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dyaz-stories · 7 months ago

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JUJUTSU BOYS + PDA

how the jjk boys are when you're in public with them

including: gojo, nanami, choso, yuuji, megumi, maki

word count: 3.6k (500-600 words for one character)

cw: intended as canon compliant, established relationships, fluff, tooth-rotting fluff, kissing, public demonstrations of affection, can't think of anything else tbh

a/n: been reading some fics in this format so wanted to try my hand at it again. it's been years since I wrote short pieces like that, so I hope you'll enjoy them!

GOJO

Gojo has no concept of personal space, and that is something you had to get used to since you started dating — if anything, since before you started dating. Even when the two of you were at a more flirtatious stage, he’d always be leaning towards you to talk to you, face inches away from yours, hands on your hips if he needed to move past you, arm casually around you if you were sitting next to each other. It was all the better if it flustered you.

None of this has changed, except that he’s much more extra about it now. Holding your hand while walking? Nah, that’s boring. He’ll have his arm around your shoulders, even if it’s not convenient given the height difference. He’ll also try to put his hand in the back pocket of your jeans, pout if you tell him not to do it. If you’re waiting in line with him, he has both of his arms around you, is resting his chin on top of your head, and wants nothing more than for you to lean back into his chest, relaxing into his embrace. You can both be doing totally unrelated things — you’re reading and he’s checking his phone — but you’re slotted against each other, and that’s how it is ideally for you.

You’re waiting for him to show up to your date when you feel yourself surrounded by familiar arms, and then his cheek is pressing against yours as he surveys the book you’re holding in your hands.

“Whatch’ya reading?” he asks, breath warm against your cheek.

“Just doing some research on emerging curses,” you say with a shrug as you close it and put it in your bag. “So, did you want to check out that new bakery?”

He hums in reply, and you wait for him to move so you can start walking.

He doesn’t.

“…do you plan on letting go of me?” you ask after a while, turning your head to look at him.

He pouts at you, inches away from your face.

“I haven’t even gotten a kiss yet…”

“We’re in public, Satoru,” you say, feeling your face heating up.

“So? Let ‘em stare. They might as well, if you ask me.”

You want to roll your eyes — one day, you’ll have to talk about that exhibitionist streak of his — but in the meantime, you just have to crane your neck a little to peck his lips. They’re soft, as always, and he follows greedily when you pull away, his hand coming up to tilt your chin up gently as he presses more kisses on the corner of your lips, then on your cheek.

“You’re impossible,” you say, badly hiding your laughter. “Let’s go, or we won’t make it to closing time. You’re late, by the way.”

He lets out a heartbroken sigh, but finally frees you, keeping his arm around your shoulders as the two of you start walking towards the bakery. He keeps his strides short, so you don’t have to run to keep up with him, instead allowing you to keep a comfortable pace.

“Yeah, well, what can I say? I’m just too good at my job, they can never get enough of me.”

“Aw, poor darling,” you say. You grab his hand, intertwining your fingers with his, and bring it to your lips to press a kiss on the back.

He lets out a cough that doesn’t do much to disguise the fact that he’s getting flustered, and you grin, satisfied. Two can play that game.

Fortunately, neither Satoru nor you have any intention of forfeiting any time soon.

NANAMI

Nanami is a private man. There is no reason for the whole world to know his business, and he doesn’t feel the need to put his relationship on display for everyone to see. His softness for you is still plain to see in how gentle his voice gets when he speaks to you, in how carefully he chooses his words, in how fond his eyes are when he listens to you tell him about your day. He knows you like him holding your hand, though, so he’ll indulge you, especially when you’re walking by his side through crowded streets.

That is for practical reasons, of course. First, it just wouldn’t do to lose sight of you. Second, people tend to steer clear of him, his serious expression and his broad frame, and that means they realize quickly to steer clear of you. It has nothing to do with how soft your hand is in his, or how the way you use your thumb to stroke his skin sends shivers down his back.

“That’s a lovely restaurant,” you comment, eyes drinking in the elegant decor while Nanami is examining the menu.

“It had excellent reviews,” he answers, not going into details as to the great lengths he’d gone to in order to ensure that this date was as perfect as humanly possible.

“I’ve been in the neighborhood so many times, and I had no idea this was here,” you say. The place is very small, only a handful of tables, all of them now filled. You’re sharing an alcove with Nanami, creating some distance with other customers.

“There aren’t many tables available, so they don’t advertise much,” he explains as he sets the menu down. “But they’re known for their excellent cuisine.”

You give him a smile, then lean closer to him to kiss him on the cheek. Your lips linger just a little too long, and then you move them close to his ear, which is already turning quite red.

“Thank you for planning all that,” you say sweetly. “It looks wonderful.”

He clears his throat when you pull away, avoiding your eyes.

“Of course,” he answers, voice wavering imperceptibly. “Anything for you.”

And you know he means it, too.

Under the table, his hand finds your leg, large palm easily covering your knee while calloused fingers carefully rub your calf. You bite your lip, welcome the warmth that spreads in your body. You know Kento well enough to be sure that that’s as far as he’ll go, that he wouldn’t dare to do anything more in such a public setting, and that makes you enjoy the intimacy of the gesture all the more.

Later that night, while the two of you are walking out, his jacket is around your shoulder at his insistence — “It’s cold outside” — and he’s getting ready to call a taxi.

“Kento?”

He lowers the phone to look at you, and you push yourself on your tiptoe, hand closing around his tie to pull him down towards you.

It’s late at night, he tells himself. There’s no one around, he tells himself. That’s why he closes his eyes and allows himself to melt into the kiss, regretting it when you pull away too soon and catching himself before he grabs you by the hips to get you closer to him.

“I had a great evening,” you say. “Should we take this to somewhere more private?”

How much more merciless can you get?

“Certainly,” he says. “Just give me a second.”

There is nothing he can deny you.

CHOSO

Choso cannot wrap his head around what he can and cannot do around you. The rules for what is proper, what is acceptable, have shifted so much since he was last around, and he would die before he embarrassed you — or worse, before he did something that would make you push him away. He knows that you wouldn’t, and yet the fear is like a weight that tugs on his heart every time he thinks about it. He walks by your side, glancing at your hand that’s freely hanging between the two of you, and though he brushes his knuckles against yours, he just cannot bring himself to do it. It’s to the point where it’s the only thing he’s thinking about — and he just can’t do it.

Then you see something that catches your eye and you grab his hand and pull him with you in that direction, and he thinks his heart could just fall out of his chest. You make it look so easy, so natural, being with him coming as easy to you as breathing, and he couldn’t possibly ask for more. It takes him many other tries, many other dates, before he can take your hand in his. When he does, you glance down in surprise, then grin at him, and kiss his knuckles softly — and he’s so happy he could die.

“So,” you say, sitting on the park bench, knee pressed against his while you’re leaning into him to show him your phone, your hair tickling his neck, “that’s the movies they have on tonight. Think we should call Yuuji to ask him what to watch?”

“Hm,” Choso says, not really focusing on anything you’re talking about, not when you’re this close to him, “isn’t— isn’t that the one franchise he’s always talking about?”

You burst out laughing, then rest your head on his shoulder.

“No offense, babe, but there is no one in the world I’d go see a Human Earthworm movie for. Even if this one is supposed to have romance in it,” you shudder at the thought, “I’d like to go see something actually. You know. Watchable.”

Choso’s mind is going in overdrive. You’re so close, and he knows he should have gotten used to this by now. He isn’t usually like this, but some passers-by are looking — not necessarily being judgmental, though there was an old lady earlier who scoffed and shook her head, but… looking.

“Then I don’t know if Yuuji is going to be much help,” he manages to say as you keep scrolling on the cinema’s website.

“That’s fair,” you sigh, standing up from the bench, and even if he can now think again, he misses your warmth and your smell right away. “Well, maybe we drop the movie and just go get something to eat, what do you say?

“Sounds good,” he answers, standing up after you.

Hesitantly, almost clumsily, he reaches for your hand, fingertips brushing against your thigh as he does, then tightens his grip around your palm, ensuring that it wouldn’t slip away from you. You give him a fond smile, then take a step to get closer to him, and kiss him gently. His breath hitches, and his eyes dart around the mostly empty park.

“T-there’s people around,” he says quietly, and he hates that you step back to look around.

“Oh, sorry,” you say, “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable—”

He takes your hand to pull you with him, and you follow him through the grass as he finds a more secluded spot, behind a tree.

“There,” he says, and you chuckle at how satisfied with himself he sounds.

“Oh Choso,” you coo, leaning against the tree while you grab his shirt to pull him down towards you. His mouth is warm, eager, and his cheeks remain a fierce shade of red as he kisses you back insistently.

You would have missed the beginning of the movie anyway.

YUUJI

The thing about Yuuji is that any type of public demonstration of affection feels so natural coming from him. It’s almost never meant to be suggestive, it’s not something he thinks through, it’s just something he does. You’ll be sitting with Nobara when he appears, and he just puts his arm around you while talking to her, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. You’re walking with him when he lifts his head up like he’s forgotten something, and what he forgot was to hold your hand, silly him.

If you walk by him while he’s sitting, he’ll grab your hips to pull you in his laps, fingers rubbing circles on the skin of your arms, absent-mindedly playing with your fingers as he holds your hand. After all, why wouldn’t he? He doesn’t even realize that it flusters you, and it just feels so natural for him to show his affection like that. He’ll look at you with stars in his eyes while you speak, not seeming to realize that his face is so close to him while you’re sitting in his lap.

No one pays attention to it anymore. You arrive just as Nobara is starting the movie — she’s putting on an action movie, thank you very much, even if Gojo just bought the collector edition of Human Earthworm 4 for Yuuji, with the director’s cut — and with all the students crammed in the room, including Panda, who’s taking most of the space on the couch, there’s nowhere left for you to sit.

“Come here,” Yuuji says cheerfully, waving you towards the armchair where he’s found his spot, “it’s about to start.”

You glance around the room for a reaction, but no one is paying you any mind. You walk over to him, perching yourself on one of the arms, legs over his. He doesn’t seem puzzled by it, just puts an arm around your waist casually.

Of course, you end up still sitting in his lap eventually, just slipping in it at some point in the movie. Can you be blamed? He’s warm and comfortable, and he wraps both arms around you so he can tuck his chin in the crook of your shoulder, nose brushing against your cheek when he turns his head. Not that he seems to notice how it makes your pulse quickens, eyes focused on the movie.

“What are the themes even supposed to be,” he mutters under his breath, eyebrows knitting together in annoyance.

“’Military good’?” you suggest quietly as a guy gets blown up on screen.

“The first half of the movie was about military bad,” he protests. “They can’t just act like that never existed.”

“Would you two shut up,” Nobara shouts from her spot, “or Maki will come beat you up!”

The two of you pipe down, knowing the threat is very serious and not one to take lightly.

When the movie ends, everyone gets up, stretching, but you’ve gotten comfortable against Yuuji’s chest, and you don’t feel like doing that just yet.

“That was terrible,” Yuuji comments, and you let out a brief laugh. Gojo has somehow made a cinephile out of him, and you love how worked up he gets over that stuff.

“Yeah, we should have been watching Human Earthworm 4 instead,” you say.

“Exact— oh, you’re making fun of him.”

You giggle, then tilt your head to kiss him. For a second, he freezes, eyes going wide. Kissing is the one thing he rarely initiates — but when you do, you get to see his gaze soften, before his whole body goes soft. His hold on your waist tightens — and then a pillow thrown with impressive precision hits him, and only him, on the ear.

“Not in public,” Maki shouts from all the way into the kitchen.

“Hey,” your boyfriend protests, “I’m not the one who—”

“You’re such a traitor,” you gasp, struggling to pull yourself free from his arms — but it’s no use against his strength, and he refuses to let go.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he says. “Now, where were we?”

You might have been at fault for the first pillow, but that second one is all on him, as far as you’re concerned.

MEGUMI

Megumi is a private guy. He can be affectionate in public, but there is a side of him that he only wants you to see. He especially doesn’t want any of your nosy friends, or worse, his adoptive dad to see how he can be around you. They would never stop teasing him after, and he doesn’t think he could live with that.

Or that they could live with that. Because he’d kill them.

It does annoy him that he’s supposed to deny himself because of them. If it was up to him, he’d spend most of his time alone with you, preferably in a small house in the middle of a forest with no one around, no curses, no sorcerers, no nothing. That, sadly, isn’t an option though, so he has to find his own way to do things.

“Don’t move,” he says sternly. “You have something on your face.”

You roll your eyes, but tilt your head up towards him, as he carefully runs his thumb under your eye, then over your cheek, blowing on it once it’s done.

“What was it?” you ask.

“Just an eyelash,” he says with a shrug. “You’re good now.”

You study him, waiting for him to give something away, but he doesn’t, just staring at you with the same expression he always wears.

“Should we get going?” he asks. “I thought we were supposed to catch a movie.”

“Sure,” you relent. “We should get moving.”

The streets are quite full at this time of the day, and you have to step aside frequently to let people pass, sometimes losing sight of Megumi. Eventually, with a sigh, he grabs your hand, pulling you with him as he walks, sending murderous glares to anyone who stays in his path.

“You’re going to get lost at this rate,” he mutters as he pulls you with him.

“I mean, worst case scenario we meet back at the theater,” you say, and you grin at the offended look he gives you. He notices it, but doesn’t answer, a light pink dusting his cheek as he glances away.

He hates the idea of being away from you on a day that’s supposed to be about the two of you — but since he refuses to say the quiet part out loud, you get to tease him all you want.

To be fair to him, having Megumi as your scary guard dog does make it much easier and much faster to reach the theater. He gives you a pointed look when you get there, and, to your regret, lets go of your hand quickly, though his touch lingers there a second longer than necessary.

“Should we get a couple seat?” you ask innocently as you approach the register.

Megumi glares at you once more while you give him a sweet smile.

“It’s better that way, right?” he says, clearing his throat. “Otherwise strangers might have to share one.”

“Sure,” you nod, not even bothering to hide your grin. “It’s just more practical, right?”

“Right,” he says stiffly.

Even once you are in the couple seat, he keeps a thoroughly appropriate distance from you, one that you might find a little hurtful if, at the end of the commercials, he didn’t fake a yawn to put his arm around you, in the least smooth way known to man.

“You know you can just do it,” you say quietly as the lights turn off, resting your head on his shoulder. “You don’t have to go through all that.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he mumbles.

Reaching for his face, you tilt his head towards you, and push yourself to meet his lips for a sweet, soft kiss. For the first time since you’ve stepped foot outside, his whole body relaxes into yours, and he stops trying to pretend.

“You had something on your lips,” you whisper when you pull away.

He snorts, then quickly goes back in to steal one more kiss from you before the movie starts.

“Liar,” he says.

As if he’s one to talk.

MAKI

Maki isn’t a demonstrative person as a general rule. She does compliment you without hesitation, words falling from her mouth so genuinely that it never fails to fluster you, but physical demonstrations of affection don’t come easy to her, maybe because she received so little of it as a kid. She does it sporadically, and she does very much enjoy teasing you, loves knowing that she can get those reactions out of you.

It’s the more spontaneous gestures that get to you though. She’ll kiss your forehead after a battle that left you bruised, a way of comforting you. She’ll pat your head after you managed to pull an impressive move during training. On one occasion, when you got injured, she carried you in your arms to Shoko, demanding that you be taken care of right this instant. She’d been the one to get flustered after that, hiding her face in her hand in embarrassment when it was brought up later on.

It might not come easy to her, but she does love it when you do it — when you show her your love in that way.

“You’re late,” she scolds you when you reach her for one of your dates, needing to take a second to catch your breath because you’ve been running since getting out of the subway.

“Sorry,” you say between deep breaths, “there was an emergency.”

Worry flashes on her face immediately.

“A curse? Were you hurt?”

She reaches for you, tilting your face towards her as she examines it, then study your body to make sure you weren’t injured. You let her, surprised at first, then endeared.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she frowns once she realizes how soft your gaze has become.

You grin, then push yourself closer to kiss her. You don’t care that you’re in public, and though it wouldn’t have occurred to her to do it, neither does she. The kiss is sweet, gentle. I’m alive, you’re alive, it says. No need for more.

“See?” you ask cheerfully. “All good. Now, I’m pretty sure you were going to buy me dinner…”

She clicks her tongue, but she’s grinning. It’s nice to see her so at ease, so relaxed. It’s a side of her you’d never see within the walls of Jujutsu High, nor on a mission. You’re the only one that can bring it out of her, and man do you love it.

“I’m buying? Again?”

“I did almost just die.”

“Nice try, but you told me you were fine.”

“I’m fine now,” you insist, “but…”

“Well, I was disowned by my family, so I don’t have money. You’re buying.”

The two of you keep bickering, but, as you walk, you reach for her hand. She pulls away at first, years and years of reflexes kicking in instinctively, and once she realizes what you were doing, she’s the one who takes your hand in hers. She holds it delicately, careful not to break it — to be fair, her strength would probably allow her that.

It’s so sweet and light, being out there with you like that. So normal. She hopes it never ends.

You squeeze her hand, and she lets you guide her across the street, content with just following, knowing that she can trust you to fill in her shortcomings in the relationship, like she does it for yours.

The sky is grey, the forecast said it might run later tonight — Maki’s planned an umbrella, she’s sure you didn’t think of it — but as far as she’s concerned, the day is as beautiful as it could possibly be.

this is my first time writing for... pretty much everyone here except gojo lol. i hope you enjoyed it and that the characterization wasn't too off, but any feedback is welcome! if you want to support me and my writing, please reblog/leave a comment or send me an ask, i'd love to chat! i'll see you later for some more jjk writing ^-^

you can find my gojo x reader work here

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citrus-moonlight · 1 month ago

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As I often do, I've seen a few posts going around lately lamenting the lack of interaction with fanfiction/fanart here on Tumblr as well as AO3, but after reading a particular comment last night I just need to say this:

If someone tells you that the lack of response to sharing their writing is making them feel so upset that they're thinking of quitting writing altogether, don't tell them that's not a good mindset to have and they should just have fun with it and write for themselves. (have you just tried not being sad? you'll feel so much better!)

Even if you're a writer who felt that way once upon a time but then you changed your mindset so that you don't rely on others' feedback for validation and now you're so much happier, that's not helpful. Because that's obviously not what the person who is feeling sad and defeated is able to do right now, and for most writers/creators that's never going to be possible.

And it shouldn't have to be.

Especially here. Especially fanfiction.

Fanfiction is something that's created because someone loves something and wants to share it with others who love the same thing. And this is specifically a fandom space, somewhere that is supposed to be a community where discussion and dialogue can and is encouraged to happen between the people who write and the people who read. So when there's radio silence when you share something in this kind of space, do you really not see how that would be discouraging?

Because of course I write for myself - I would never get anything down on the page if I didn't - but I share because ultimately I want someone else out there to read what I wrote, and with any luck, to get some joy out of it. But if no one tells me they did, how am I supposed to know? As far as I know I've just been yelling into the void. As far as I know, all that work wasn't worth it.

A metaphor I've seen as an example is that it would be like having someone invite you over and cooking an entire delicious, heartfelt meal, you eat it all without saying anything, and then just leave. Do you not see how that would be upsetting?

We put so much of ourselves into what we write, bits of our hearts and souls and the things that we love and are exploring and are interested in or confused about. It's such a vulnerable thing to share something you've created, so when you tell someone that they shouldn't care if someone else reads what they wrote or tells them that they liked it, you're dismissing a very real and valid experience for so many creators out there.

Because regardless of how slow or fast a writer is, or how big or small their fandom is, it's still hard and takes time and energy and dedication and love - all of it in between our day to day lives from the mundanities to the heartbreaks - to even get something to the point where we're comfortable sharing.

Now, I know that not everyone thinks that writers are silly or selfish or entitled when they ask for feedback. Before I started writing again after many, many years, the main reason I didn't really comment on fics very often wasn't because I didn't think that the authors deserved feedback, it was more that I didn't really think that it would matter. That my comments would just be noted - if read at all - and brushed aside and then they would continue on about their day.

I could not have possible been more wrong. You might think you're just one person and it's just one comment but it's amazing how it can turn a day (or week, or month) around. How it can encourage someone to finish a story, or make a connection they'd been struggling with, or even just manage to add 500 words to a WIP. It is truly incredible to hear that someone loved something I wrote, and if you've ever commented on or reblogged one of my fics, please know that it truly means the world to me.

I've gone through a rough time with all of this lately myself, but I'm doing a bit better now (for the moment), so I just wanted to say this, in part to remind myself when it inevitably gets hard again:

If you're reading this, whether you're a friend or you've never seen me on your dash and never will again: I'm sorry it hurts right now. I'm sorry you feel discouraged and lonely, that it doesn't feel like it's worth it anymore, that you're struggling to find a reason to continue.

But I desperately hope that you keep writing. I hope you keep sharing. You're worth it. I know it's hard, and if you don't want to and you're just tired of the cycle of giving so much of yourself and getting so little in return, I understand that, too. It's ok to be in your feelings about it, it's ok to feel drained by it, and even though knowing you're not alone in your experience doesn't change anything and it still sucks, it's normal and valid and there's nothing wrong with you feeling the way that you do.

But I hope that you are able to find the joy in it again, because you deserve it. ❤️

#ok to rb #fanfiction #writing #thoughts and reminders #every writer is incredible #every artist #every gif maker #every single person who submits to the mortifying ordeal of being known #who contributes to their fandom however big or small #deserves to feel that their effort was worth it #support the people who create the things you love #do you want to spread misery or joy?

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gallaghersgal · 1 year ago

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𝐢 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 || 𝐥𝐢𝐩 𝐠𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐫

pairing: lip gallagher x fem!reader

summary: just lip being a cute bf + debbie and ian being little shits

warnings: lowercase on purpose. poorly written tbh. swearing but y’all know how it is. heavily unedited. gen said yolo so i’m posting

A/N: i’ve been on hiatus for god knows how long but my roommate and i started watching shameless and i can’t get this mfer out of my head. things w school and life are hard rn so i just wrote this comfy cozy little thing in my notes app. yolo asf.

wordcount: probably like 500 or less idk i wrote it in my notes app at 1am

— — — — — — — — — — —

you’re nestled in lip’s arms, high up on his rickety top bunk. somewhere between finishing your nails and kissing until you could barely breathe, you had fallen asleep right against his chest.

you stirred now, your cozy world interrupted a squeaky little voice. “are you in love with her?” debbie questions.

lip shushes his sister, “be quiet, she’s sleeping.”

you were wide awake now, but much too comfortable to move and make that little fact known. plus, you wanted to hear his answer.

“i asked you a question dummy. are you in love with her?”

lip stutters, “i-i dunno. i really like her, okay?”

you’re satisfied with that answer. “in love” was a little too much too quick. but “really like” was something that made you feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

“what d’ya like about her?” ian presses.

you can practically hear the gears turning in lip’s head as his siblings impatiently await a response.

“she’s- i dunno, she’s pretty?” lip replies. you hold back a scowl, annoyed at him for not having a better answer.

“yeah, great rack,” debbie comments.

“jesus, deb!” lip’s head falls back in frustration, one hand coming to cradle your head as not to wake you with the sudden motion.

“cut the shit lip,” ian interrupts. “tell us what you really think.”

you hold your breath as you wait for his response. his lips brush your hairline before he sighs. “she’s sweet, yeah? real kind.”

“a real woman of the people,” ian snorts, “princess diana type.” then “ow!” as you hear debbie shove him.

“and- and she’s real smart, too,” lip continues. “really, really fuckin’ smart. an’ she works hard. she just tires herself out sometimes.”

he strokes your hair gently, pressing a few more fleeting kisses to your forehead.

“you’re so whipped.”

you hear debbie shove her brother again, and this time ian fights back, the two making a ruckus as they push each other back and forth.

“come on guys, out. now.” lip orders his siblings around with that same stern voice you’ve heard plenty of times before.

debbie pouts. “but-“

“no buts. go on, she’s fuckin’ sleepin’ in here an’ you’re gonna wake her up. fuck off.”

“we were just-“

“fuck. off.”

“jesus,” you can practically hear ian roll his eyes. “alright, alright. we’re going.”

debbie yells for fiona as the two shuffle out of the room, not bothering to close the door behind them.

you smirk to yourself as lip groans above you, showing your cards. “you’re awake?”

you peer up at him through your lashes, a smirk planted on your lips that he’s just dying to kiss off. “can’t believe your little sister said i have a great rack,” you whisper.

lip laughs, loud and genuine. “yeah, she’s been stuffing fi’s old training bras. growin’ up an’ shit. i don’t like it.”

you’re quiet for a moment, admiring him. you know how important those kids are to him. he’d do just about anything for them, including the minor crimes you find him tangled up in on a weekly basis. he loves them like they’re his own kids, which honestly they kind of are. they may shove each other around, curse each other out, yell and scream at the top of their lungs, but at the end of the day lip has been more of a father to his siblings than frank ever was.

“you really meant all that?” you ask.

lip looks down at you, his blue eyes soft in the dim light. “yeah. yeah, i did. meant every word.”

you smile, leaning up to place a solid kiss on his lips. “for what it’s worth,” you murmur, “i really like you too.”

#shameless #lip gallagher x reader #lip gallagher x you #lip gallagher x y/n #lip gallagher fluff #lip gallagher #shameless fanfiction #idek how to tag anymore i’ve lost my tumblr interface memory and abilities #sos.#written by maggie [fics]

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buckyalpine · 1 year ago

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Bucky x civilian reader

JESSY REACHES 500

I wrote this for my most precious bb, @jessybarnes congratulations my angel, you deserve ALL the followers.

Warnings: angstttyy, Bucky's an idiot, fluffyy, friends with benefits to lovers, I hope your chest itches a lil.

Prompt: "I can't keep doing this, I can't keep giving you chances just for you to break my heart over and over again."

"Morning Doll" His husky voice stirred you awake, the cool tips of his fingers sending shivers down your spine as he traced up and down your bare back. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

Bucky barely gave you a chance to respond, throwing the covers off, exposing you to the cool air of your bedroom as he rummaged around for his boxers which he'd tossed off haphazardly the night before.

"Alright" You mustered a smile as he pecked your head, seeing himself out and locking the door with the spare key you gave him. It would be weeks before you saw him again, going back to your regular schedule while he was off saving the world.

You had an interesting relationship with Bucky Barnes.

You'd met when he came to return a copy of the Hobbit at the library you worked at, tossing your a charming smirk before going to browse for more books. One night after a few more flirty comments and innocent touches later, you found yourself with your hands down each others pants, his lips smashed against yours to keep your moans down, the both of you hidden between the bookshelves.

He eventually started coming over to your place instead, exploring every bit of your body like he owned it, spending hours taking you both to new heights until he couldn't move. It was pure sex and the absolute best you'd ever had. Bucky made you forget your own name, only having the ability to moan and take everything he was giving you.

It was the perfect arrangement for him; something lowkey to help with the stress of his job without having to commit to much more. After you started to pick up more shifts at the library, you even gave his own key to your place to let himself in on days where you hadn't gotten home yet.

That was nearly a year ago.

You sighed, pulling the covers back over yourself, his scent still lingering on the sheets and pillow making your heart flutter, already waiting for the next time he'd be over. You hated the feeling, knowing your feelings were going further than what Bucky wanted. You hated every time he had to leave, the butterflies in your tummy fluttering wildly whenever he his name popped up on your phone.

Your heart would beat faster every time he kissed you, biting your tongue from telling him you didn't want him to go, you couldn't just be a person to keep his bed warm, you wanted more, you loved him-

Fuck.

You loved him.

You shook your head, ignoring the tightness that started to constrict your throat, feeling worse than the last time he'd left.

Why the fuck did you fall for him.

"Maybe we could go out?" You tried, hoping for once one of your rendezvous wouldn't be just sex. Bucky hummed, holding you closer to his bare chest, your bodies tangled under the sheets after he'd taken you apart, coming straight to your place as soon as he jet had landed.

"Sure, how about we grab coffee next time?" He mumbled, rutting his hips up, already hard again, rolling on top of you, peppering kisses down your neck before you could respond.

"Wait, Bu-oh god" Your words melted into moans as he made himself comfortable between your legs, neither of you brining up those plans again for the rest of the night. He stayed over as always, leaving before you stirred, the bed cold and empty when you woke up the next day to a text message from him.

Had to leave early, see you when I'm back x

You blinked, chewing your lip, debating on how to respond, a part of you still hoping he'd be open to spending time with you outside of just needing something physical.

Sure! Let's go to the cafe nearby? I've been dying to go

You typed and deleted the message 3 times before finally hitting send, tossing your phone aside, anxiety clouding your mind wondering how he'd respond.

Then he didn't.

You waited the entire week for him to respond to your message, the read at 6:03 staring you in the face, making your cheeks heat up from embarrassment, imagining the way he probably opened and closed the chat, forgetting your very existence until he had needs again.

Why did you even try.

You harshly wiped the tears that streaked down your face, chewing the inside of your cheek, freezing when the lock of your door turned, the familiar sound of his bag hitting the floor. You quickly splashed water onto your face, hiding any evidence of emotion when Bucky popped his head into your room, finding you in the bathroom.

"Hi doll" He smiled, wrapping his arms around your waist, dragging you to bed and flopping over, making him self comfortable with his head on your chest.

"Hi Buck" You cleared your throat, hoping he wouldn't hear the shake in your voice, carding your fingers though his hair, instantly betraying yourself and melting into him when his hands made their way up your shirt.

"Missed this" he groaned, his sinful lips kissing down your neck and shoulders, slotting himself between your legs. "Thought about it all week"

All week.

When I waited for you to reply at least once.

You felt your eyes sting, forcing back the way your felt for what was happening in the moment. He made it clear what he wanted from you but you weren't sure how much more you could take. You succumbed to his charm, the sheets warm, your body slick with sweat, your face resting against his chest, his arm holding you securely, letting his warm breath tickle your skin.

"I'll see you tomorrow?" Bucky's nose nuzzled into your neck, pulling away slightly when he felt you tense in his hold, not responding, "Doll?"

"Maybe-maybe we shouldn't do this anymore" Your throat burned with how hard you were trying to keep from crying, keeping your eyes trained on his chest instead of his sweet baby blues you'd fallen for.

"Why not" Bucky frowned while you shifted uncomfortably.

"What are we Bucky"

"Y/n, we talked about this" He groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. You hated the way his arms loosened around you, pulling away his warmth with it, your body curling in on itself as he got off the bed to put his clothes on.

"I know but- I just- I feel used, it's like I'm some dirty secret" you brought your knees to your chest, digging your nails into your palms while he pulled his hoodie over his head. "We've never done anything else other than fuck in my apartment!"

"Its not like that" He argued back, sitting back down at by the edge of the bed.

"Bucky, no one even knows I exist. Tell me, does Steve even know?"

He chewed his lip before shaking his head. He hadn't told anyone about you, not even his best friend. You scoffed, feeling more pathetic than ever, your stomach churning seeing the distance already starting to grow between you both.

"See what I mean? You won't even go out for coffee with me, is just all sex. Is that all I am to you?"

"We both agreed to keep this casual, you know I'm not ready for a relationship y/n, I-I never saw you like that" His words cut deeper, the pit in your stomach growing heavier as he looked at you with pity. "Y/n-

"Fine" You blinked back the stubborn tears that kept welling in your eyes, harshly swiping your cheek as they started to stream down your face, "I get it"

"So where do we go from here" Bucky sighed, a part of him wanting to reach out and wipe the tears that streaked down your cheeks and hold you in his arms, hating the way he could see your heart breaking because of him.

"I can't keep doing this, I can't keep giving you chances just for you to break my heart over and over again." Your voice began to crack, wrapping your arms around your knees, pulling them to your chest, "I-I keep waiting for the day you'd feel differently but I get it, it's not happening"

"I'm sorry" Bucky whispered, almost reaching out to hold you one last time, deciding against it as he got up and made his way out of your room for the last time. His chest ached when he heard the first sob slip past your lips, softly closing the door behind him.

You cried your heard out, the pain far worse than you imagined it to be, wishing you'd kept your feelings to yourself because now you'd lost Bucky forever. You wouldn't wake up to him sneaking into your room for cuddles. You wouldn't walk into your apartment to find him crashed on your couch. You wouldn't wake up wrapped in his arms, legs tangled together with naughty kisses first thing in the morning.

Why did you fall so hard for him.

"Alright, what's going on with him" Tony huffed, "He's more grumpy than usual and I'm going to lose my billionaire status with how many punching bags I've replaced within the last week. Rogers?"

Steve shrugged, equally confused and worried as to why his best friend was far more moody than usual. There hadn't been any particularly grueling missions recently and there was nothing scheduled for the month. Over the past few weeks, Bucky had been closed off, secluded in his room, only leaving to spend time in the gym, breaking bags left, right and center.

"What's wrong with you" Steve found the soldier in the gym, grunting between punches, sweat dripping down his body, jaw clenched as he landed another hit, causing the leather to give way with sand spilling to the floor.

"Nothing" Bucky shook his head, hardly registering the sting of his split knuckles, panting while his heart thudded against his chest, having gone at it for the past hour, non stop.

"Buck, this is the fourth bag you've broken" Steve sighed, while Bucky huffed in response, already making his way to the rack to grab a new one.

"This wouldn't have anything to do with a girl, would it?" The blonde smirked, carefully watching his face. Bucky's eyes grew wide, blinking while Steve stared at him knowingly.

"N-no" Bucky shook his head, no, this had nothing to do with a girl, nor did it have to do with feelings. He didn't actually care about this girl or miss her, he didn't crave to feel her warmth, he was perfectly capable of falling asleep without cuddling her to his chest. He didn't miss her sweet laugh or cute shy smile. He didn't care that he couldn't hear her voice anymore and she didn't appear in every single one of his dreams, making his heart yearn for her more-

"Buck, seriously?" Steve deadpanned at his best friends lovesick puppy face while Bucky chewed his lip.

"You knew?"

"Not a lot" Steve shrugged. "Saw you talking to that cute librarian once when I was out for a run with Sam. S'not hard to figure out, considering you went from acting like the world was full of sunshine and rainbows to being a grumpy asshole all over again. So what happened"

Bucky only intended on giving Steve the most sparse details but once he started he couldn't stop. The more he spoke, the more it dawned on him that none of it was casual to begin with, that he'd fallen hard, deeply in love with you.

"You love her" Steve stated, seeing clear at day his best friend was an idiot.

"I don't love her" Bucky scoffed, his cheeks blushing at the way Steve cocked an eyebrow, "I love her"

"Go tell her you punk" Steve smacked him upside the head, chuckling as Bucky dashed out of the gym, running straight to his room to shower and change. He trembled like a leaf he entire time, feeling a mixture of excitement and fear, feeling awful for hurting you, awful for bottling and ignoring his feelings while hoping and praying you'd forgive him.

He thought about all the times he wanted more with you, about what it would be like for you to be his girl, fuck there had been nights where he'd even dreamt of spending his life with you. He hid it all away, convincing himself he didn't need anything else, that it was for the best for both of you even if you did make his heart feel whole.

He knew he wanted to be your man, every time he walked through your door, the stresses of his day instantly melting away, feeling like he was home. Nothing comforted him more than holding you in his arms, never wanting to let go.

He hopped onto his motor bike, swerving through the streets, taking the stairs two at a time to get back to you as fast as he could, not wanting to waste another minute. He shamelessly pulled out the spare key, knowing you'd be home around this time considering he had your scheduled memorized by now. Usually around this time, you liked to lounge on the couch under a pile of blankets with your comfort show on.

"Doll?" Bucky quietly unlocked the door, toeing his boots off, the scent of your home already causing his emotions to fly around wildly. He felt like he was home, whole once again, why did he ever let this go.

"Baby, where are you" Bucky called, frowning when he saw your house keys still hanging by the door yet found the living room empty. He continued to search for you, quietly pushing your bedroom door open, melting at the sight of your curled up form, sleeping under a pile of blankets. He felt a pang in his chest seeing tear streaks down your cheeks, evident that you'd been crying.

You stirred at the sound of the door creaking, shifting in your sleep as he quietly made his way over, gently coaxing you awake.

"Hey doll" he whispered, stroking your face with his metal hand, like he always did when he came over in the middle of a night, usually when he couldn't sleep or whenever missions finished and he immediately needed to come and see you.

"Bucky?" Your voice cracked, rubbing sleep from your eyes, unsure if you were dreaming when you felt the bed dip and his cool melt fingers stroking your cheek, the familiar scent of him making you feel giddy after you missed him so much. "What-what are you doing here"

"I- He paused, unsure of where to even start, guilt already consuming him for making you feel like he never cared for you in the first place. "I'm sorry doll. I'm so sorry"

"For what" You scoffed softly, sniffling back fresh tears that wanted to spill, still struggling to mend your broken heart, "Was there something you needed again" Your defeated voice made Bucky feel worse, realizing you probably thought he was back to use you, when you had all the rights to kick him out of your room immediately.

"No! No baby, never. I-I'm not here for that y/n, I promise" Bucky scrambled to your side, reaching for your hands, pressing them to his chest, his heart hammering against his ribcage. "I'm so sorry for what I said to you baby, it wasn't true, I didn't even realize how I felt about you. I missed you so much" HIs eyes were desperately pleading with you to believe him.

"You-you said you never saw me that way" you whispered, shrinking away from him once again, too scared to let him hurt you a second time. "You left me Bucky"

"Baby, look at me" He begged, hesitantly reaching out to cup your cheeks, relaxing a little when you didn't flinch away. "Please sweets, I mean it. I did see you that way. I care about you, fuck, I love you y/n" As soon as the words left Bucky's mouth, he felt complete like never before. It was like his heart stitched itself back together, feeling free, realizing how true it was. He loved you, more than anything else.

"No you don't Bucky" you couldn't bring yourself to believe him, gasping when he pulled you into his arms, his thumb stroking your face.

"I do doll, I promise I do. I was too stupid to realize it even when it was obvious. I thought about you every second of the day, you know that? Whenever the jet would land, I'd run straight to you because I just wanted to come home. I just wanted to come straight to you. You were my everything, i wanted to keep you protected, just live in a world where it was just you and me. I fell in love with you angel, tried to convince myself every single day that what I felt for you was nothing more"

"Bucky-

"Steve knew" Bucky cut you off, chuckling at your confused, pouty expression.

"What?"

"He knew. He didn't know everything but he knew enough to piece together why I was acting like a love stuck idiot. You have no idea what kind of effect you had on me doll. I was the happiest I've ever been with you. My heart was breakin' without you baby, I just wanted my girl back"

"Your girl?" You whispered softly, your cheeks heating up at the thought while Bucky nodded, pulling you down to lay with him.

"My girl. All mine. Can't believe I tried to ignore it, I've been in love with you for so long doll. M'sorry I hurt you angel, I'll never break your heart again, I promise" He held you to his chest, his words making your eyes water, burying yourself in his warmth. He kissed the tears that spilled from your lashes, before pressing a soft kiss to your lips. "Will you be mine? Really mine?"

"M'yours Bucky" your voice was muffled, clinging onto him while he wrapped his arms around you, stroking your hair.

"Y'know this means you'll have to put up with Steve and Sam" Bucky playfully teased making you giggle, already aware his friends would probably start to follow him once they officially found out about you. "and you'll have to be my date for all of Tony's extravagant shit"

"That doesn't sound so bad" You quipped, while Bucky rolled over, tucking his face against your neck, needily cuddling into you, craving your warmth after weeks of having been apart.

"That's because you've never seen me drink, sugar" Bucky hummed, sleep already starting to claim him, hugging you tightly as he closed his eyes. "Might even drunkenly ask you to marry me"

"I'd drunkenly say yes" you hummed, wrapping your body around his, he warmth of his skin making your eyes grow heavy.

"I love you doll" Bucky whispered before falling fast asleep in your arms, the world once again filled with sunshine with rainbows now that he was finally with you.

His girl.

His home.

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ldrfanatic · 7 months ago

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Hi! I'm not sure if you're taking requests but if you are can you do a Slytherin boy(preferably Mattheo, Theo, or Enzo but you can choose) x reader. So the reader was walking down the hall and they heard chanting and cheering so they went to check it out and they saw the Slytherin boy in a might. Their face was really bloody and already starting to bruise so the reader tries to break up the fight, but ends up accidentally getting hit. Before the Slytherin boy can do anything the reader punches the other person in the face and then drags the boy back to his dorm to clean him up. And the boy is just kinda awestruck by what he just witnessed, and he just admires the reader as she cleans and patches him up. Sorry that this turned out to be so long 😭 have a lovely day!

The Knockout Chronicles

Theodore Nott x Reader Mattheo Riddle x Reader Enzo Berkshire x Reader

warnings - cursing, blood, fighting

a.n. i am taking requests esp for the slytherins :)

sooo... I couldn't decide who to write this for so I just did all three I hope that's okay. also this is my first time writing for Mattheo and Enzo so please let me know if there's something off regarding their characters I tried to do as much research as possible.

i was so freaking excited to get a slytherin request that i literally wrote this all in one sitting so i apologize for any typos or anything. please feel free to send more slytherin requests!!

wc 1.9k (each piece is about 500-600 words)

works slytherin boys

---

You yanked exhaustedly at the tie, finally undoing the loop and pulling the damned thing off your neck. After a long day of O.W.L's all you wanted was to find your boyfriend and collapse into his arms. Whether it was your dorm or his made no difference to you so long as you didn't have to do anything more for the remainder of the evening.

As you walked the corridor in search of your now missing little snake, you heard the distinct hollering and shouting of what was likely a fight taking place. Typically, you'd be there either watching or taking bets, but today was different. There was a tired in you that settled into your bones.

The gentle glow of the setting sun lit up the castle walls with beautiful hues of pinks and oranges as you debated the merits of actually going to get involved in this affair when suddenly, you heard a student call out a familiar name.

THEODORE

"YEAH! Go on Theo, kick his ass!"

You closed your eyes, leaned your head back, and took deep breaths as you attempted to suppress the rage currently building within you.

All you wanted was a peaceful, quiet evening in Theo's arms.

Nonetheless, you quickly advanced toward the noise. Despite having heard students cheering and chanting for him, you were still rather surprised to see your boyfriend on top of some poor Ravenclaw boy, beating the absolute snot out of him.

Theo's fist came down punch after punch. Unlike the loud atmosphere of the students who'd gathered, Theo fought in complete silence. Still, though he seemed calm and controlled, you knew that you had to put an end to it.

It wasn't often that Theodore Nott got into fights. He didn't like to let his emotions get the better of him. In fact, emotion was something his father had tried to beat out of him at a rather early age. But when he did get into fights, Theo was ruthless. He could beat someone to death and never change expression. In fact, most people avoided conflict with Theo entirely due to the boys ability to deliver blow after blow for hours on end.

This Ravenclaw boy didn't seem to get the message. You approached the pair of them and placed a gentle hand on Theo's shoulder. His fist froze mid-swing.

"That's enough, Theodore."

Your appearance gave the Ravenclaw the momentary distraction he needed to wriggle out from underneath. The boy immediately lunged at Theo as soon as his feet touched the ground. However, in his reckless abandon, his elbow found it's way to your cheek and hit you on the side of the face with an audible thud, effectively whipping your head sideways.

The courtyard fell silent.

For the first time since their fight began, Theo's emotionless front cracked. He was seething with pure rage.

"Listen, man, I-- I didn't mean--"

Even those that weren't deterred by Theo's reputation and had decided to fight him anyways knew that there was only one person in this world that Theodore Nott cared for. You. And if anyone ever messed with you, Theo was more than happy to provide them with a brutal trip to the afterlife.

But the punch that broke the boy's jaw wasn't delivered by Theo.

You shook your hand out, not expecting your knuckles to pop in the way that they did when your fist met his face. The force of your punch had knocked the Ravenclaw to the floor. Two of his friends suddenly pushed through from the crowd and picked him up as quickly as possible before the three of them took off down the hall.

You didn't say anything as you grabbed the arm of Theodore's shirt. You plucked his robes off of the floor and stormed out of the courtyard, towards the Slytherin Common Room. Theo was silent the entire walk there. It wasn't until you were perched on his lap, cleaning the cuts on his face and hands that he spoke.

"Merlin, all this time you've been able to throw a punch like that?"

"Keep fucking playing with me Theodore, and you'll find out just how mean of a punch I can throw."

MATTHEO

"C'mon Riddle!"

"Goddamnit." You huffed out as you barged through the doors that led to the one-eyed witch courtyard. Mattheo, whom you were unfortunately in a relationship with, was rather engaged in a surprisingly brutal fight with Stewart Ackerley, a Gryffindor in your year.

His shirt and hands were covered in deep red splotches which you could only assume were Stewart's blood. Mattheo had probably the roughest upbringing of anyone you'd ever known. He'd always been hotheaded and he was always getting into fights. The number of entanglements he'd been in had died down considerably since the two of you began dating but it wasn't hard to get Mattheo riled up if you knew what button to push.

And Stewart Ackerley had damn near broken that button when Mattheo overheard him scheming with his disgusting friends about trying to get you into his bed.

Something that you noticed really early on into dating Mattheo is that he's not like other students. His troubled childhood and his unfortunate parentage meant that he had a darkness in him. He'd joked on more than one occasion that the real him was a monster that he kept chained up in the back of his mind.

Most importantly, when Mattheo fights, he lets the monster loose. He's complete, uncontrolled chaos as soon as that adrenaline hits his blood. It's like getting into a fistfight with a hurricane.

You carefully approached the pair of them, careful not to get too close.

"Mattheo stop it."

Mattheo's body flew around to face the source of whoever had been brave enough to scold him. It was likely this person would be the next target of his rage. That is, until his eyes met yours. He took a deep breath that did nothing to stop the way his body shook with rage.

Once you'd decided it was safe enough to draw near to him, you wiped away a bit of Ackerley's blood that had splattered onto his cheek.

It seemed, however, that the beating he'd received wasn't enough to deter the stupid Gryffindor. Moments later, he was blindly throwing his fists towards Mattheo. His vision was too impaired by blood and sweat to notice the figure standing next to him and in a moment of sheer ignorance, he'd mistakenly punched you in the face instead.

The taste of iron filled your mouth as blood started to pool. His blow had caused you to bite down on your tongue quite hard.

Mattheo instantly grabbed Ackerley by his collar but before he could punch the boy, he'd doubled over in pain from a swift kick that you'd delivered to his groin. While he was bent over, you swiftly pulled your knee up, satisfied with the crunch noise his nose made as it came in contact with your knee.

Ackerley let out a rather unbecoming shriek as he fell to the ground.

Mattheo stood off to the side with a proud look on his face. He smirked and flipped Ackerley off as you yanked him from the scene.

When you made it back to the Slytherin Common Room, Mattheo pulled you into a rather intense kiss. You pushed him onto the expensive leather couch and began dabbing at his busted knuckles with a cotton pad soaked with alcohol. Mattheo's other hand snaked around the back of your neck, pulling your head up so your eyes met his.

"As incredibly hot as that was Princess, do me a favor. Next time you're going to try and help me, don't."

"Get in there Berkshire!"

Confusion contorted your face as you approached the bell towers.

Why in the hell, would your sweet, loving Enzo be in a fight? Though you were convinced that it was really just some other slytherin who might've held a close resemblance to Enzo, you still allowed your feet to carry you towards the source of all the racket.

It came as quite a shock when you'd approached and saw your dark haired Slytherin on top of some poor student. You recognized the boy from the halls but you'd never actually met him. And here your sweet Enzo was, very thoroughly pummeling him to your surprise.

Not that you thought Enzo couldn't fight. In fact, you knew that Enzo had quite a bit of experience in that realm after the training his father had given him. What was shocking was that Enzo was fighting at all.

Despite his cousin Draco's attempts to goad him into fights on numerous different occasions, Enzo really did despise fighting. He was always a little bit afraid that if he allowed himself to lose control like he'd seen Mattheo do so often, he'd accidentally kill the bloke. No, it wasn't fair to engage in fights with people so much less trained than he.

So to see him now, face set in a hard and angry stare while he obliterated the boy below him was startling.

Though the student on the ground was just about destroyed, Enzo didn't have a scratch on him. He had a little blood that had splattered onto his coat and you suspected his knuckles had split, but aside from that, he was untouched.

You knew that if you didn't put an end to this, Enzo was going to regret it.

"Enzo." Your voice rang out softly into the air but he didn't hear you as he continued to beat his opponent. "Lorenzo, lay off of him."

This time, Enzo registered the sound of your dulcet tones. He stood from his place on top of the boy. You'd expected him to walk over to you and laugh it off, but instead he delivered a brutal kick to the boy's ribs, still angry beyond reason.

You marched up to the two of them, frustrated. "I said, stop."

Enzo turned to stare at you with a blank look in his eyes. It was like he'd completely died inside.

Whoever the little shit was that he'd just beat the life out of saw a unique opportunity (to die). You let out an involuntary yelp as he kicked your legs out from under you. Thankfully, you landed on your bum on the soft grass, but his actions did nothing to help Enzo's rage.

Before your boyfriend could get the chance to kill the kid, you'd jumped to your feet and stepped directly on his hand, applying probably more pressure than necessary. You secretly enjoyed the hoarse scream he let out. You only wanted to wound him enough to send a message, not enough to send him to the hospital wing, or worse, crying to the teachers like a little bitch.

After a thinly veiled threat, you took Enzo's bloody hand in yours and jerked him back towards the castle. Thankfully, most of the students were either on their way to dinner to already there so the halls were fairly empty.

"What was that?"

You growled out the moment the door to the Common Room shut behind you.

"Look I'm sorry, Y/n. But I'm not just going to stand by and let Cormac McClaggen of all people insult you."

Your eyes softened and you reached to the first aid kit kept in one of the large oak cabinets near the fireplace. You spoke gently to Enzo as you cleaned and bandaged his hands.

"Thank you, but I don't need you to protect me Enzo."

"Yeah, clearly."

4.18.2024

-- taglist -- (this is my theo taglist but to join any taglist for any specific boy just comment on any of my posts specifying which taglist you'd like to join)

@moonlightreader649 @svt-dk97 @thatdammchickennugget

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pahtoosh · 1 month ago

Text

tiny ride

[image ID: Winnie the Pooh saying “It’s the first day of autumn!” and tossing orange leaves in the air. /.end ID]

masterlist

18+

wc: ~500 words

warnings: baby space, daddies playfully negotiating

a/n: just a little something i wrote on my phone! i just love daddies being silly with their baby

pairing: daddy!stucky x gn!little!reader

summary: you’re super tiny during the drive to the fall festival

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

There was a time when Steve and Bucky didn’t care for novel seasonal activities. They’d celebrate big holidays with each other and the team, but they didn’t get excited about pumpkin flavored goods or decorate for anything besides Christmas.

When you came in to the picture, however, your daddies found themselves partaking in every special event that came along with the changing weather. They wanted to give you as many fun experiences as they could. One of the traditions they started was a visit to the farm’s fall festival.

This time, you were so little that Baba had to sit in the back with you while Dada drove to the farm. Whenever this happened, you’d spend the whole ride giggling and cooing at whichever daddy was with you. Your eyes would never leave their face. Their loving gazes were better than anything you could see outside the window.

While he had your attention, Bucky would talk to you. He loved seeing your reactions and relaying them to Dada.

“When we get to the farm, there’s gonna be all sorts of activities for you, baby. We’ll go on a hayride, get some warm apple cider in that cute belly,” he gently ticked your stomach, making you squeal. “And then we’ll pick pumpkins! What do you think, angel?”

You squealed once more and clapped your hands. your tiny brain didn’t understand what Baba was saying, but he seemed excited and you loved responding to questions.

Bucky laughed, knowing that you had no idea what he meant.

“How’d we get the cutest baby in the world, Stevie?”

“They get that from me,” Steve boasted. “Isn’t that right, sweetie?”

You babbled instead of squealing, excited to be in on the conversation but wanting to sound grown up.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

Bucky scoffed. “Alright, punk. But I get to sit with baby on my lap for the hayride. Isn’t that right, bubba? Don’t you wanna sit on Baba’s lap for the hayride?”

You giggled and babbled once more.

Bucky held out his pointer finger to you, letting you wrap your hand around it. He brought your tiny fist to his lips, kissing the back of your hand to keep your giggles going.

The envy from the driver’s seat was nearly suffocating.

“You can sit with them for the hayride as long as I get the backseat on the way home,” Steve proposed.

“I also wanna ride the big slide with them,” Bucky said.

Baba made silly faces at you, joining in on your laughter when you tried copying his expressions. Steve caught a glimpse of this adorable interaction through the rearview mirror. He began to rethink his aversion towards self-driving cars.

“There’s no way I’m giving up the hayride and the slide. What if I get the slide and you get to feed them their first apple cider doughnut?”

“Deal.”

Your daddies smiled as you continued babbling to to them. They couldn’t wait to enjoy this new season with you.

#stucky x little!reader #daddy!stucky x little!reader #gn!little!reader #oneshot #fluff #babyspace #sfw babyspace #sfw regression #agere fic #littlespace fics #baby regression #marvel agere #tiny ride #tiny-ride #toosh writes

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tr4gictea · 3 months ago

Text

True Meaning: Act I, Part II

Isekai teen!reader + Genshin Impact

❥Masterlist

Tags: Panic Attack, Reader has an existential crisis, Agnst with comfort, Arataki Gang being silly :P

Including: Itto, The Arataki Gang, and Kuki Shinobu

word count: 2,522 words

A/n: Heyyyy guess who wrote this in two hours <3 (I'm kinda proud of myself for that) And I would like to thank you for the love on part one of this series <3 and other will be a poll at the end of the story for which twin you guys would like to have as the traveler and if you guys want me to write about the two days the reader had with Itto and the gang leave a comment. This short story will be posted along with my normal uploads.

Pervious | Next

True Meaning Table of Content ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡

“Here it is, in all its pride and glory! The Otogi Ramen Stand!” The gang leader said presenting the run-down ramen stall. “Get whatever you’d like we can cover it.” He said with a chuckle. You looked down at the prices, which were between 100 mora and 500. He probably took you here for the cheap price since he doesn't have a deep pocket.

You scanned over the menu looking at all the food but one dish in particular caught your eye. “One bowl of chili oil and beef ramen please.” You heard a gasp behind you as you ordered. Behind you, the boys had their hands on their chests while others had their faces in their hands. They looked like mothers from the 1800s when their kids tells them they're gay. “Um, you guys alright?”

“No! You just disrespected the auxiliary member of the Arataki Gang!” One of the members said while pointing an accusatory finger at you.

Auxiliary member? I don’t remember one of those in the gang. And how would I be disrespecting them by ordering that dish? Maybe I am still dreaming.

“Guys she doesn’t know yet so don’t be too hard on her,” Itto turns back to you. “The Auxiliary Member of the Arataki Gang is my buddy Ushi.” He punches the air and a flash of yellow light appears only to be replaced by a small bull. Ooohhhh, that Ushi! Itto’s bull. “(Y/n), Ushi, Ushi, (Y/n). As you can see Ushi is part bull so we find it a little disrespectful for someone to eat beef.”

“Oh okay, no problem,” You turn back to the seller, “Then instead I will have a chili oil and pork ramen bowl.” The seller, who has been listening to your strange conversation the entire time, gives you a weird look and then makes your bowl for you.

Once it is all paid for by Itto, the gang and you sit down at a table and talk. You don't participate in the conversation that much but you do learn the names of the others in the gang: Akira, Genta, and Mamoru. But you were more focused on the ramen in front of you. It certainly wasn’t the best ramen you’ve had, but it's not the worst. I mean it could use more noodles. It was lacking on that par and- “(Y/n)!”

Snapping out of your food-themed trance you glance back up at the group looking at you like they were waiting for something. “Hm? I’m sorry what were you saying?”

“We were asking if you had any place to stay for the night or were just on the streets?” Mamoru asks.

“Oh, I’m uh, on the streets,” You say putting your head down in shame. You didn’t have a place to go other than that forest area, but that wasn’t the best option.

“How about you stay with me?” Your head snaps up in surprise. You knew Itto was nice in game but you didn’t know he was this nice. “I’ve got one spare bed in my house for ya,”

“But Boss, you only have two beds and one of them is Shinobu’s, she probably won’t like this arrangement.”

“Nocense! Once she sees the noble act I have done for this child she will be proud of me! Plus she’s out for two days so we will have time to come up with a better solution.” He said speed talking the last part.

“I mean as long as I’m not intruding…” you say hesitantly

“Of course not it's my house!” He says a flashes a small at you. “Now come with me, I will show you around!” You said your quick goodbyes to the gang and headed off to Itto’s house.

The first thing you noticed when you got inside was the amount of filth in his house. The sink was filled with dirty dishes, and blankets and pillows were tossed wherever.

“How long ago did your roommate leave?”

“Oh, a day ago,” He says as he grabbed a pillow from the kitchen and dusted it off. He's hopeless without Shinobu, oh my god… There is no way she would have let it get this bad, and within a day he has already managed to wreck the place.

“Anyways, here is where you’ll be sleeping for the time being.” He opened the door to a clean bedroom with a kneeling table in the middle, a futon in the corner, and a dresser on the opposite wall. It was so neat and well put together. You couldn’t even compare it to the natural disaster of a room that was the front room.

“This is so nice…” You walk into the room in awe.

“Yeah, Shinobu is a clean freak, you’ll meet her in 2 days and I’m sure she’ll be happy to meet you and proud of me hehe.” He says with a chuckle. “Oh! And I will get you something to sleep in, I will be right back!” And with that, he dashed off into another room. Leaving you alone. In a room. Of a fictional character's house. Away from home. Away from your family. Friends. Everything you’ve ever cared about and know has gone away from your reach.

Your breathing starts to pick up and the reality of your situation sets in, You are in a dangerous world full of monsters and people who would kill you without a second thought. Why are you here? How is this happening? What do you do when Shinobu comes back to find a stranger in her bed? She’ll probably kick you out and what are you supposed to do then? Your throat tightens up and you feel your self tearing up, you collapse on the floor and hope you disappear. You have no idea what you are doing.

“Woah woah, are you okay.” Itto appears beside you and kneels next to you hesitantly pulling you into his arms. “Hey hey, it’s okay I’m here…” He says trying to comfort you but it doesn’t seem to be helping. “Um, listen I know things are tough right now, and you are a long way from home. But you are strong, and you can make it through this. And don’t worry I can help you every step of the way.”

You look up at him in surprise, “Really?”

“Uh, um… yeah, of course!” He looked like he regretted promising that to you. “Don't worry, for now just get changed and go to sleep. That’s the best thing you can do right now.”

Y-yeah he’s right I just need a bit of sleep to get my mind right.

“Thank you Itto, for everything,” You give him a warm smile and take the yukata from him.

“No problemo sister, anytime!” He says smugly and shoots finger guns at you. “Have a good night and I will see you in the morning.”

The next two days you spent with the Arataki gang were the most fun and the fastest days you’ve had. The first day they took your clothes shopping and ended up getting banned from two shops for improper etiquette. On the second day, they went around challenging children to beetle battles, which caused children to leave crying with less mora than they had originally. This eventually led to Itto getting told off by angry parents. (Let me know if you guys want mini-stories on these events.)

But throughout those two days you still had one thing on your mind. How do you get out of here? Since you knew that sakoku and vision hunt decree were still in act that would mean the traveler hasn’t arrived here yet which is good. Because he could be your ticket out of here. But you had one problem, you had no idea when they would get here. You don’t know if you arrived during their time in Liyue or worse, you guys arrived at the same time. If you arrived at the same time as the traveler, that could be bad for you as it could take a year or two for them to get here. But this fact was out of your control. All you could do was wait a hope they’d come soon.

For now, you were at a restaurant in Inazuma City as the gang said they had something very important they needed to discuss with you. This restaurant was a very middle-class restaurant that would probably have a three-and-a-half review on Yelp, but the price was on the expensive side for Itto and the gang. So they must have had something really important they needed to discuss with you.

You go through dinner with the guys laughing, talking, and enjoying for when Genta nudges the boss and jesters towards you with his head. Itto clears his throat and raises his glass of water while tapping it with a spoon. “Treasured Members of the Arataki Gang, only two days ago have we met this young child all alone in the woods, starving and helpless…”

You quirked your eyebrow up at him, “I wasn’t starving and helples-”

“Starving and helpless!” He pushes a finger in front of your mouth and shushes you. ”And within two days we have nurtured them in a strong individual. This is why I’m pleased to ask, from the gang and myself, if you would like to join the gang of Ara-!” “ARATAKI ITTO!”

A shout vibrates through the restaurant and causes everyone in the restaurant to jump in surprise. The source of the shout was from none other than Kuki Shinobu, the Deputy Officer of the gang.

“Sh-Shinobu! I didn’t know you’d be back so soon!” Itto says with a nervous chuckle.

“I said three days, and I’m back after three days ain’t I?” She says with a dark expression on her face. Her eyes glanced over the table and most of the boys hid their gaze until they landed on you. You don’t know if she is angry at you or what but her eyes never left you. “Itto. Outside. Now.”

“Yes ma’ma.” As they walked away Itto hung his head low in shame. And they walked out of the restaurant and slammed the door behind them. The restaurant hung in an awkward silence until your waiter brought the check out to your table.

“Wait but we're not ready to leave yet,” Genta says to the waitress.

“Um, yes but we are. Please pay your tab and leave, thank you for dining here tonight.” She said nervously while bowing then walked away.

The boys looked at the tab and their faces darkened.

“Shit.”

“Hm? What's wrong?”

“We don’t have the mora for this.”

“Well, how much is it?”

“4,634 mora…”

Shit.

“What were you thinking?! Bringing a kid into the gang, as an official member!?” Kuki Shinobu was currently berating her boss for bringing a kid into the gang without consulting her first. “When Mamoru told me in that letter I couldn’t believe it!”

“But Shinobu you didn’t see how they wer-��

“I didn’t ask for your input, I will allow you to speak when I need you to, yes?”

“Yes…” Itto said dejectedly.

“This has to be the most immature thing you have done in a while and I’ve seen you do some pretty stupid shit. But to bring a child to a gang then allow them to sleep in my room while I was away.” She shook her head at the horned man. “I can’t believe this… Alright, you may defend your case now.”

“Okay, so you see th-,” But before Itto even got a full sentence out Shinobu stopped him.

“Actually, I want to hear this from the kid themself, go get them.” She snapped at him.

Itto let out a sigh, “Fine,” He marched back into the restaurant and grabbed you while the other members frantically figuring out how to pay for this meal. Once you stepped outside and were met with shiobu face to face. She is a short but menacing woman, the mask covering her face made her even more scary.

“My name is Kuki Shinobu, I am the Deputy Officer of the Arataki Gang, you have most likely heard of me through them.” She says gesturing back inside the restaurant. “Now, I'm not mad, I just want to know what's happening. Please tell me your side of the story.” She said giving the floor to you.

“Um, well you see, I was sent on a research mission for the Akademiya here when-…” Kuki listened to your story without interruption and only nodded at you as you explained.

“Hmm, I have a couple of questions. Why don't you go to the Tenryo Commission to take you back?

“I would but it’s still too expensive to go back and I don't have that kind of money right now."

“Hasn’t the akademiya sent a letter to you or anything?”

“In that Strom,” You say pointing to the storm blocking anything from getting in and out of Inazuma. “No.”

“Hm, do you really have nowhere to go?” She says emphasizing 'really'. You shake your head at her. This was the first question you did have to lie to her about. You really didn’t have anywhere to go if Shinobu kicked you out of her house. You didn’t know what you would do… That throat-straining feeling came back to you at that moment.

“Last question, if you were to join the Arataki Gang would not be paid much, and you would have to help around with the gang and keep them out of trouble. But you would be offered a place to stay, eat, and people that have your back. If you are fine with these terms then, would you like to join the Arataki Gang?”

The world stops for a moment, was she offering you a place in the gang? That feeling constricting your heart disappeared and was replaced by an overwhelming joy in your heart. “Y-yes, yes! Absolutely yes!” You rush forward to give her a hug which she hesitantly accepts.

“Hehe, okay let's go back in so we can tell the good news to the boys.” She says smiling with her eyes.

When you walked back into the restaurant you found Itto and the boys hunching over the bill with bags of mora in their hands.

“Come on boys let’s pay the tab and leave.” the masked woman ushers them to hurry.

“We're trying to but, uh, it got a little expensive…”

She quirked her eyebrow up at them. “Hm? Let me see the bill then.” They hesitantly handed her the bill and after one look at it, Shinobu's eyes blew wide open. “4,634 mora…!”

“We’re sorry Shinobu! We swear we will make it up to you but we just need half of that sum for dinner today!”

Shinobu looked like she could kill at any moment right now. “You better or else I’m going to have your heads as dinner the next time!”

You stood behind Shinobu giggling at the fact that a small Japanese woman was lecturing a group of grown men. Maybe you wouldn’t mind if traveler took a little longer to get here…

More Genshin Impact Stories *ੈ✩‧₊˚

True Meaning Table of Content ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡

REMEMBER TO SMASH THAT LIKE BUTTON, OBLITERATE THAT FOLLOW BUTTON AND, REQUEST FOR A SHOUT-OUT IN MY NEXT VIDEO 🗣🗣🗣🔥🔥🔥

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m1ckeyb3rry · 6 months ago

Note

Hello,

I have a writing prompt for Michael Kaiser (Blue Lock): Kaiser gets into a pr relationship with an actress and they eventually bond and fall in love.

I think he would have a hard time because of his feelings of worthlessness, but this guy has so much potential, I swear, I love him so much.

If you want to go for a "dark side of Hollywood" type of concept, imagine: a young girl who was raised under the pressure of becoming "the perfect star" and surrounded by the chaos of the industry (Idk, the movie Black Swan comes to mind, or the typical representation of Marilyn's life, something along the lines). I think he could bond with someone who is in a similar mind space as him, but who externalizes it differently, remaining kind and such. He definitely needs someone who is empathetic and can see through his insecurities, and I really like the concept of two characters who are hurt helping each other heal.

If you don't want that much drama, scratch the idea of a hurt oc. Think about someone with an "entrepreneur" mindset: someone ambitious, confident, and level headed, who (again) is empathetic and would call him out and help him grow (I'm thinking about sae, but emotionally competent lol).

You don't really have to go for any of this though, it's just meant to get you inspired to write something for my boy Kaiser. I hope it's not too much. Also, there's no rush at all!!

Thank you in advance. I hope you have a good day 🩷

── THE INSTRUMENT

Synopsis: Michael Kaiser is like a rose, and you are the songbird he cannot bear to lose.

Event Masterlist

Pairing: Kaiser x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 6.8k

Content Warnings: fake dating trope, implied/referenced abuse, call me tabito karasu the way i assassinate kaiser’s character in this, open ending, relationship dynamics many would consider…interesting…

A/N: hiiii anon ty for requesting!! i hope that i wrote kaiser in a somewhat satisfactory way 😫 this is my first time writing for him so idk if i got him right 😓 also i have NO idea why but for some reason i decided to write this in the present tense which i literally have never done?? so if it sounds off that’s why 💔 i’m so sorry i really don’t know what possessed me SKDJFSHKL

Additional: part of my 500 follower event! see the event description and rules to make a request of your own.

It’s hot and like a bruise, your first phone call with Michael Kaiser. He’s that brand of aggravating and just shy of painful to speak with; morbidly, you wish for the conversation to manifest as some kind of actual injury, perhaps on your upper arm, so you can poke at it until it is tender and blooming. But of course, that sort of thing isn’t possible, so you amuse yourself by tapping your fingers against the counter and considering what you might eat for dinner.

“Did you hear me?” he snaps when you do not respond to his proposition immediately. He speaks with an accent, clipped and short, lending severity to his words even when he’s saying nothing of note. “Miss L/N. It’s in both of our best interests to cooperate.”

He’s not wrong about this. It’s the only reason you’ve stayed on the call for as long as you have — it’s in your best interest. It’s the same for him, too, and the thought almost makes you laugh, because who would’ve expected your interests and his to ever align?

“Of course I heard you,” you say, twisting open your bottle of water, taking a sip and idly wondering if he can hear an accent when you speak, too. It’s difficult for you to notice your own, but maybe to him, you sound as odd as he does to you. “You should learn patience, Mr. Kaiser. Such a heavy request you’re making of me, and yet you demand my answer immediately?”

He huffs. “It’s not something you need to dwell on.”

“It might be,” you say, though it’s not at all. Your mind was made up the moment he asked; everything after that has been nothing more than a ploy to irritate him. You’re good at that, at irritating people. Michael Kaiser is not an exception.

“Miss L/N,” he says again, something like a darker version of pleading creeping into his tone. “Your answer. Now.”

“Well, you already knew before you asked, didn’t you? Naturally, I’ll do it,” you say. “It’s a mutually beneficial partnership. Though I expect you to really try your best, Mr. Kaiser, or else it’ll all be for naught.”

“I could say the same to you,” he says.

“Between the two of us, who is the actress?” you say, chuckling when he is silent. “I am sure that I will be convincing. It’s you who I worry for. Hiding your true feelings has never been one of your strengths, has it? Or you wouldn’t be speaking to me at all.”

“Shut up,” he says after a moment has passed. “I doubt your acting skills are anything to brag about.”

“I know you’ve watched my movies,” you say, and when he doesn’t refute this, you beam. “Have you really?”

“Only because someone I know suggested I should,” he says. “If I want to love you, then I have to understand you. That’s what he told me.”

“And what did you think?” you say.

“I thought that I don’t plan to love you at all, and then I told him as much,” he says, the force of his eye roll transmitting even over the phone. You’re not sure if he’s acting deliberately obtuse or if he really thinks you care about this inane conversation he’s describing, but either way you sigh, because his answer is so telling of his personality.

“I was talking about my movies,” you say.

“I don’t prefer the genre,” he says, and then he’s hanging up with a promise to call you later, if he is so inclined. He doesn’t tell you not to call him, but you feel like he implies it, so you vow to set your phone aside and pay him no mind for the rest of your evening.

I’m dating Michael Kaiser, you type in the body of your email to your manager, who you are certain will be so delighted by this news that he will combust spontaneously upon hearing it. You want to type it again, this unbelievable turn of events, so you do. I’m dating Michael Kaiser. Then you delete the repetition, reverting it once again into a formal email, instead of a giddy celebration over an event which should not prompt giddiness or anything resembling it.

It’s a relationship meant to salvage his ruined reputation and boost your career in one fell swoop, and so it’s a relationship that can only work if it’s formed between you two in particular. He, who is a foul-mouthed soccer prodigy, known better for his crass treatment of others than any actual skills he may possess, and you, a rising star who will do anything to be famous and are already of a serviceable status to be seen with him.

Despite your burst of excitement, the prospect of dating Michael Kaiser isn’t actually a thrilling one. The rumors of his horrid demeanor aren’t rumors, and you know this well, albeit through secondhand accounts. Cruelty is the way that he operates, his so-to-speak basal mode, and because it is so intrinsic to his being, you do not fancy that he will deviate from that malicious rule, even for you.

But you are accustomed to a false existence. Donning a facade and masquerading as a person who you are not is the only thing you are good at, are good for, and this time is no different than every other. You will put on the mask of a woman who is loved by Michael Kaiser, who has tamed that mad emperor and turned him into her sweet pet, and you will once again fool the world into believing you.

He’s doing an interview today. You’re only aware because he texts you right before and tells you to turn on the TV to a channel you’d never choose if you had a say in the matter. But you’re intrigued and he refuses to explain further, so you do as he commands and find yourself watching as he reclines back in a leather armchair and smirks at the host, who’s clearly nervous.

She’s pretty, her hands shaking but her expression serious. You’ve never seen her before, which means she’s new. Of course, that’s not a surprise; only someone very inexperienced or very stupid would invite Michael Kaiser to their show, and she does not seem to be particularly stupid, so her affliction is the first.

“Um, Mr. Kaiser, it’s a pleasure to have you with us,” she says, like she cannot quite believe that he is actually there, or like she is afraid of what he might take offense at, or some combination of the two.

“It’s a pleasure to be here,” he says, all roguish and self-assured, which is such a contrast to his typically surly demeanor that you have to commend the girl for keeping her composure.

They speak at length about his soccer career, throwing around words you do not understand and do not care to. It’s so boring you almost power down the television and tell him you think as much, but then the girl clears her throat, her face turning a comical shade of red as her fists clench the paper she’s been reading off of.

“This last question is from our viewers, but it’s personal, so if you don’t want to answer, then it’s not a problem,” she says, squirming in her chair, probably hoping he does not humiliate her. It will be bad for her career if he does, even if by now everyone knows what kind of person he is.

“Go on, then. I feel like we’ve built a rapport here, so I don’t mind it as much if it’s from you,” he says. It’s a perfectly packaged sentiment. His PR team must have tortured him into this new persona. You try to imagine it — it’s definitely a humorous thought, picturing the Bastard München representative slamming Michael Kaiser’s face into a bowl of water for every snarky comment he makes. Unrealistic, though. They would never risk compromising his performance like that.

“There’s rumors that you’re seeing Y/N L/N, the actress. A source who claims to be close to you both mentioned it online, and people can’t stop talking about the possibility. Neither you nor Miss L/N have addressed it, though, and our viewers were hoping you might…?” She cringes back, already preparing for one of his tirades, but he only smiles genially and winks at the camera. You remind yourself to tell him later that he’s laying it on too thick, even if you are enjoying this new character that he’s playing up for the sake of it.

“Y/N L/N? I’m shocked that you think I’m handsome enough to date someone like her,” he says. Your phone buzzes — it’s your manager, crowing about how impressed he is with your ‘boyfriend’ and his presence of mind.

“So it’s a no?” the interviewer says, almost hopefully. He’s mysterious when he shrugs, mysterious and more than a little coy, as if she’s flattering him and he’s too shy to accept the praise.

“If Miss L/N ever deems me to be worthy of her, then it’s a yes in a heartbeat,” he says. It’s an excellent setup for his redemption, and the girl plays into it so beautifully that you tell your manager to send her flowers or some chocolate at the earliest possible opportunity.

“I think that you’ve shown yourself to be an excellent candidate today,” she says.

“Have I? I’ve really been trying to prove myself,” he says. Dreamy sighs ripple through the live studio audience. Someone whistles. It’s all very romantic and fairy-tale-esque, although he is far from being any kind of prince.

“You’re doing great,” the girl assures him. “I’m sure that, if Miss L/N is watching, she’ll have no choice but to be smitten.”

“If she’s watching? Oh, the thought didn’t even cross my mind,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. You shouldn’t have doubted him and his audacity; he’s fallen into the role as if he were born to play it. “How embarrassing. I’ve just confessed to her on live television without even knowing if she’s interested…”

He’s actually blushing. You are doubly awed — he’s a natural-born talent. It’s a shame that he’s devoted to soccer; he could make it out like a bandit in the acting industry.

“No, no, don’t be embarrassed. How could she ever reject someone like you?” she assures him. How, indeed! At the moment, you are so pleased that you could kiss him. He’s better than any co-star you’ve ever had to work with, in that he is making your job exponentially easier instead of exponentially more difficult.

“If she really is watching, then I can only pray she heard you say that part,” he says, waving in greeting, presumably at you. “Hello, Miss L/N. I really admire you, so if you find me at all agreeable, then I would quite like it if you would say yes to the date I’m going to ask you on.”

He’s made the world swoon and your social media mentions triple. People are begging you to say yes, to give him a chance, to see how he has changed. They want to live through you, and you will let them.

When he calls you, you tell him you were thrilled by his performance. This causes him to shoot back that he finds you insufferable and condescending, to which you say that it’s what makes you and him such a perfect pair. Then you recite an address, and he asks you what you’re going on about. You answer that it is the place where you will have your first date, and then you hang up before he can respond, just so that you can deny him the chance to do it to you first.

Cameras flash in your faces as you enter the restaurant your manager has booked a reservation at. Michael Kaiser’s arm is wrapped around your waist, and it’s nauseatingly domestic, the kind of scene that would be the cover for one of those coming-of-age movies your agent loves booking for you. You wait for the frantic sound of camera shutters to slow, and then you tug on his sleeve.

“What is it?” he says. It’s quiet enough that no one else can hear, which is why it’s devoid of any warmth, but you are unruffled.

“Your tie,” you say. “It’s not crooked, but we will pretend that it is, and I’ll fix it so that there is something sweet to accompany the tabloid articles that will come out tomorrow.”

Your hands reach for his neck, and he does something you do not comprehend — flinching back, he shakes his head. When he realizes he’s done this, he grits his teeth, like the anger can make up for the temporary weakness. You do not press the issue, merely furrowing your brow and gazing up at him, doing your best to ensure that your eyes remain soft, so that the exchange is not misinterpreted by the parasites around you.

“No,” he says. “Do something else, but leave my tie alone.”

“Alright,” you say. It’s not sensible for you to argue, and anyways it doesn’t matter much what you are doing, as long as you are doing something. Humming to yourself, you adjust the lapels of his jacket. The cameras go off again. You pretend like you do not notice, like the world consists of only you two, and then you interlace your fingers with his, allowing him to drag you into the restaurant behind him.

It’s your turn to be interviewed. You’re wearing a dress, your legs crossed at the ankles — it’s demure and practical and prevents anyone from leering at you, so it’s been a habit of yours for quite a while. The interviewer is female, though, which calms you a bit. She’s older, around your mother’s age, and the wrinkles on her forehead remind you that you should call your parents and arrange for them to meet your doting boyfriend.

“Miss L/N, I can’t begin to tell you how excited I am to finally meet you!” the woman says. You think her name may be Anne, but she hasn’t introduced herself to you yet, so you’re not certain.

“You are too kind. If anything, it’s an honor for me to be here,” you say. The audience really likes that, when you are humble and shy and so darling. It’s palatable and easy for them to digest, or that’s what your manager tells you.

“Tell us about your upcoming projects,” she says after giving you the appropriate amount of praise for your charming personality.

“I’m currently shooting a new romantic comedy, but I’m afraid it’s all very hush-hush, so I can’t say too much about it. I think you all will really enjoy it, though, and I’m looking forward to the day that we can discuss it at length,” you say.

The conversation goes on like that for a bit, but you know she’s going through the motions because she has to, not because she wants to. There’s only one question she cares to ask, but if she just talks to you about your boyfriend and not your own accomplishments, then she’ll be blasted online as an anti-feminist. You hear quite frequently that this is akin to suicide in the world of marketing, so you can’t blame her.

That doesn’t stop you from having some fun. When she’s exhausted every possible avenue of questioning you about your future plans and past successes, you make as if you’re going to stand up and leave. Panic leaps across her face, and you snicker.

“We’ve spoken at such length about my acting career. You can’t possibly have any more questions about it, hm? You probably know more than my manager does!” Your attitude is balanced out by the joke. The audience laughs. It’s a fine line that you walk, but if you do not have the chance to act sharper every now and again, you believe you will die — internally if not externally — so you take such risks when you can justify them to yourself.

“You’re dating Michael Kaiser now, aren’t you?” she says. It’s a rancid curiosity she hides with a motherly type of concern. You brush off your legs, recross them, and tuck a piece of hair behind your ear.

“I am,” you say. You don’t have to play the games that he did; you both are established now. Official. A bona-fide couple. Anyways, it’s more appealing if you are outright with it.

“How has that been? You’ve really made a difference in that young man’s life, it seems,” she says.

The best way to lie is to tell the truth. “Yes, I suppose I have, but he has made an equal difference in mine. He is as good for me as I am for him; truly, I never understood what it meant when my parents called each other their ‘better halves’ until we met.”

In an hour, there will be thousands of posts online about this. If Y/N and Michael break up, then I don’t believe in love anymore! Maybe soulmates are real! Couple goals! These are the kinds of captions you are anticipating. The two of you will send screenshots to one another and laugh about how gullible the world is, and then you will strategically plan which comments to like and posts to favorite so that your message goes through. That’s the extent of your relationship with him, really, at least when the two of you are alone. The detachedness makes things much easier than they otherwise would be.

“There’s a popular theory going around that the two of you have had a secret wedding already. Is it true? Am I speaking to Mrs. Kaiser at the moment?” she says, eyes glittering like a vulture’s. She’s ready to pounce on any hesitation, any brief indecision that you might show, but you have spent more time in the spotlight than in your own parents’ home, so you don’t even waver.

“Marriage! I think we’re a bit too early in our relationship to be considering such things, and a bit too early in our lives to be rushing into major decisions like that,” you say. “If and when the time comes, you’ll be the first to know, but it won’t be for a while.”

It won’t be at all, actually. This relationship is not going to last for more than another month. Once the buzz surrounding you two dies, you and he will quietly split. It’ll be as if you never met in the first place.

Your phone rings as you’re leaving the studio. The caller ID says that it is Michael Kaiser, and the thought that he was watching your interview in the same way you watched his makes you feel odd.

“Hello?” you say.

“I’m not gonna marry you. Never-fucking-ever. If you’re expecting a ring, then put it out of your mind.”

“I wasn’t,” you say. “How else would you have liked me to answer that question?”

“Fuck if I know.”

Neither of you hang up on the other — you don’t think you can summon the wherewithal to, which is out of character for him but typical for you — though you both also don’t speak any further. He stays on the line while you drive home, breathing softly like he is sleeping, but you are sure that he is not. The point of it is lost on you, but then you drive into a tunnel and the call ends on its own, so it’s moot anyways.

Your parents are excited to meet Michael Kaiser. They’ve read up on him extensively, watched all his interviews and even his game highlights. Your mother calls you the night before just so she can gush to you about how handsome he is, how you’ve really done well for yourself this time around. Her approval is nice to have, though superfluous, like a luxury soap or perfume.

Your father is the one who suggests you all go golfing. You don’t know how to play, and neither does your mother, but you recognize it’s his attempt at connecting with who he thinks is your boyfriend, so you accept. You’re not sure if Michael Kaiser knows how to play golf, or really anything besides soccer, but he is game enough to come that you suppose he must.

It’s warm out, the sun beating down on your father’s brow as he lines up the ball with his club. Michael Kaiser stands on his left, and you think he’s somehow beautiful in this lighting. Not beautiful how your many attractive coworkers are, but in a manner which is distinctly him and therefore utterly irreproducible. His body is lean and graceful, his hair shaggy and gold, though he’s dyed the tips blue in what you’re sure is a statement. The shade matches his eyes, and also the inked roses on his neck. You have long ago come to the conclusion that the flowers are also a part of that same statement, but you have yet to discover what that statement might be.

“He’s an improvement from that last boyfriend of yours,” your mother says, leaning back so that she can pour the last few drops of soda from her empty can into her throat. You and her are sitting together in the golf cart, seeking refuge in the shade of its plastic roof, sharing the drinks that your father had bought for himself and forgotten about the instant he stepped onto the golf course.

“He is,” you say. That’s not an exaggeration, nor is it something incredible. Your last boyfriend was an old classmate of yours who loved your celebrity more than he loved you. Michael Kaiser doesn’t love you, either, but he is honest about it, and you do not love him back, so there is no resentment between you and him.

“I like the way he looks at you,” your mother says. There’s a hiss as she opens a new can of soda. It’s a vice, but whenever you remind her of it, she dismisses you. She wants to have fun while she’s on this earth, apparently. Maybe drinking five cans of soda in one sitting means her life will be shorter, but life without soda isn’t worth living anyways, or something like that. The reasoning is stupid, but you know she is loyal to it, so you have to accept it. “It’s refreshing. So gentle. You’ll be talking to someone else, and he’ll just be staring at you like he can’t quite believe you’re his.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” you say.

Your mother is about to say something else, but she is interrupted by a loud whoop. Michael Kaiser has hit a hole-in-one, and before you can tell him to stop embarrassing himself, your father is cheering, throwing his arms around him and calling him son.

“Your father likes him, too,” your mother said.

“Oh, he needs to stop that! I can’t believe he’s making things so awkward,” you say, getting up to reprimand him before realizing that there is an entirely foreign sheen to Michael Kaiser’s eyes as he rests his chin on your father’s shoulder. He is not quite smiling, but it is a close approximation of the expression, and when your father ruffles his hair and says that it may have been beginner’s luck but he’s proud regardless, the curve of his lips becomes deeper.

You don’t understand, but you don’t need to. You may have facilitated it, but the moment belongs to him, and your presence is as unwanted as it is unnecessary.

You sit back down and take a sip of your mother’s soda. She grins knowingly and says that you look like you are in love, too. You don’t have the heart to tell her the truth, so you hum noncommittally and say that you might be.

You are growing fond of Michael Kaiser. It isn’t a slow realization — actually, it hits you very suddenly one day. He hands you a bouquet of flowers before opening the passenger door of his car for you. You ask him why he’s brought you peonies instead of roses, and he says it’s because he despises roses. It’s such an absurd answer and he says it with such a straight face that you have to cough in order to disguise your choked laughter.

“Those must be some other kind of flower, then,” you say, pointing at but not touching his tattoos, at the delicate petals which fold over his pulse, azure and bright and silky.

“No, those are roses,” he says, his knuckles growing white on the steering wheel. Normally, you wouldn’t ask further, but today you want to prod at his bruise of an existence, so you turn the music down and hug the peonies to your chest.

“But you despise roses,” you say.

“It’s a good reminder,” he says. “No flower lies quite as well as a rose does.”

That is when you are certain that you are partial to him. It is an unavoidable fact and also a treacherous one, but true notwithstanding.

You put the peonies in a vase of water when you get home that night and hope they never die, although you know that they will be gone within the week. It’s how time works. The peonies will die and you two will break up and you’ll have nothing but a bare kitchen counter and thoughts of his intricacies to remember him by.

There are no paparazzi around on the night when he wraps your hands around his throat. You are alone with him, sequestered away in the living room of his mansion, a bowl of popcorn shoved between the two of you while a movie plays in the background. This seclusion defeats the original purpose of the relationship entirely, but you sense that that original purpose is no longer fully applicable, so you do not refuse when he calls you and demands you come.

There’s a blanket tossed over your legs, the brilliant colors of his soccer club’s emblem faded from repeated washes. It’s warm, and if you were not busily eating most of the popcorn, you’d pull it up around your shoulders. As for Michael Kaiser, he’s facing the screen, his hair tied back in a knot, a pair of glasses resting on the bridge of his nose and reflecting the visage of the lead actress as she laughs. You observe him as you snack. You’ve seen this movie before and didn’t really like it, so you’re not missing much. He’s more interesting by far.

“I know that woman,” you say, so that he has to acknowledge you.

“Hm,” he says.

“She’s a jerk,” you say.

“Sounds like your kind of company,” he says. You scoff, because he’s not wrong. He keeps watching the movie, and you keep watching him, until a thought occurs to you.

“Can I call you Michael? Even when it’s just us two,” you ask. He purses his lips. The actress screams. Her character has just died, but the scene is poorly shot and even more poorly acted, so it’s not as heart-wrenching as it should be. You would’ve done better, but your agent doesn’t want you taking any gory roles, and your manager agrees. In his professional opinion, it’ll ruin the doll-like persona you’ve spent so long cultivating. He’s probably right. It’s hard to adore a doll once you’ve watched it die so gruesomely.

“You can do whatever you want,” he says.

“Okay,” you say, swallowing another mouthful of popcorn, the salt lingering on your tongue long after the popcorn itself is gone. “Michael.”

“Yes?” he says.

“Nothing,” you say. “I just wanted to say your name.”

“Okay,” he says. “Y/N?”

He’s never called you that in private. Of course, when you’re out and about, he must refer to you with such familiarity, but in private you’ve never been anything but Miss L/N. It’s a change but a good one. You don’t want to ever be Miss L/N again. Not to him.

“Yes?” you say.

“I’m trying to watch this movie,” he says. “It has high ratings, so be quiet and allow me to finish.”

“It’s shitty,” you say, yawning and leaning back against the mountain of pillows you’ve created for yourself. “Overly gratuitous with its use of fake blood.”

“Right, because that’s a cardinal sin,” he says dryly.

“Sorry, but it’s hard to enjoy films when you know how they’re made,” you say. He picks up the remote and pauses the movie. You blink, because that’s about the last thing you expected from him. Then he turns the TV off entirely and you realize you’ll probably never be able to predict what he does next, so you should stop trying already.

“I know how movies are made,” he says.

“Did you have a secret acting career you never told me about?” you say. It’s a joke, but you also wouldn’t be surprised if it’s true. He’s taken to performing like a fish takes to water, and every day you tell him he should quit soccer and devote his life to cinema because of this uncanny skill.

“Not me, but my mother was an actress, and my father was a director,” he says.

“Was?” you say.

“Maybe they still are,” he says. “I don’t know. We’re not on speaking terms.”

“Why not?” you say. He takes your hands in between his, and you can make out immediately that his instinct is to hurt you, to press his fingertips into your wrists so hard that they leave marks. It’s to his credit that he fights back the urge, fights it back and arranges your palms against his carotid arteries. His jaw clenches and his pupils dilate as he waits for you to realize; when you do, you rip your hands away for fear of wounding him further.

“Don’t pity me,” he instructs you, unpausing the movie like nothing happened. “And don’t ever bring it up again.”

Now that you have his permission to refer to him only by his name, you develop a strange fascination with saying it. He’s amused by your new fixation, answering you in a lilting tone every time you call for him.

According to him, you are like a small nightingale, always warbling, always happy, fluttering around beside him and changing his mood for the better. Well, if you are like a nightingale, then he is like a dog, and you tell him as much when you are sitting across from him at a coffee shop.

“A dog?” he repeats, his face pinching. He’s just taken a swig of the black coffee he always orders, but you know his disgusted expression isn’t a symptom of the beverage’s bitterness. “Take that back.”

“Not in a bad way,” you say. Your own drink is sweet, so you sip on it slowly to prevent a stomach ache. “I’m not calling you pathetic. I just mean that you are amiable and lively. It’s a compliment.”

“It’s not who I really am,” he says. “Have I deceived even you? Amiable? Lively? Remember why this entire scam began in the first place — because I am neither of those things.”

“Right,” you say. “A peacock, then. Terribly vain and entirely alluring.”

He relaxes and raises his cup to his mouth again. He’ll be up late tonight, he always is when he has coffee, but it never stops him from drinking it. “That’s better.”

The reminder that whatever you have with him is not real stings more than it should. You throw away your drink almost untouched, which does cause him to raise an eyebrow, but thankfully he refrains from commenting. It’s a relief, because you don’t even know how to explain it to yourself, let alone him.

He walks you to your front porch and waits with crossed arms as you fish for the key in your purse, shoving it in the lock once you have it in your grasp. His farewell when you open the door is stilted and abnormal, so you stop him with a hand on his arm before he can go.

“Michael,” you say. You’ve never said his name like this before. It comes from a place raw and deep within you, a place that you are certain is purple and black like a wound. You say it like you love him, and you think it must be because you do.

“Yes?” he says. It’s the way he always responds to you, his voice like a song, a small smile on his ordinarily strict face — though today, he is not smiling. Instead, he is frowning, like he has come to an understanding that he would have rather not reached.

“Never mind,” you say. “Goodbye.”

“Goodbye,” he says. He drives away, his car disappearing around the corner, leaving you standing alone in the still-open doorway and wondering how you will survive the day when he disappears permanently.

You’re not sure what it is about him that makes pretending difficult, but suddenly, it’s a struggle for you to maintain your aloof front. You find it disconcerting, that he has taken this aspect of your identity and rendered it entirely null and void; it’s even more disconcerting that he has done it unwittingly and unsympathetically. If you loved him any less, you would hate him, because he has stolen who you are and left you blind and fumbling, but you fell for him, and the way you landed broke something fundamental, so that it is impossible for you to get back up.

“I think that I love you,” you say. You are on his couch again, and there is a movie playing again, which is all too similar to a past scenario that you think about when you are lonely. Tonight, it’s some soccer documentary that you find so tedious you are driven to irrationality.

He drops the glass of water in his hands; you reach out and catch it before it can spill, setting it on the table in front of you.

“What?” he says. You shrug.

“I love you,” you say again, and you’re flippant about it because you’re not telling him in the hopes he loves you, too. In fact, you know that he does not, so you are using him as a confessional; after all, the minimum he owes you is sharing the burden of this sin.

“There’s no one around,” he says. “You don’t have to lie. It won’t gain us anything.”

“It hasn’t gained us anything in a long while,” you say. It’s true — your relationship isn’t trending anymore, and most of your dates are in locations where you will not be recognized.

He stands up. The documentary continues as he paces, and a referee blows a whistle while he tangles his fingers in his hair and pulls. You stay on the couch, your eyes following his erratic movements, your hands folded in your lap.

“No, you don’t,” he says.

“I don’t what?” you say.

“You don’t love me,” he says. He wants to sound callous, you are sure of it, but the effect is lost on you. He sounds more lost than anything.

“But I do,” you respond. “Who are you to tell me I don’t?”

“Don’t,” he says. “Stop it. This instant.”

You laugh incredulously. “Do you think it’s that easy? I wouldn’t feel like this in the first place if it was.”

“Why?” he says. He’s still pacing. It’s like watching a tiger in a zoo. You want to study him, but he demands your attention in a different way. “Y/N. Why me? Why at all?”

“The reasons don’t matter, do they? I can tell you, but they won’t change anything,” you say, shrugging. “If you find yourself in the kitchen, bring water back for me. I’m thirsty.”

“Drink mine,” he says, pointing at the cup you had narrowly saved from disaster. “And quit your avoidance. Tell it to me plainly. Why?”

“Because you are you,” you say once you have drained half of his glass and your tongue is not quite as papery. “It’s a series of things; there’s not just one concrete reason. You hate roses and only drink black coffee. My mother thinks you’re handsome and my father is convinced you’re a golfing genius. You are a dog but also a peacock and then again an emperor. Don’t ask ridiculous questions and expect me to answer them when I cannot.”

“I’ll hurt you,” he says. “I’ll hurt you, Y/N, and I don’t — I don’t want to. You’re the only one who I don’t want to hurt, so just give up. It’s for the better if you do.”

“You won’t,” you say. “I don’t think you can.”

“Of course I can,” he says. “It’s the one thing I’m capable of. The only way I know how to love someone is by hurting them. I’ll do the same to you if you let me, and if you’re telling the truth, then you will let me.”

“Because I love you?” you say. “You think I’ll let you hurt me because I love you? For shame, Michael. I thought you knew me better than that.”

“Please,” he says. It’s a word he’s never said, not to you and not in his life. Its weight hangs before you, pulsating in the air like it’s tangible. “If I love you, I’ll destroy you. And then you’ll leave, and it’ll destroy me.”

It’s a selfless desire that he’s disguising as a selfish one. You’re good at pretending, but you’re not good at telling when others are. That much is obvious, because if you had any talent at the latter then you would’ve seen that he’s loved you for as long as you have loved him, maybe longer. He loves you and so he’s urging you to flee, to destroy him before he can do it to you first.

“Damned if I do and damned if I don’t, huh?” you say, exhaling and finishing off the rest of his water. “Listen to me.”

“No,” he says. His obstinance is endearing, but you throw a pillow at him instead of cooing like you want to. He catches it and tosses it back. It lands beside you with a thump. You pat it for emphasis.

“Yes,” you say. “I love you.”

He plugs his ears with his fingers. “Nope.”

“I love you, I love you — hey, I know you can hear me!” you say.

“La la la,” he shouts over your voice, sticking his tongue out petulantly. “I can’t hear you, I can’t hear you!”

“You’re cruel,” you say. “I won’t deny it. I know who you really are, Michael Kaiser. You possess cruelty in spades, but it’s in the way that a rose does. You have grown malice like thorns so that no one may come near your heart, and you think these thorns will tear me apart when I extend my hand past them. What you aren’t accounting for is that I have done so already. I have reached your heart and still I am intact. Now, what is there to cause me harm — a mere flower? But a flower can’t cause anyone harm, least of all a person such as myself. You can’t, or more importantly you won’t. I believe that you won’t.”

He stares at you. The soccer team in the documentary still playing behind him scores, and the crowd roars in approval. You stare back at him and wait.

“I hate roses,” he finally says. “I hate them a lot. They’re the worst kind of flower.”

“I don’t know about that,” you say. “I quite fancy them.”

“They prick your fingers,” he says.

“Not if you are gentle,” you say. “Not if you understand them.”

He buries his face in his hands. “Go home, Y/N.”

You do as you are told, flagging a taxi and shivering while you wait for it. You wish for things to be different, but the amount of unfulfilled wishes you’ve made outnumber the stars in the sky, so you add this one to the list and vow to move on.

You have no desire to leave your bed the next morning, but you are also hungry, and your hunger wins out over your despair. You muster up the energy to roll out of your sheets and trudge downstairs, but you are miserable as you do so. You are utterly miserable, and the fact that you are only worsens the feeling, trapping you in an endless kind of loop.

When you enter your kitchen, you are surprised to see a pot of flowers sitting innocently on your counter. You didn’t put them there, so you should feel afraid, but they’re roses, and they’re the same arresting shade as the sky, so you don’t. You only grin, slowly and then all at once as you begin to giggle helplessly.

There isn’t a card or an explanation provided, but you don’t need either. You already know who they are from.

#kaiser x reader #kaiser x y/n #kaiser x you #michael kaiser #bllk x reader #bllk #blue lock #reader insert #fake dating #m1ckeyb3rry milestone #m1ckeyb3rry writes

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