running a hand over his face. He was falling for you, fast and hard, beyond the physical attraction.

You were beginning to etch your way into his mind, body, and soul. He was beginning to live and breathe you in a way he’d never expected, and not so soon.

He crossed the room to the window, casting his gaze off into the distance. Though the sky was dark, he could see the storm clouds beginning to form as the trees and shrubbery in the garden swayed with the increasing wind.

He stood there for a long time, the weight of the evening’s events settling upon him. He hadn’t meant to hide from you during dinner, but he felt he could hardly face you after what he got up to earlier. He feared if you saw his face, it’d give away everything he was thinking and feeling. Not only that, but the dream he’d had earlier seemed to begin to blur with reality, leaving him yearning for a future he could scarcely believe was within reach.

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lazyneonrabbitt · 10 months ago

Text

Shared Interests [Pt.3]

Daryl Dixon x Reader [Pt.1][Pt.2] [Pt.4]

Daryl's pack loves parties, so you agree to throw one in honor of your daughter.

While you loved having the pack around for celebrations, now was a little too early.

Baby Lily was born all but two days ago and the family members started trickling in already to bring gifts and talk about the big party to celebrate the little one.

Right now all you wanted was rest.

You had allowed the calmest pack mother to come help around the house and teach you about taking care of an infant werewolf, which Daryl also found very helpful seeing he had no clue on how to be a father.

You learned their feeding habits were different from human babies and were shown how the little one easily chowed down small pieces of meat at only a few days old.

Daryl's pack had proven to be a persistant bunch, each member coming over to drop off gifts ranging from full ready meals to toys for the pup. One of Daryl's cousins, the one who had built the crib you had now, had offered to build a kiddie bed too. "for when the kid got too big for her crib."

It was still weird to be so welcomed from day one. Even while being the odd one out you were immediately seen as a part of the pack.

So here you sat with Daryl, discussing when to give the pack their party. It was a tradition and you weren't going to withold them from celebrating. You just had to set some ground rules.

You blessed the weather being nice enough to celebrate outside and planned all the necessary things in record time.

Daryl suggested two weeks would be enough for everyone to have dropped by for their initial visit so the focus could be more on getting together instead of hovering around the newborn.

Laura, your cousin in-law slash house help told you pack stories of herself and other mothers.

Surrounded by their closest pack members even while the pups were being born. All the ladies had seem multiple litters being born because of how normal it was to share those moments. But she also knew Daryl wasn't one of the people who needed folk around him every day. After admitting on one hand she found it sad to not be there when your child was born, she also understood you were human and had other preferences. Besides the fact that your pup came unexpected, a few days early and in the middle of the night.

Two weeks of slow visitation and party prep passed and you had fallen into a pleasant routine around the pup that worked for both you and Daryl. But you started noticing the leftover benefits from carying a wolf pup were fading because the bitemarks left around your nipples weren't healing as quickly anymore.

Daryl had caught your discomfort and made quick work of cornering you for a chat.

"Yer mind's loud. Hear it buzzin' through the walls." You were captured between his frame and the kitchen counter, unable to escape and admit your annoyingly loud thoughts.

"I'm just sore. The wolfblood is filtering out of my body I think." You automatically sulked into him at the annoying confession. You were so used to the faster healing and improved endurance you were sad your weak human self was returning.

"How 'bout we have a serious chat after the party. Cuz I don' want ya feelin' like yer weak just cus yer a human."

You gave him a soft kiss and agreed to wait for the party to be over. Now focusing on getting everything ready for tomorrow.

The day started slow like any other. You were blessed with a child that slept throigh the night as long as she got fed before bed.

While you prepared breakfast Daryl made his way around the house with a complaining Lily in his arms. The second she saw you she wanted to be fed, but making breakfast and feeding her were no tasks to be combined.

Daryl had given her a slice of ham already, but that didn't suffice. Her whines made that very clear.

"Daryl?" Your voice was picked up by your husband and within moments he was at your side. "Just the bacon left. I can go feed her if you wanna finish this?" You already held your arms open to take Lily from him.

Your kitchen held enough space for you to hang out comfortably as Lily had her breakfast and also give you a lovely view of Daryl cooking bacon to go with your egg sandwiches.

Today was gonna be a good day. You had it all planned out and were excited to see the in-laws again.

But first breakfast. With Lily done feeding you could finally start eating. Thankfullyneach pack mom had the same idea and each gifted you a large basket full of puppy items and a note informing the basket itself and the added blanket were perfect to place your newborn in for a bit to rest your arms. You kept one in almost every room, including one next to you on the table.

You coo'ed at her as you placed her in the soft basket, much to Daryl's amusement.

You found the baskets a bit strange at first, but Daryl had convinced you to give them a chance and now you couldn't function without them.

Just as your butt touched yoir chair again, Daryl came up to the table with two large plates of food.

You two ate dinner and went through the day's plans again before cleaning up the dishes and taking turns taking a shower and setting up the last party prep.

You made sure to give Lily her lunchtime feeding so she'd be asleep just before the people started coming in.

With the large double doors to the back porch opened up you had a perfect view of her living room nap spot and worried a bit less about having to stay at her side the whole time.

Folks started coming in, quickly finding you and Daryl to share congratulations and more small gifts.

The farmers had come empry handed, but not without a promise of a large produce delivery coming in tomorrow. The eight wolves living there took care of greens, eggs, milk and meat.

Some parents had brought their kids too, who were all too eager to grab your hands to be lead to the newborn for a look. You admitted to be a bit anxious, but they all behaved exceptionately well. They sat down on the floor and said quiet hello's.

While you were away from the parents one of the older teens came to you. She had a worried look on her face and sat down close to you before speaking softly.

"Can I ask you something?" She had her head almost laying on your shoulder with how close she got, but you let her stay and let her speak.

"How did you react when you found out Daryl was a werewolf?" The question came out so careful, she was clearly afraid of something she didn't share out loud but the memory made you giggle a bit.

"My dad told me, because I love monster movies. Let's just say I reacted really well to it. Otherwise I wouldn't be here and have a kid with him." You gave her your kindest smile but couldn't help to ask what was bothering her so much.

This younger generation was almost perfectly human with the amount of control they had outside of the full moon, so they were allowed to mingle way more than their parents. Ans so it turned out the girl had developed a crush on a human boy.

She had come to you for advice on humans, not having told even her parents yet.

"It's never easy to show your real self to a human. We're not used to seeing werewolves outside of books and TV." Truth was, the monsters on TV were nothing compared to the beautiful creatures that surrounded you now.

"I think my best advice would be to just be you for now, figure out if he likes you as well and then think about more." You had picked up Lily from her spot and were holding her in your lap now. "Maybe the guy ends up being a weirdo, in the bad sense of the word." The comment managed to get a laugh out of her, luckily brightening the mood again just as Daryl came by.

"There y'are. Lost ya for a minute." He bent down to kiss your head as he stared at his kid nephews and nieces all surrounding his wife and child.

And said nephews and nieces were quickly surrounding uncle Daryl, bombarding him with questions. "Why do you only have one puppy? Can we see missus's wolf? Uncle, when are you having a big family we can play with?"

They swarmed him, clinging to his leg and begging for answers. He had picked up the smallest boy and bribed the kids to be calm around the baby if he'd give them answers. "Now listen y'all. 'N sit yer asses down." In a heartbeat the rowdy bunch plopped their butts down in front of him and stared up. "Momma here ain't a wolf. I thought yer parents told y'all tha' already." An array of "whaaat?" and "woooww"s sounded through the room and pairs of eyes peeked over at you before Daryl continued. "The other pack mommas are all wolves, fhey ca have more pups in one go. She's human, an' human ladies only have one pup at a time." Daryl had sat down on his haunches and had let go of his nephew again. "So be kind to 'er. She's family."

"So is the puppy only half puppy?" The genuine curiosity was adorable, knowing they would never mean harm with their questions. But Daryl's carefully chosen words when he answered were so sweet too. "Neh, Lily's all pup. See human ladies can have lil' ones with all kinds of creatures, not just other humans."

Another wave of "woooowww"s came in reply as some got up and ran for their parents to share the newly aquired facts, and others made sure to come to you and state how cool you were.

"So, humans and wolves really do mix better than most humans think, right?" Your original conversation was almost forgotten thanks to the little ones' questionaire.

"Usually humans are scared of things they don't know. But if you show you're not a threat, it could end up going really well." You gave her a soft side-hug and pat her shoulder, Daryl stepping in on her other side. "There's always gon' be older wolves tha'll think yer wrong fer likin' a human. But fuck' em. Ya can date who ya wan'."

Of course Daryl would be the one who agreed with more modern ways of life when it came to befriending humans. He considered his human best friend a brother and now even had a child with one.

"Thanks for being so open towards the pack, about all of this."

Daryl took her hand and pulled her to her feet, grabbing her and giving her the biggest bear hug. "My folks woulda hunted 'er for sport. Glad they ain't around no more. Nothin' wrong with humans when ya pick 'em well."

She gave him a happy nod in return, thanking you both again before heading out to grab a drink.

Parents had started to round up their kids, getting ready to head home after saying their goodbyes. Just in time to catch Merle come in with his truck stacked to the high heavens with moonshine. The older wolves, and even the ones just turned eightteen were offered to take a jar from the crate Merle took to set on the table on his way to his baby brother.

Without missing a beat he grabbed Daryl's wrist, yanked him towards him and put him in an inescapable hug, praising him and congratulating him on the healthy pup. When he let go he went in to give you the same bone crushing hug before he spotted the pup in your arms and backed up. He stepped up a lot more calm and offered a soft squeeze of the arm instead, congratulating you as well in a much softer voice. "Ya look great, momma. 'N so does the lil' nugget." A choked laugh escaped your lips at the name. "Nugget? Your baby niece has a name you know."

"'Course I know 'er name's Lily. Wha' kina uncle would I be if I didn'?"

You laughed together as Daryl silently appriciated Merle's ability to adjust his behavior around the pup.

The men went back outside after you excused yourself to feed Lily one last time today and try and get her to sleep in her nap spot until you were going to bed and taking her upstairs with you.

"Hey, dontchu drink tha' one! Aint yers!" You heard Merle's voice call out, making you head over outside just that bit faster.

Not that there was a fight, but you didn't want to deal with badly behaving wolves.

Merle noticed you walking through the door and handed you a bottle. Not moonshine, but an expensive brand of wine. "Weren't sure if ya'd be drinkin' cuz of the lil' one. Ya can drink it whenever."

You thanked him and brought the bottle inside, not drinking yet for as long as Lily still drank from you.

Outside the adults were getting loud, howling with laughter. You caught Daryl's voice immediately, he was toasting to you, "his pride and joy", praising you until he was out of breath.

You stood at the oposite end of where he was and watched from a distance, appriciating your loving husband's words.

"And cheers to lil' baby Dixon!" Merle shouted after his brother's speech.

While the men were being their rowdy self, the younger wolves had all banded together and were hanging out at the far end of the property while the women had swarmed you to chit chat. Talks about your daughter and husband were what filled the hours until you could barely keep your eyes open. Some of the mothers had decided then it was time to go round up their teens, get them to help drag dad to the car and head back home while you had gotten up to kiss Daryl goodnight.

"Night, momma~!" Merle's voice slurred as he swayed to wrap an arm around your shoulders and kissed the side of your head. "Good night, Merle. See ya in the morning?" Your sweet smile went straight to his heart, giving you that drunk giggle and nodded. "Ya know I love tha' hammock, find me passed out til' ya bring me some eggs 'n bacon."

You bid him goodnight and moved to find your husband who was still very invested in his conversation about mechanics.

"Baby I'm gonna go sleep." You let him know with a hand on his shoulder to keep his attention. He was drinking, but from a glass instead of a jar, having promised to get at most a bit tipsy tomight and make sure the house was left in a neat state before going to sleep himself.

"Hmhm, goodnight Bunny. Takin' Lily witcha?" He grabbed your side from where he sat next to you and tugged to get a kiss from you.

Bending down you smiled into the kiss, tasting the nasty moonshine.

"Lily and I will be upstairs. Love ya." You gave him another kiss to temple and heqded inside with a few waves to the others still hanging around.

Once upstairs in your bedroom you placed Lily in her crib, babbling soft apologies for waking her up until she slept again and putting yourself to bed as well, falling asleep to the howling of your celebrating family.

A/N: There's so much to write about Daryl's pack, it's so big!!

#sometimes I write #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon imagine #twd #the walking dead #twd imagine #twd fanfiction #twd x reader #twd daryl #twd au #werewolves #werewolf #monster x human #werewolf Daryl #were!Daryl

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ofstoriesandstardust · 1 year ago

Text

changes (j.h.s.)

a/n: this is the first part of my college!AU. not much happens yet, but things are only just beginning with these two! let me know you're thoughts so far!

part of second star to the right (and straight on 'til morning)

folks who wanted to be tagged: @memeorydotcom @djs8891

warnings: college!AU, javynat/icemav, swearing

word count: 2.7k

You slip into the classroom, smiling at Pete as he logs in to the computer. “Hey Pete.”

He glances up at you from the screen, returning your smile as you saddle up into the first row of seats in the lecture hall. “Hey kid, I haven’t seen you in a few weeks. How was the last bit of your summer?”

You shrug, tugging your bag off into the chair next to you. “Pretty good. Quiet. How was your trip to Italy with Tom?”

“Pretty good. Nice to get away from the work and hustle-bustle of his job. Definitely don’t miss the paperwork, that’s for sure.” You both laugh lightly, as the door to the classroom open again, a few boys you recognize from the football team filtering in. “I was surprised to see you on my roster for this class. Didn’t you already fulfill the requirements for this?”

You shrug, pulling your laptop out as you finally sit down. “Yeah, but I need a couple more extra credits to stay a full-time student to keep my scholarship and you know I love taking your classes as it is. Might be one of my last chances to do so.”

He tilts his head in acknowledgement as the door opens again. “Remind me after class that I wanted to talk to you about what you’re planning for post-grad.”

You quirk an eyebrow. “Why?”

He huffs out a laugh, collecting his papers. “I might have something for you.” The room has slowly begun to fill up as the two of you have chatted, meaning class is just about ready to start. Pete hangs by the front podium, letting everyone get settled.

Your eyes glance over your computer screen at the non-existent Canvas page, meaning Pete has yet to publish it. The papers in his hands are what you suspect are copies of the syllabus he probably finished over breakfast with Tom this morning. Typical.

“...dude, this is going to be such an easy credit, I’m telling you.” One of the men behind you says. “He’s just Bradshaw’s quirky godfather. You just gotta say something nice about the Navy and he’ll give you an A.”

You snort, shaking your head at Bradley feeding his athlete friends with lies about his godfather’s class. You had taken enough of Pete’s classes to know that retired decorated Naval aviator or not, Admiral husband or not, Pete welcomed critical and open discussion of the United States military’s global engagement. Encouraged it, even.

One of the men behind you sighs and you hear him lean back in his chair. “All I need is an easy A. Gonna skate through this class no problem.”

“Shit, I forgot my pen. Jake, do you have one?”

“Javy, I don’t even have a notebook. What makes you think I have a pen?”

“Reuben?”

“Sorry Javy, you’re straight shit outta luck. I only have one for myself.”

The man, Javy, groans. “Fuck me.”

“Pretty sure Natasha did just that last night based on the- ow.”

“Hey, psst. You, girl in the front.” You startle, turning around to face the boys. “You got a pen for my friend Javy here?” Reuben asks.

You nod, digging through your bag for your pencil case. “Pencil or pen?”

“Whatever you got’s fine, sugar. Right Javy?” The blond says, nudging his friend. You roll your eyes to yourself, unimpressed.

“Here.” You say, leaning up to hand the black pen to Javy.

“Thanks, I’ll give it back to you at the end of class.” Javy says with a warm smile as he takes it from you.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ve got plenty.” You say with a wave of your hand, already turning back around. Pete clear shis throat just as you do, catching the attention of the students in the room. He offers them a warm smile.

“Well, let’s get started shall we? I’m Pete. You can call me Pete or Mr. Mitchell, whatever suits you. I’m a retired Naval aviator, served for nearly twenty years. I’m an adjunct here at San Diego State, have been for about the last six or seven years. I teach international relations and military history classes mostly. If you’re here, you should be here for History 2060, Global Military Conflicts Post-1945. If that doesn’t sound correct, you’re most likely in the wrong classroom. Don’t blame you, I got lost this morning on my way in from the parking lot.” That earns Mav a laugh from the classroom as you shake your head. He’s told the same joke on the first day of every class you’ve ever had with him. “I’m going to go around and pass out the syllabus. We can read through it and discuss it. The biggest takeaway is that, unlike some of the other History courses on this campus, I care less about your memorization of dates and people on a test. I want you to take something meaningful away from this class and that’s going to come from the papers you write, the readings you do, and the discussions you’ll have in this class. Let’s begin.”

“Easy A, here we come.” Jake mutters behind you as the stack of syllabus gets plopped in front of you.

He’s in for a rude awkaening, you think to yourself as you take a syllabus, passing it back to the boys.

“Don’t forget. Your first response paper is due tonight at midnight. I want well-thought out papers, with clear arguments and evidence. Feel free to be critical of the text, but you must respond to it and the more you can incorporate the discussion we had in here over the past few classes, the better. Shows me you’re listening and engaged.” Pete calls out as the class packs up.

Two weeks into the semester and you had all just finished reading Tim O’Brien’s The Things They Carried. Pete had said he’d chosen the book so you could all understand how these global conflicts could be captured in a fictional manner, asking you to focus on how it communicated a very real history of the event. The book had been supplemented by lectures and class discussion and you felt yourself falling in love with the class everytime you showed up.

“Have you started that paper?” Reuben asks, sliding his bag over his shoulder.

Jake snorts. “Hell no. It’s only what, three pages? I’m gonna start writing it after practice tonight.”

“Javy?”

“Finished it last night.”

“Fucking nerd.” Jake says as Pete calls out your name, motioning you up to the front of the room. It catches the boys attention as you walk around the front row, meeting Pete halfway. The boys are lingering and watching, something you’re painfully aware of.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you, but are you thinking about grad school?”

You nod. “Yeah, I am, but I think I’m going to take a year off first.”

“Have you thought about SDSU’s program at all?”

You sigh, crossing your arms. “Kind of-”

“-Who willingly puts themselves through more school?”

You turn catching both Reuben and Javy nudging Jake. You sigh, uncrossing your arms, looking to the ground.

“We can talk more about this at a later date.” Pete says. “I’ll let you go, I know you have to get to work. Good job on the paper, by the way.”

“You read it already?”

He nods, walking back to the table at the front fo the room. “Thought I’d get a head start on grading the ones that got turned in early last night. You never fail to impress me, kid.”

You can't help the grin spreading across your face, even as Jake coughs words that sound oddly like teacher’s pet into his fist.

“Thanks Pete. See you on Friday.”

Jake swallows, staring the 12 out of 100 blinking back at him on the screen.

“Did you get your grade back for that response paper we wrote last week?” He hears himself, asking.

“Yeah, I got an 86. Why?”

“Dude, Pete graded those response papers harder than I thought he would. I scraped by with a 73.” Reuben says, sliding in the booth next to him. “How’d you do Jake?”

He shakes his head, unable to say anything as he stares at the screen.

Reuben leans over his shoulder, looking at the screen before letting out a low whistle. “Shit Jake.”

“What? What’d he get?” Javy asks, craning to see the screen. Jake turns the laptop to Javy, earning him a wince.

“Yikes dude.”

“What am I gonna do?” He mumbles.

He pauses, waving his friends on as you chat with Pete. He fiddles with his phone, trying not to look nervous as he hears you and Pete discuss research you’d done from this summer.

“...I really think you should try to get that published, kid.”

You hesitate. “I don’t know, do you think it could?”

“Oh absolutely. Here, why don’t you hang on for a second and let me talk to Jake and we can discuss it more?”

“Oh yeah, sorry.” You give him a nervous smile, stepping a little ways away to give them some privacy.

“What’s up Jake?”

He sighs. “Sir, I was wondering if you could maybe give me some insight to the grade I got on my paper.”

Pete frowns. “Did you not read the feedback I left on Canvas? I’m never sure if my comments save properly.”

“No, I did. I guess- I guess I’m just kind of confused as to why I got that grade.”

“Well, you lacked a clear argument and the paper was riddled with typos. The assignment was only three pages and you turned in a page and a half. You only used one quote, from the first chapter of the book, telling me you didn’t read any further. You didn’t incorporate any class discussion and you’ve only been here once since the semester started. Now, I know I said I didn’t have an attendance policy but if you aren’t here, you’re not participating in the group discussion and that’s a huge chunk of your grade, Jake.”

“Is there any way I could re-submit the paper for a higher grade? I’m on the football team and we have to maintain a 2.8 to stay. It’s my last season, Mr. Mitchell, and I’d really like to keep my starting position.”

Pete sighs. “Tell you what. I’ll let you re-submit the paper for a higher grade if you go to the Writing Center and work with one of their consultants on the feedback I left for you.”

“Sir-”

“Those are my conditions, Jake. For any one, not just you. I want to see that you’re actually working on improving.”

“Well, isn’t it just that… isn’t that place for all the bad writers?”

Pete’s frown deepens. “There’s no shame in asking for help if you need it, Jake. It’s important to me that you know that.”

Jake just shrugs.

“You know, she comes as a very highly rated consultant from some of your athlete friends.” Pete says with a nod of his head over to you. You’re looking at your phone, clearly trying to look busy.

“Yeah, yeah, I think Garcia worked with her last spring.”

Mickey Garcia was Reuben’s room mate, another athlete but on the baseball team. He’d raved about this girl he’d worked with at the Writing Center last spring, helping him get a 93 on a notoriously difficult final for an International Relations class.

“She’s one of the best students I’ve seen in my time at San Diego State. You don’t have to work with her, but it might be nice to have a familiar face and someone who knows the class material. If you do decide to re-submit the paper, just ask the tutor to let me know you were there, yeah? You’ve got a week to get the new one back to me.”

Jake pokes his head through the door, eyeing the room nervously. “This the Writing Center?” Your co-worker Mia pops her head up from the computer at the front desk, nodding.

“Yes, it is! How can I help you?”

Jake looks around nervously. “I have an appointment.”

“Okay…” Mia trails off. “Do you remember with who?”

You shut the room to the storage closet. “Hi Jake.” You say warmly, lugging the Costco-sized bag of candy out to the front table. “I’m just finish refilling the candy bowls if you wanna sit down at one of those tables over there?”

He nods, walking around the front desk to one of the tables, pulling his laptop out of his bag.

“Isn’t that Jake Seresin?” Mia whispers, eyes wide. “From the football team?”

You shrug. “I think so. He’s in one of my classes.”

She nods. “Want me to finish doing that?”

You sigh, handing her the bag. “That’d be great. Are you still leaving early tonight?”

“Yeah, if you don’t mind locking up the Center.”

“Yeah, it’s no problem!”

You turn back to Jake, whose knee is bouncing as he takes in the space.

He’s nervous, you realize, a stark contrast from the cocky boy you’d known in class.

You grab your laptop, sitting down across from Jake. “Alright Jake, do you just wanna share the document with me so we can get started?”

He wipes his hands on his basketball shorts, nodding as he opens the computer screen before pausing.

“Can I ask how you did on the response paper for class?”

You duck your head, biting your lip. “It wasn’t my best one.”

“What’d did you get?”

“A 94. You?”

Jake swallows, eyes flitting around the Center.

“12.” He whispers.

Your eyes grow wide. “Wait, shit, are you serious?”

Jake nods. “‘S kinda why I’m here. Pete said if I came here, I could re-submit the paper for a higher grade.”

You nod. “Well, what do you want to focus on then?”

Jake shrugs.

“Well, what would be most helpful for you?”

“Could we start by just looking at his feedback and talking about it? I admittedly didn’t understand some of it.”

“Yeah! Yeah, of course.”

The next hour flies by as you work through Jake’s paper, identifying places for him to expand and ways he could utilize evidence. You both worked through Pete’s feedback as you worked to build a better argument based off of it.

Finally, you sit back and sigh. “Well, we’re just at about time. You got any last questions for me?”

Jake shakes his head, shutting his laptop. “Thanks for all your help on this.”

“Yeah, of course. It’s my job.”

“This… this all seems to come so naturally to you.”

You shrug, closing your own laptop. “Yeah, yeah, I mean I’m a senior so I’ve had a lot of practice. It’s a lot harder when you’re first starting out.”

“I couldn’t imagine just writing all the time.”

You give Jake a bashful smile. “I’m writing a 30 page paper for my senior capstone.”

Jake cringes at your words. “I couldn’t do that.” He says, rubbing his forehead.

“Hey, you’re already improving. It just takes time to learn how to write in a style like this.”

“I much prefer my Business classes. At least there, it’s a cake-walk to scrap by with a B average.”

“Well, you’re already doing better than me there. I failed Math in high school.”

Jake chuckles, packing up his things. “Hey, uh, Pete told me I needed you guys to tell him I came here?”

You nod. “Yeah, we just send them an email with your appointment form, discussing what we did in the appointment.”

Jake sighs, shoulders slumping. “Thanks.”

“No problem. Feel free to make another appointment if you have any more questions.”

Jake gives an aborted nod, slipping his backpack over shoulder and standing up. “Thanks again.”

He blinks, looking at the grade in Canvas.

70/100

Javy leans over his shoulder at his phone as their coach talks. “Is that the revised grade?” He whispers, Jake nods, locking the phone and slipping it back into his pocket, trying not to think about the comment Pete had left just below the grade.

There was significant improvement here Jake. Please see my comments in the document and on the rubric for further feedback. I highly encourage you to continue visiting the Writing Center throughout the semester. Let me know if you have any questions or concerns.

“How you do that, Jakey?” Javy whispers.

He shrugs as Coach Simpson dismisses them. “Does it matter?”

Javy lets out an incredulous chuckle. “I mean, if you went from a 12 to a 70, I’d kinda think you sucked Mitchell’s dick or something.”

Jake middle finger doesn’t stop Javy’s chortle as he leaves the locker room.

#jake hangman seresin #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin fic #jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin fic #top gun: maverick #top gun: maverick fic #second star to the right (and straight on ‘til morning)

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baratiddyappreciator · 1 year ago

Text

Cuddling the Baki Cast Short Stories

All SFW, but I could make an NSFW version if that's what the people want (this would not be a challenge lmao). Added in some characters per request of the folks in the super secret server (you know who you are, come get y'alls juice).

Baki:

The sun was filtering lightly through the windows, the sky a warm, rich red as the sun began to set over the horizon. It was cold outside now that it was getting into mid fall, but you were nice and cozy beneath the blanket, your boyfriend's arms around your waist, his chin perched on your shoulder as you both watched the movie you'd put on. There was a gentle rustle as Baki turned to kiss your cheek, giving your waist a gentle squeeze. Quiet moments like this were rare, but always appreciated. you didn't need to say anything as you reached back and ruffled his hair, soft beneath your fingers, fluffy from his recent shower. He smelled like his bodywash, some generic men's scent, but it was good, and it enveloped the both of you.

Kozue:

She'd snuck you in through her bedroom window, it was dark and raining out, and you'd been shivering from the cold for the few minutes it took for you to get changed and dried off. Her homework was long done, so she didn't waste any time dragging you into her bed, snuggling into your neck with a hum as your hands rested on her lower back beneath her thick blankets, the sound of her little speaker playing gentle lo-fi music as she flipped through the pages of her book. Her lips met your skin in a quick peck, before she dove back into her book with intense focus.

Hanayama:

He'd come stumbling into your shared home late at night, the lights staying off, but it was clear that it was him, his heavy steps cautiously making their way closer. He said nothing as he crawled into bed behind you, his suit ditched and laying on the ground. He was clearly tired, he hadn't taken his glasses off. You rolled over, cupping his face in your hands to take off his glasses, gently setting them on your bedside table, his arms snaking around your waist and pulling you back into his chest. He mumbled something against the top of your head, though it wasn't clearly heard, before a soft snore escaped his lips.

Katsumi:

The birds hadn't started chirping yet, the sun not quite risen, but it was getting close. The blankets around you were warm, soft and heavy, but so was the arm tossed over your waist, and the lips pressing against your forehead. That's how you woke up, warm, comfortable, safe in his embrace, with him peppering kisses all over your face. Once he realised you were awake, he grinned at you, tracing little nothings all over your back, pressing another kiss against your forehead, and then your nose and cheeks.

Jack:

You didn't think you could eat another bite, and for once, Jack looked like he was going to agree with you. Lounging on your couch, finally back home, he looked over at you and wordlessly pulled you into his lap. He was radiating heat, his limbs heavy with sleep. He looked about ready for bed, eyes half-lidded and heavy, but he pulled you closer still as he rolled over onto his back, holding you close as he nuzzled against the top of your head, hands rubbing up and down your back in slow, gentle movements. Taking things slow after such a big meal surely couldn't hurt.

Kosho:

You'd been cold all night, sleeping on the other side of the futon, by yourself, since Kosho had gotten comfortable and had refused to move or cuddle you the night before. But now, two strong hands dragged you backwards into a firm chest, long hair tickling your cheeks as his lips pressed against your temple. Warmth enveloped you, the smell of him invading your senses as he peppered you with affection, holding you close. He would get up and start moving soon, but for now, he was all yours, and he wanted to love you.

Kureha:

His leg was tossed over your thighs, his back to you as he snored loudly, his head somewhere above you, hanging off the bed. It was late, and you'd only been asleep for a short while, but he'd already awoken you with his ceaseless tossing and turning. Your hand stretched across his broad back, and his minute twitches ceased, but he still didn't wake. You were able to roll over further, resting your cheek on his back, his sleep still undisturbed. You thought you might be able to drift off again before he started rolling around again, but you were proven wrong when he rolled over in place, his arms pulling you closer, his nose resting against the top of your head.

Retsu:

You were stuffed, you'd eaten so much you felt like you could pop. Retsu's cooking was just divine, as always, but he'd made a bit much, and while he'd put his portions away just fine. He seemed to pick up on that, leaning forward to gently card his fingers through your hair, smiling at you, before pulling you into a hug, letting himself fall back on the floor, snuggling you close as he rubbed soothing shapes onto the side of your stomach, pressing kisses to your forehead, his legs wrapping around yours to keep you playfully pinned, peppering your face with kisses, chuckling lightly.

Doppo:

It had been a rough day. You'd scraped your knee, pulled a muscle, gotten bruises and roughed up from karate practice, and now you just wanted to sleep. Passing out on the couch, you woke up to a firm chest against your cheek, arms wrapped around you, your body being carried. Doppo had come home to find you at home, sleeping on the couch, and while he was also roughed up slightly, he'd expected it. He settled into his futon with you, holding you close, a gentle chuckle rumbling up from his chest as he toyed with the ends of your hair. He was going to ease the stress of the long day that you'd clearly had.

Natsue:

Your head was resting on her lap, her hands carding gently through your hair. The sun was shining, birds were singing, there was a faint breeze making the leaves rustle. Doppo was out in the yard training with Katsumi, their boisterous laughter invading the air as Natsue gently swept hair out of your face, her smile soft as she began humming.

Shibukawa:

His head was resting on your lap, everything about him relaxed as he laid in front of you. He was waiting for his new eye to finish being fitted and finished, so in the meanwhile, he'd taken up lazing on your lap while the two of you waited. He reached up, twirling some of your hair around his fingers as he hummed, sending a mischievous grin on his face, though when you reached up to gently bat his hand away, he caught yours and brought the back of your hand to his lips. Whatever mischief he had planned could apparently wait.

Tokugawa:

He's old you know, he needs his naps to keep his energy up throughout the day! But he'd never thought of napping out in his garden. It wasn't too bright, nor too dark, it was just the perfect atmosphere for a cozy nap. You two could lay there for hours, just lazing about, but Noro roaming through the bushes didn't afford that chance, that dog could be a lot to handle sometimes.

Yanagi:

After a long day of running from the law, he's come back to you, slipping into bed quietly. You barely even stirred, so naive to the danger that lurked in the hand that approached your face, getting closer and closer, before gently pushing your hair out of your face, tucking in behind you with a sigh as he draped an arm around your side, one of his legs sliding between yours so relieve himself from the cold he'd just come in from, even if that's what finally fully woke you.

Oliva:

Comfortable. That's all you could think as you rested your head on his broad, expansive chest, breathing in his cologne, his large hands settled on the small of your back, his thumbs rubbing tiny circles, soothing your muscles and helping you relax even further. A deep chuckle rumbled through his chest, shaking you ever so slightly as you drifted in and out of conscience, and while normally you may have protested about him laughing at you, right now, you were just too comfortable and tired to do so now. He didn't mean anything by it anyways.

Chiharu:

His hands shook as he held your waist, trembling nervously, sweat beading at his temple as you snuggled further into his chest in your sleep. He was in a blind panic, not knowing what to do in this situation. You'd asked to cuddle, that was it, but now you were asleep, and he didn't want to wake you! But his leg was numb and he wanted to roll over. He supposed that as long as you were comfortable, he wouldn't move. He was tough, he could endure laying there, snuggled up to you while you were napping.

Gaia:

His foot met your shin once more, and you swore that the next time he kicked you, you would deck him. His smug smile and barely suppressed giggle irked you even more, and the warning glare you shot at him seemed to do nothing but egg him on more. His arms squeezed you tighter for just a moment, before his cheek met yours, his face turning to press a quick peck against your cheek before he turned his head back. Maybe he'd settle down now- His finger poked at your hip, and you felt your irritation return, until he pecked your cheek once more. He'd keep pestering you for as long as you'd keep cuddling, but the little sweet moments between his playful pestering made it worth it. Or at least, that's what you were telling yourself so you wouldn't kill him on the spot.

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seenoversundown · 3 months ago

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Amongst The Stars: Chapter Eight

Josh x Quinn (Nonbinary OC)Warnings: Craig, pining, general feelings of self doubt, guilt Word Count: 4.4k Summary: Josh has always loved love, and he's finally found it. Buuuut, he can't exactly tell anyone. Join him as he navigates the ins and outs of his sweet, secret romance. Author's Note: Sorry this is so late! I had a crazy day at work. But, here we are. I am not gonna lie to you, I don’t love this chapter. Not because of the content, or because I’m unhappy with it. But, I don’t love it because I know what happens next :) Again, forgive any weird formatting. Desktop Tumblr hates Josh, you heard it here first, folks!

“Hold you in my arms, I just wanted to hold you in my arms” Starlight - Muse

Being this excited about getting my things from Craig’s house feels wrong. I threw a years-long relationship away. I should be at least a little bit upset, but I can’t find it in myself to care. My only regret is that Willa can’t be here with me to help pack. She had some work thing and couldn’t get out of it since everything moved so quickly. I wasn’t anticipating Josh being so willing to help, but I had to jump on the chance when it was offered. It has been an absolute pain in my ass not having access to my clothes or my entire stock of art supplies. I haven’t even had my sketchbook. It was the one thing I meant to grab before heading to Willa’s house, but I managed to forget it. Before I get too into my feelings about it, my phone buzzes, and I know it’s Josh. I grab my canvas bag and head out the door without even pulling it out to check.

When he notices me hit the bottom step, he scrambles out of the truck and walks around to the passenger’s side.

“Hello, dear,” he gives me a shy smile as he opens the door. “Do you treat all your guests this way?” I laugh, jumping up and settling into the seat. He leans against the door, watching as I buckle myself in.

“Only the ones I like,” he winks, shutting the door before I can say anything else.

Why is that attractive? Get it together; he’s just helping you move.

He walks back around to the driver’s side and hops in. “I really appreciate this, you know.” “It’s nothing. Friends help each other out.” Right, right. Friends.

“Wanna put the address in?” he asks, handing me his phone.

I’m slightly taken aback; Craig would have rather died than hand me his phone for anything. I opened Apple Maps and typed in my old address before returning the phone to him. He fiddles around with the music app for a moment before putting the truck in reverse.

“I hope you’re okay with pop music,” he looks at me from the corner of his eye, “It’s a bit of a guilty pleasure of mine.”

I smile as the opening notes to “Feather” filter through the stereo.

“Perfectly fine by me. Your song choice is weirdly appropriate,” I laugh.

“What do you mean?” “This song played in my car as I left Hobby Lobby the first day we met. My ex begged me to turn it off. I should have taken it as an omen.”

He barks out a laugh, and I quirk an eyebrow at him.

“I’m not laughing at you, I promise. It’s just that’s the first day I ever heard this song. It came on shuffle when I went home, and I immediately fell in love with it. Added it to the playlist at my brother’s bar and everything just to piss people off.” I can’t help the wide smile that makes its way to my face.

“Hell of a coincidence.”

“Indeed it is.”

We continue our ride in comfortable silence, letting the GPS guide us toward my old life with Craig. The end of my old life with Craig. Joy swells in my chest at the very thought of being completely done.

Josh enters the apartment complex's parking lot and parks in the first free spot he sees. He shuts his car off, and his eyes soften as he looks at me. “I’m ready whenever you are. We’ve got all day, so if you need a minute to prepare yourself, take it.”

My heart squeezes.

Josh continually amazes me with the care he shows those around him.

“I really appreciate that,” I say, patting the hand he placed on the center console between us. “But I’m ready. I want to be done.”

He nods, unbuckles his seatbelt, and practically sprints out of the car to get my door for me. “You are entirely too sweet,” I laugh, unbuckling my seatbelt and taking his hand as he helps me down. “Nah, I just try to be a gentleman when possible.”

Why is that attractive?

I internally shake myself. I don’t need to have these thoughts about Josh. He’s a friend who is doing me a simple favor. Even if he was into it, I can’t start a new relationship immediately after leaving Craig. How would I know it’s real and not some weird rebound situation?

I couldn’t do that to Josh or me.

“Get stuck in your head again?” Josh squeezes my hand to pull me out of my spiral.

“Mmm, yeah. Thank you.”

“Well, no time like the present.” Josh moves a hand to my lower back to guide me toward the apartment.

Just another show of how caring he is.

“I’ll warn you, Craig can be absolutely terrible. Just ignore whatever he may have to say to you.”

He flashes me an easy smile. “Oh, I’m not worried about him one bit. I’m here to help you, so let him act however he wants.”

“If you say so,” I suck in a deep breath, then begin the slow ascent to the apartment.

“I’m sorry that you kind of have to help me pack, too,” I fold my three-hundredth worn-out band tee and place it in the cardboard box in front of me. “The breakup happened so fast that I couldn’t pack anything before leaving.”

“Quinn, how many times do I have to tell you that I’m happy to be here? If I didn’t want to help, I wouldn’t. So, please stop apologizing.”

I shake my head and roll my bottom lip through my teeth.

“What's up?” Josh asks.

“Nothing; you're just so different from what I'm used to.”

“Well, hopefully, I can continue to surprise you.”

“Oh,” I giggle, “I am certain you will.”

Josh grabs the full box from me and tapes it up before scribbling “Shirts” on it and setting it aside. “I’ll take a load of boxes down to the truck in just a minute.”

Our conversation is interrupted by a minor crash outside the bedroom door. I roll my eyes. Of course, he’s throwing stuff again. Why couldn't he just stay out of our way? I immediately turn to apologize to Josh; it's not fair that he’s being subjected to Craig’s moods. But I notice that he’s walking toward the door.

“Hey, Josh..”

He ignores my warning and opens the bedroom door.

“Hey man, can you keep it down? We’re trying to get out of your hair as quickly as possible, but we can’t do that if you're throwing shit around and distracting us.”

I creep up behind Josh, peering over his shoulders at Craig. I know I shouldn't press this, but I have to see the look on his face when Josh calls him out. I see a faint look of recognition cross Craig’s face. That’s strange.

Craig didn’t initially spot us when we came in. I assume he was in the bathroom, but he definitely doesn’t look happy to see us now. His face contorted in rage, and I grabbed Josh’s arm, preparing for whatever he was going to say. I brace myself, knowing how Craig can be, and I can only hope that Josh is ready to face it as well.

“This is real fucking nice, Quinn,” Craig bypasses Josh altogether, shifting his head to make eye contact with me. “What?” “It’s real nice that you bring the dude you’ve been cheating on me with over here to help you move out. What’s he gonna do, pack all your shit up into his truck, and y’all are gonna move in together like some kind of–” He cuts himself off. “Some kind of what?” Josh straightens his back and speaks directly to Craig.

“Some kind of. Some kind of U-HAUL LESBIANS??” I burst out in an ill-timed fit of giggles at the sheer absurdity of it all. My giggles cause Josh to chuckle, and I see Craig’s face go beet red at the perceived slight against him. “You do realize that to be ‘U-haul lesbians,’ both of us would have to be women?” Josh says between bouts of laughter. “And neither of us are.” Recognizing that Craig has limited patience, I decided to try to smooth things over before Craig could try to hit Josh. “Also, not sure if you forgot, I’m moving in with Willa.” Craig opens and closes his mouth a few times. “As friends,” I add in to stop his floundering. I see Josh roll his eyes at my addition, clearly understanding what an absolute moron Craig can be.

Sometimes, I daydream about what my life would be like if I never got involved with Craig. Would I be happy? Would I have met Josh organically? Would we be together? That’s ridiculous, Quinn. Why would you even be worried about that? He is your friend and nothing more. I scrub one hand down my face, trying to will those thoughts away. It’s too soon; my heart is still, for some reason, vaguely battered by the messy breakup with Craig. Though, at this point, I don’t know if my heart is battered because of Craig or because of the years I wasted with him.

“It was lovely to see you, Greg. Now, if you’ll excuse us.” Josh punctuates his point by slamming the door in Craig’s face. I let out a relieved breath. “Thank you, Josh. You didn’t have to send him away. I could have done that.” “It’s no trouble, darling,” he says, placing a hand on my back and rubbing soothing circles between my shoulder blades. “I think you’ve dealt with him enough.”

I lean into his touch, accepting his small comfort before quickly remembering myself and pulling back. “Let’s just get this done and get out of here.” “Whatever you need, darling.”

That small sentence, whatever you need, darling, may be the death of me. This behavior comes naturally to Josh; it’s plain to see. He was born to be a light in the world, and he is slowly proving that to me over, and over, and over again. I only wish I could accept his light without feeling some type of misguided guilt. I owe Craig nothing, so why is he still dictating my feelings? Why is he still hindering the way I interact with other people? I pull myself out of my thoughts and begin surveying the room.

“We really don’t have much left. I’m choosing to be the bigger person and leaving him the furniture because I don’t want him to have anything.” “Mm,” Josh adds a noncommittal noise to let me know he’s still listening. “What?” “You’re just a better person than I am.” I scoff, practically begging him to explain himself. He is sunshine incarnate, there is no way I am a better person than he is. “Well, if I were you, I’d be removing every single thing I paid for from this house. I’d tell him to figure it out.” I let out a small chuckle. “Oh, I could never do that; that’s horrible. He can’t get ahead, should he ever get his shit together, if I start him off on his own with nothing.” “See, you’re a better person than me. In my eyes, he made his bed, and he can lie in it,” he crosses his arms over his chest, “Or.. not. But, you know what I mean.”

His tough facade cracks as he starts laughing, which sends me over the edge. I fall into his side as we dissolve into a fit of giggles, and I feel his arm wrap around my shoulder, pulling me closer. I lean my head against his shoulder, trying to reel in my laughter. I shift my head to look at his face, taking in how his eyes crinkle up and his dimples are on full display. The laughter dies on my lips as I take in his pearly white smile and his plush, pink lips. I pull back from him like I’ve been burned. Too close for comfort, get it together. I watch as the smile drops from his face, and he clears his throat, walking over to the boxes we set in the corner.

“Well, I’m going to take these down to the truck,” he pats the top box on the stack. “I, uh, I can help with that.” “No, no! Please finish up here, and I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“Uh, okay..”

I watch as he heaves the first box and opens the bedroom door, revealing Craig eavesdropping.

“Oh, hey, man.” “I just wanted to talk to Quinn for a minute.” Josh turns to me to gauge my level of comfort. Just another way he’s perfect. Stop that. I meet his eye and slightly nod. He huffs a small breath out of his nose as his face falls, just a hare.

“Of course,” Josh steps aside and lets Craig enter the room.

Once Josh exits the room, Craig stands in front of me, picking at his cuticles. “You don’t have to do this, you know,” he refuses to look at me. I give him a sad look, knowing that he is in denial and will not take well to the rest of this conversation.

“You know that I do, Craig,” I start, gently patting his arm. “No, I really don’t,” He flinches away from me, and my heart cracks a little bit more. “How can you not? We have done nothing but argue for the past few weeks,” I pause, “Actually, it’s been longer than that, and you know it.” He scoffs, refusing to meet my eyes and instead choosing to look around the now sparsely decorated room we once shared. “So, you’re just taking everything?” “I’m leaving the furniture. But, yeah. Pretty much everything else. I either made or bought all the decor. So..” “I’m supposed to just look at white walls?” “Look, Craig. What is this? What are you trying to do?” He kicks his foot against the rug that our - his - bed sits on top of. “I’m trying to stop you from making the worst mistake of your life,” his eyes, filled with determination, whip up to mine. “You’re trying to what?” “You heard me, Quinn. We love each other, and you’re throwing it all away.” I want to roll my eyes all the way back in my head, but instead, I fix Craig with a tight-lipped smile. “I think that you should be quiet now, Craig.” “Why? Are you starting to realize I’m right, and you don’t want to think about it too hard?” “No, Craig. I’m starting to get mad.”

I turn away from him, trying to calm myself down. I look at the bare walls of our bedroom, expecting to feel some form of loss, but instead, I just feel determined. I know in my blood and very bones that I am making the right choice. I let my determined anger lead my actions.

“You’re getting mad?” “YES, CRAIG,” I shout, “I’m ANGRY. I’m furious that you keep putting me through this shit. I have given you everything, and you still don’t think it’s enough. It’s never been enough for you, and it will never be enough.” “It’s always been enough, Quinn.” “Well, you’ve never shown that, and I cannot keep begging you to,” I hang my head and sigh, “I will not keep begging you. I don’t want to keep begging you to. So, we have nothing left to say to each other. This is done, there’s no salvaging it.” Craig flinches as if I’ve slapped him, and I may as well have. He’s always been less than stellar - understatement of the century - at handling his emotions, so I know that that statement likely felt like a physical blow in his mind.

“What do you mean there’s no salvaging it?” He says as he takes a step closer to me, clenching his fist. I step back, but the tension in the room deflates as the bedroom door flies open, revealing Josh and his windswept curls. His eyes widen as he takes in the scene before him: Craig, with his fist held tight, creeping toward me. “They said what they said, Craig,” Josh interjects. “Didn’t ask you, Josh.”

Wait a minute, I didn’t introduce them. Craig knows the name Josh, but they’ve never met. The wheels start turning in my head as I look between them. They’re caught in a stalemate, staring each other down.

“I wasn’t aware you knew each other..” Craig looks at Josh, then me, his face morphing into something cruel. “Oh, you didn’t tell her?” I roll my eyes at Craig’s slip-up, knowing he only does it to hurt me. “No, I didn’t tell them. We don’t exactly talk about you.” “So, you talk often, then?” “I’d say so, but never about you.” A lie.

I quickly turn and head toward the boxes stacked in the corner. As I move to pick one up, Josh rushes to my side. “What are you doing? I can help,” he says, placing his hand on my wrist. “The testosterone is so high in here, I can smell it. I don’t really care to be around it, so I’m taking my stuff to your truck.”

He looks properly chastised, opening and closing his mouth, trying to formulate an apology. I’m not sure if I care to hear an apology right now. From either of them. They’ve been keeping secrets from me and bickering like old maids about it. I couldn’t really care one way or the other for an apology or an explanation. I just want to get my things and go. Josh nods his head and uses his thumb to rub a soothing circle along the inside of my wrist. I struggle to suppress the shiver that runs down my spine. I meet his eyes and let a small smile creep to my face. He pulls his hand back from my wrist and gives me a shy smile in return.

“Are you kidding?” Craig practically shouts, breaking the peaceful moment between Josh and me.

I clear my throat, fixing him with a glare. “I don’t think you’re the one who gets to ask questions right now. I actually think you, both of you, owe me an explanation.” My annoyance bubbles to the surface again. I can’t believe Josh kept this from me. Craig, yes. Josh? My stomach feels slimy at the thought. It feels wrong that my new friend would keep secrets from me when I’ve been an open book to him. If I ignore the amount of misplaced pining I've done over him. It’s not pining; it’s normal to think about your friends. “Quinn, believe me,” Josh starts, “I didn’t want to keep this from you. But, I figured it would hurt you more than help you to know that Craig came to see me at Hobby Lobby.” My eyes slide from Josh over to Craig and I cock an eyebrow, asking him to continue. “Uh, yeah. I did.” “And he came into my brother’s bar,” Josh adds, hoping that being honest now will save him from my ire. Craig looks over at him and rolls his eyes. “Telling Quinn all your secrets isn’t going to make her like you.” “I don’t care if they like me, they deserve honesty.” “You didn’t seem to think so when you told me not to mention it.”

Did Josh really decide to keep this secret? I could see Craig, but it just hurts worse knowing that Josh chose this. Would Craig have told me if Josh hadn’t sworn him to secrecy? Thoughts rattle around in my head as I try to keep the hurt from flashing across my face. I slowly blink a few times. Am I taking this too hard? No, Quinn – You are allowed to feel your feelings. Yeah, well why does it feel so annoying then? Pulling myself out of my internal struggle, I lock eyes with Craig. “Elaborate. Right now,” I huff.

I listen in stunned silence as it tumbles out of Craig’s mouth that he basically stalked Josh and harassed him at work and again - allegedly by accident, though I’m not sure if I believe that - at the tavern that his brother owns. I can’t help the shock that shows on my face as he elaborates on the fact that he talked down on me and Josh came to my defense. I glance over to Josh, while Craig finishes his story, allowing my eyes to trace over his features. I catalog the slope of his nose, and the spot I know a dimple pops out in when he smiles. I can’t really be mad at him, I think as my eyes get caught on the shape of his top lip, He’s too cute to be mad at. I shake my head, dispelling the thought. I should be angry with Josh. He may not have sought Craig out, but he certainly kept it a secret from me when he had ample time to tell me.

“This is insane, you know that right?” I look between Josh and Craig, ensuring that they realize I am talking to both of them, “In what world would you think that keeping this secret from me was a good idea?”

I see the regret immediately flash across Josh’s face, Craig following shortly behind.

“You’re right, Quinn,” Josh Starts, “I should have told you, but I didn’t want to get in the middle of your relationship.”

“Littlelateforthat,” Craig huffs under his breath, causing me to roll my eyes.

I turn to Craig, raising an eyebrow, “Well, do you have anything to add.”

Craig simply shakes his head and leaves the room, putting an end to our conversation. I sigh, turning away from Josh and moving to pick up my final few boxes.

“Whatever’s left in here is staying,” I say in a clipped tone, hoisting a box into my arms. I’m annoyed with Josh. I’m annoyed at the fact that I’m not more annoyed. It hurts that Josh didn’t tell me, but it hurts more knowing that it doesn’t matter. I was going to break up with Craig regardless. Hell, Portland’s a small town, they likely would have met each other eventually. But that should have been on my terms. And it shouldn’t have been a secret. “That’s fine,” Josh responds and picks up the last two boxes, following me down to his truck.

The drive back to mine and Willa’s apartment is frosty to say the least. Josh has kept his metaphorical tail between his legs since the confrontation with Craig earlier. The only sounds that pass between us are the sounds of the radio and the occasional GPS direction.

When we get back to my apartment, he wordlessly puts his truck in park and jumps out to open my door for me. We carry each box up to the apartment and into my (new) bedroom in complete and utter silence. When Josh has dropped the final box on the floor of my room, he finally heaves out a long sigh.

“I’m sorry, Quinn. I didn’t want to keep it a secret.” He ducks his head, picking at his cuticles.

“I believe you, it was just a shock.” He looks up at me with the most hopeful look in his eyes and I crack. I can’t stay mad at him. “Do you mean it?”

“Of course, Josh,” I smile, “But, I really should get started on unpacking.”

Josh nods his head, “Need help?”

“Oh, I couldn’t ask that of you, but I’ll walk you out.”

We make small talk all the way to the door, and I open it to usher him outside.

“I really appreciate your help today. I couldn’t have done it without you, truly.”

He gives me one of his dimple-popping smiles and pulls me in for a hug.

“Anything for you, dear,” he whispers into my ear, crushing me against him.

It would be so easy to just… before I can rethink it, I turn my head and capture his lips with mine. It lasts just a second, a ghost of a kiss, before I pull back. What the fuck have I done? I quickly put a little bit of distance between us, taking in Josh’s wide eyes. “I’m so–” before I can finish my apology, Josh closes the distance between us and presses his lips against mine. I let out a small gasp and he takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, sucking my top lip between his. My hands completely of their own volition wind their way into his unruly curls. He lets out a small Mmph at the feeling. His hands find my hips and pull me closer against him as his tongue traces against my lips, begging for entry. As if he’s searching for any possible way to get closer, closer, closer.

Who am I to deny him?

I sigh, giving him what he wants, and our tongues tangle together.

I lightly tug at his hair and he lets out an almost growl as he lets his hands gently, tentatively, roam my body.

His right hand trails up my back before coming to rest on the back of my neck, pulling me closer, closer, closer.

He backs me against the wall next to the door and pulls his lips from mine, before moving to kiss down my neck.

“Fuck,” I hiss as his teeth graze a particularly sensitive spot.

No. But actually, FUCK.

“Josh,” I start.

“Mm,” He ignores me, continuing to press open-mouthed kisses and nips along my heated flesh.

What am I doing?

I shove him away from me.

“What the fuck is this?” I say more to myself than Josh.

“You need to go. I need you to leave immediately.”

“I, uh, I,” He stammers.

“No! Leave. Now! And please, just… don’t contact me. Clearly we’ve done enough.”

I watch as he nods his head and leaves.

Was Craig right? Is Josh the reason our relationship went to shit? Am I the one in the wrong?

I can’t stop the guilt and thoughts from swirling through my head as I spend the rest of the night settling into my new home.

I let the guilt eat at me even hours later, as I tuck myself under my comforter and ignore Willa’s frantic knocks on my door.

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#gvf #greta van fleet #greta van fic #gvf fic #josh gvf #greta van fluff #greta van fleet fanfiction #josh kiszka fanfiction #josh kiszka #josh kiskza fanfic #jake gvf #danny gvf #sam gvf #josh kiszka x oc

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