#maybe a big farm will fix it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

just-jordie-things · 5 months

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the subject of every photo - fushiguro megumi

word count: 5,555 (i'm so proud of that) warnings: swearin' summary: a photoshoot at the pumpkin patch isn't his ideal day, but at least megumi gets to spend time with you. and maybe he'll take a few pictures anyway. (a/n): really delayed pumpkin themed fic with the softest boy but i needed to write this ok a greater power called upon me to do it

___

“It’ll be fun!” Nobara had claimed, although her tone was more threatening than bubbly. “It’s just a little photoshoot at a pumpkin patch, why so gloomy about it?”

And it wasn’t that Megumi was gloomy about it, because he wasn’t. It would be immature to pout about a simple hangout among friends. The thing was… he just didn’t care for the whole pumpkin patch thing that really seemed to take off on instagram and tiktok these last few years.

He hadn’t carved a pumpkin since he was just a tot, and even then he’d only done it to satisfy Gojo’s bonkers need to participate in every holiday tradition. He never particularly liked scooping the guts and seeds out, and as a kid wasn’t decent enough with a blade to carve a face that actually looked interesting. Not to mention, it was always chilly in late October, making it insufferable to wander around outside solely to pick out a big orange vegetable.

Really, if he wanted a pumpkin that bad, he would’ve picked out a discount one from the grocery store. But really, he didn’t want a pumpkin.

Nonetheless, Nobara had bought four disposable cameras— which he didn’t know were even still a thing— told everyone to wear their cutest, coziest outfit, and pretty much demanded they all go spend the afternoon at one of the more popular farms in town. As with most plans, Megumi begrudgingly agreed.

Even under three layers— his coat, his sweater, and the long sleeved tee he wore underneath them both— the crisp air still pricked at his skin and left goosebumps in it’s wake. It was hard to enjoy being out here when he was fighting the urge to shiver.

“It’s pretty cold for this, huh?”

Megumi wipes away the resting bitch face he’d been making, opting instead for as much neutrality as he could muster. He turns to (y/n), only to find her peering up at him from behind her little plastic camera. His brows wrinkle.

“Don’t take a picture of me at that angle”

He puts his hand over the lens and pushes it away before she could even think about snapping the photo, and she chuckles a bit at his boyish antics. He almost cracks a smile when she’s peeking up at him with her cheeks tinged pink from the cold. He squashes it before his lip could curl too far.

“Well what side do you prefer then?” She teases, shifting around to stand before him and raising her shitty little camera again. “Full portrait? Or perhaps a side profile?”

Megumi rolls his eyes, but when he starts to walk away, she’s quick to follow. He doesn’t dislike her company.

Nobara is off farther in the field, ordering Yuuji to pick up as many pumpkins as he can for the perfect picture. It was only a matter of time before she came over and started barking at the two of them to make the perfect poses as well.

“So why do you hate pumpkin patches?” (y/n) breaks their silence, but when he turns to her again, she’s fixing her camera on a sparrow pecking away at a less than ripe pumpkin.

“I don’t hate pumpkin patches,” He replies, but even he has to admit the dryness in his voice makes it seem a bit unbelievable. “It’s just…” He glances at her out of the corner of his eye, but he’s quick to straighten his gaze when he finds her full attention on him now. “Cold” He finishes, lamely, but it’s not untrue.

He fiddles with the plastic camera in his hands.

“Yeah,” (y/n) agrees from beside him. “Would’ve been nice to do this a few weeks ago, when it was still sunny”

Megumi nods back at her, unsure of what else to say.

He hoped that they weren’t doomed to only speak about the weather today. However that meant he’d probably have to put the effort in to change the subject. His palms began to sweat.

It was their day off, so he didn’t want to strike up a conversation about work, and preferably he’d like to avoid the subject of sorcery altogether. So that narrowed down the options by a lot.

He knew that like him, she liked to read. But she was more into the fantasy stuff, and the only book off the top of his head he could make conversation about was The Lion The Witch and The Wardrobe and he was fairly certain that wasn’t currently on her shelf.

Was it always this hard or was he just overthinking it?

“Wait, stay right there!”

Before he can suck it up and ask how her most recent assignment went, (y/n’s) throwing her arms up at him to make him freeze in place. Megumi startles at the sudden movement and holler, but he listens and stays put while she backs up a few steps.

“The sun is peeking out,” She explains, before steadying her camera in front of her face. “The lighting is great” She says with a grin, and then without warning, she snaps the photo.

Megumi wants to complain, he didn’t even have time to smile or pose or anything. When that picture got printed, he’d just be a guy standing there, probably with a resting bitch face. Nobara wouldn’t be happy.

But (y/n’s) still grinning as she lowers the camera.

“Too bad we gotta wait so long to see ‘em,” She says as she heads back towards him. “It’d be nice to—”

“Stop moving”

He’s more blunt than she is, already lifting his camera and peeking through the small lens. (y/n) gets the hint and retraces her steps to fit properly in the frame.

“Better?” She asks, tossing her hair over her shoulder dramatically before posing with a bright smile.

Megumi snaps the photo without warning, although he’s sure that this one will turn out much better than the one she’d taken of him. For one, she’s smiling, but he’s also certain that she’s much more photogenic than he is.

She’s at his side again as they wander around the patch, fiddling to fit the camera into the pocket of her coat. It takes him a few minutes to find his courage again, but eventually Megumi clears his throat and tries to spark conversation.

“Gojo used to take a million pictures of me and Tsumiki”

That seems to be exactly the right thing to say, because (y/n’s) entire demeanor lights up as she looks up at him with wide eyes.

“Really?” She laughs softly at the mental picture. “Did he keep, like, photo albums and stuff?”

“Oh yeah,” Megumi snorted, recalling the rows of photo books on the living room bookshelf when he was young. “Dozens, at least. It was like he couldn’t commit a thing to memory, always had to document everything”

When he was young, it was obnoxious to always have a camera shoved in his face. Now though, he wonders if the crazy bastard still had those albums.

“That’s sweet,” (y/n) muses, wandering off a bit to check out a display of gourds, all varying in shapes and colors. “I bet there’s tons of embarrassing ones of you, too” She teases.

Megumi doesn’t give her an answer, instead silently watching as she picks up a large green vegetable with a curly top. She holds the long end in her hand, before turning to face Megumi with the plump end out, holding it like it was a very deformed gun.

He rolls his eyes at the joke, but just as she looks away, he snaps a photo.

(y/n) seems to not even notice, setting the gourd back on the display and turning back to Megumi to continue their conversation.

“Was he a scrapbook mom?”

He chuckles, and he wants to deny it, but he can’t. Even if he tried he thinks she’d see through it with how he smiles with all of his teeth. She’s laughing before he even explains.

“He made one scrapbook, ever,” He tells her. “And you have to swear to never tell them this,” He adds quickly. (y/n) doesn’t have to ask to know who he means, and she simply drags her thumb and forefinger over her lips as if to zip them up. “It took him weeks. I think the kitchen table was covered in all of his crafts for a solid month”

“You’re kidding!” She laughs louder, loving the image of her mentor hunched over a table while he glued down photos and ribbon to pretty sheets of paper.

“I wish I was. I think it’s why he only ever made one,” Megumi shrugged. “But it’s… a lot. Every sheet was three dimensional. The spine of the scrapbook was stretched so wide the thing couldn’t even sit flat”

He knows that all of the pictures in that book would be embarrassing now. Gojo liked to document every first— first day of school, first science project, first A+, along with more ridiculous milestones, like when Megumi chopped all of his hair off in the fifth grade and looked ridiculous. If he remembered correctly, Gojo glued that hair in the book too, as if it were his baby hairs. That scrapbook really should be burned, but a part of him wishes he could show her now, just to prove how messy it really is.

“I’d do anything to get my hands on it,” (y/n) sighed, almost as if she could read his mind. “My parents did some stuff like that, but they certainly weren’t obsessive”

“Obsession is all he knows” Megumi mumbles, and he doesn’t mean to be funny, but she laughs, and it makes his chest feel warm.

“I still think it’s sweet,” She assures him, and then she stops in their slow and aimless walk, kneeling down to tie the shoelaces on her boot. Megumi waits beside her. He cared much more for her company than he did seeing the pumpkin patch. “He probably just wanted to save lots of memories of you guys when you were little. All parents say it goes by fast”

She goes to tie the other boot, and Megumi can only stand there in soft surprise. Sure, deep down he always considered Gojo his parent, because he simply just was. But no one else referred to their relationship that way, the others always called him teacher or mentor. But (y/n) must’ve understood that it was more than that.

He’s pulling his camera out again and stealing another quick picture while she was still focused on her shoes.

When she stands, he’s got the camera tucked back into his pocket and an innocent look on his face.

“Want to take a picture over there?” She asks, pointing to the tower of hay bales set up mostly for photos. Originally it was for children to climb and play on, but it’s purpose was far more often served as a posing station.

Megumi simply nods, and follows her as she races over the tower. It shouldn’t have surprised him when she started climbing the thing right away. Surely Nobara had been over here earlier, striking a pose with one hand on her hip and the other on the stack of hay, but not (y/n), who was almost to the top.

“You’re not gonna fall, right?” Megumi asks unsurely as she’s grabbing at the highest bale.

“I’m a trained athlete!” She shrieks back, clearly offended.

“I’m more worried about you destroying the play area” Megumi retorted, his lip curling upwards against his will. He can’t help but take a picture before she’s settled. Her hair’s a mess and her limbs are everywhere as she tries to steady herself on the wobbling tower, but it’s a perfect picture nonetheless.

“This is great!” She shouts back at him, before stretching her hands above her head. “Take my photo like this!”

It’s silly, it’s childish, but Megumi’s laughing to himself as he snaps a couple.

Somehow she manages to climb down without toppling the entire thing, and they quickly make their way across the pumpkin patch before an employee could scold them for being grown adults playing on the children’s setup.

Megumi finds it easier to talk with her the longer they walk around, aimlessly eyeing pumpkins without committing to picking any out, taking photos here and there, but mostly they just wander around and talk. Yuji and Nobara seem so wrapped up in the full on photoshoot they were having with each other that it could seem like they’d completely forgotten the other pair, but Megumi didn’t mind one bit.

Hang outs never turned out like this. Nobara tended to cling to (y/n) like a lifeline. She was always dragging her off to the next boutique on the strip or game in the arcade or exhibit at the museum— wherever they went, it seemed as soon as Megumi would get a minute of alone time with her, Nobara would steal her away. It was deflating, but he couldn’t be mad, they were best friends after all.

Today was like a gloomy day miracle. He almost felt spoiled having the last half hour with her all to himself. All of her laughter and smiles were only for him. It warmed up his chilled hands until soon, even the breeze wouldn’t make him shiver.

(y/n) didn’t appear to have the same effect, shaking like a leaf every time the wind picked up. She always shrank into the collar of her coat and shoved her hands into her pockets, and after a few times, Megumi couldn’t stand to see her freezing.

“Let’s go inside for a bit,” He nodded his head towards the small shop. (y/n) pouted back at him, before glancing around the pumpkin patch, clearly looking for their friends. “They won’t be upset that we went inside because we’re cold,” Megumi chuckles to himself, before gently pushing his hand against the small of her back so that he’d follow her. “I’ll text Itadori” He adds for good measure.

After a moment of hesitation she agreed and walked along with him, but just slow enough that he left his hand on her lower back. Just because it was nice to be so close to him.

Stepping into the shop was an instant rush of fresh warm air, and she finally felt like she could stretch her fingers. There was a small bakery inside with only a couple of tables, but without anyone else inside it was perfectly quaint to warm up in.

“I’m going to order a hot chocolate, do you want anything?”

The offer was sweet, but she’s already making her way to the counter, set on a mission as soon as the alluring smell of apples and cinnamon wafted past her nose.

“I could go for a coffee” Megumi hummed as he followed.

He’s ordering for the both of them as soon as a clerk arrives behind the counter, two drinks along with the enormous bear claw in the glass case that (y/n) hadn’t torn her eyes away from since stepping up to the counter. She tries to fight him when he pulls out his wallet but he’s faster at tapping his card to the reader than she is at hitting him.

Even once they sit down with their drinks and the pastry that takes up most of the table space between them, she argues with him about the payment, and all he can do is shake his head— and maybe smile to himself just a little bit. After realizing arguing is futile, she decides that as long as he eats some of the bear claw, she can forgive him.

And they continue to chat, about dumb things, about nothing, about everything. Megumi learns all about the book series that she is reading, along with her plans for getting promoted faster, and that her dream pet is a sugar glider.

“That’s ridiculous,” He mumbles through a mouthful of almond paste and cinnamon. “When would you ever have the time to take care of something like that?”

“That’s why it’s a dream pet, dummy,” (y/n) rolls her eyes at him. “Doesn’t have to be realistic. Don’t you have a dream pet?”

“I kinda already have a lot of pets”

“Oh, right,” She laughs to herself, and he thinks he can see a hint of a blush dusting over her cheeks. Was she embarrassed? He wasn’t sure exactly. But it was really cute. “Well if there’s ever a sugar glider shikigami, please summon it for me” She tells him in all seriousness, and Megumi bites his tongue as he agrees to the condition immediately.

He pulls out his camera for the tenth time that day and rests his elbows on the table as he brings it to his face. (y/n’s) eyes widen before she’s covering half her face with one hand.

“Are you taking a picture of me right now?” She hisses anxiously, before shaking her head at him.

“Duh” He mutters out as he tilts forward and back, trying to find just the right angle of lighting.

“I’m eating—”

“So? Not like you have food on your face. Hush. Go back to eating or something”

“I am not letting you take a picture of me while I eat”

“Alright then just sit there then”

She’s grabbing her paper cup of hot cocoa to use as a shield, but it’s too late. Megumi clicks the button and she can hear the soft whirring coming from inside the camera.

The lens cuts to black and Megumi pulls the camera away, eyeing the little roll of numbers next to the lens.

“I’m out already,” He says, tossing it onto the table. “Guess I win”

(y/n) laughs to herself.

“I didn’t know this was a competition,” She takes a sip of her warm beverage before setting it back down. “But I can’t believe you finished before me”

“How many do you have left?”

Curiously, (y/n) pulls the camera out of her pocket and eyes the tape with the amount of film left. She frowns as she looks back up at him.

“Just one,” She answers, and her frown tilts into a small, soft smile before she asks, “Do you want to take one together?”

___

Greedily, Nobara snatches the stack of freshly printed photos out of Megumi’s hands. (y/n) and Yuji are too busy sharing theirs with each other, and Nobara had been dying to know what photos Megumi and (y/n) had taken on their last outing. By the time the group had met up and gone home, their cameras were already full, and she knew she hadn’t been the subject of a single one of them.

“I swear Fushiguro if these are all dumb pictures of pumpkins, I’ll—”

But her threat falls short after sliding through the first three pictures.

The first was (y/n) on the path, just standing and smiling. It wasn’t special, there wasn’t even a pumpkin in the background, but it was cute.

The second was a picture of her crouched down and tying her shoe. Her face wasn’t even in the picture, her hair was hanging in front of it, but if you squinted you could barely make out the tip of her nose.

Then the third was another candid, where she was pretending to hold a gourd like a gun.

“What the—?”

Nobara flips through to the next one in the stack, and yet again there’s a candid of her climbing up the side of a hay bale tower. At least that one captured her smile. She shouldn’t have been surprised to see the fifth one in the stack was also of (y/n), this time sitting on top of the haystack victoriously

“You’ve got to be kidding me, dude”

“Okay give them back—!” Megumi tries to grab the stack of pictures from Nobara before she could keep being nosey, but she deflects fast, swiveling to turn away from him and keep skipping through the photos.

He shouldn’t have let her get her hands on them to begin with, but it was too late now. If he caused too big of a scene, Yuji and (y/n) would notice. He didn’t exactly want all of his pictures on display.

So Nobara kept flipping.

One was of her lifting up the tiniest of pumpkins— definitely the runt of the whole patch. It fit in the palm of her hand but she seemed delighted by it.

The next few were just of her walking around, nothing too exciting in the frame. Just the occasional pumpkin in the background.

There was a decent one taken from inside the shop. (y/n) was still in the frame but her back was turned as she eyed the glass case of sweets. Nobara could almost let Megumi off the hook for that one. Almost.

And then the last photo was of her laughing, the blurry image of a paper cup waving in the space beside her face. Her eyes are on the camera, so she must’ve known he was taking that picture, but judging by the surprise in her expression, it was easy to conclude she was trying to hide behind that cup.

Once she’d ogled every picture, Nobara finally turned back to Megumi. Her brows twitched and furrowed, lips parted in shock, not a single word spoken as she handed the stack back to him. It’s practically shoved towards him, but he doesn’t complain, just snatches them back as fast as he can.

He wants to find a way to quickly and discreetly ask her to keep this to herself, but before he can find the words, she’s gawking at him again.

“Every single one?” Nobara asks in a mutter.

“We hung out the whole time, okay? It's not like—” Megumi tries to defend himself, but it’s no use. Nobara’s already speaking over him again.

“It’s almost pathetic, dude. Just ask her out like a normal person”

His brows almost raise to his hairline in shock. Here he thought she was about to call him out for being a creep or something. But no, her disgust only lied in his pathetic pining and lack of action. Maybe he should have assumed that already.

He doesn’t get the chance to say anything before Nobara’s marching over to Yuji and demanding to see his photos as well. Megumi’s left reeling from the whole interaction, the humiliation still lingering in his gut.

The feeling remains as (y/n) makes her way to him, her own fresh stack of photos in her hands. There’s a nervous sort of smile on her face as she glances back at Yuji and Nobara, double checking that they were out of earshot.

“They took that pretty seriously, huh?” Her voice was still low, careful not to draw the attention of their rambunctious friends. “Yuji takes great photos, don’t get me wrong. But I think she should pay him for his time”

There’s some relief in his chest when he cracks a smile, a small laugh coming out. He could only imagine the quality of Nobara and Yuji’s photos, certainly prepped for instagram.

“I bet she still puts filters over all of them” He mutters back, and (y/n) stifles a giggle behind her hand, but nods her head in agreement.

“Can we leave now or what?” Nobara calls out, already dragging Yuji by the arm to leave the store. “I want to get boba before home”

“Boba sounds good,” (y/n) agrees softly. “Let’s go”

As the red head continued to drag her friend despite him arguing that he was an adult who could walk by himself, she turned and aggressively whispered something to him. After her obvious threatening, she glances back at (y/n) and Megumi, which Yuji promptly follows her pointed glance. Suddenly after that he was upright and speed walking along with her.

(y/n) and Megumi share a baffled look as their friends so blatantly ditch them, but they don’t exactly pick up the pace to follow.

“So, did you get good photos?” Megumi asks, tucking his own away in his pocket. Foolishly, he hoped if they were out of sight she wouldn’t ask him about them.

“Oh,” (y/n) chuckles nervously, holding her stack of pictures in both hands. She tilts them towards herself so he can’t see, and Megumi raises a brow at the secrecy. “It’s kind of embarrassing, actually” She says sheepishly.

Her cheeks flood with color, and Megumi can’t help the curious grin that begins to stretch across his face.

“Embarrassing?” He repeats, sounding horrifically hopeful. (y/n) sighs, and sticks her arm out, handing him the stack. He’s quick to take them and start flipping through, eyeing her anxious demeanor in his peripheral vision.

“Yuji’s probably going to tell you anyway. But… they’re sort of all..”

His steps slow further after quickly sliding through the bunch of pictures.

The first was at the entrance of the pumpkin patch, with the cute sign with the family name painted on it, and just under it was him. He wasn’t paying attention, and quite frankly he looked rather bored standing there. She must’ve taken it while he was still pouting about having to go.

The next photo was of the sparrow poking at the rotted pumpkin, and he had to admit the way she captured it actually was sort of cute.

The third was the photo Megumi dreaded seeing. He recognized it as soon as he saw himself standing on the thin path of dirt. He grimaced as he looked closer to see just how bad it was. But to his surprise, he wasn’t scowling like he thought he’d been. He was actually smiling.

Which was odd… he certainly didn’t remember smiling for that picture. He clearly remembered being upset because he hadn’t tried to look nice for her picture at all.

He glances at (y/n) to gauge her reaction so far, but she was holding her expression at a neutral state, waiting for him to react first.

So Megumi goes back to the photos, and flips to the next one. Which was… also him. It wasn’t anything special, just him standing there, but he was smiling a little bit in that one, too.

When the following is also a candid of him with that dumb little smile, he glances over at (y/n) again, raising a brow at her in silent question.

She’s a tough one to crack, but the corner of her lips gives her away as she tries to bite back a smile. His own smile is unable to be hidden as he flips through a few more photos.

And to his shock and delight, they’re all him. Him while he was picking up that big pumpkin she dared him to, him while he was drinking his coffee and not paying attention, him just standing and doing nothing in particular, but for whatever reason, she’d used up all her film on capturing it.

His favorite is the one of the both of them. She’d given him the camera so he could stretch his arm out and snap the photo selfie style. They’re sitting at the small table, two paper cups and the enormous bear claw between them, but pushed aside as (y/n) leans across the tabletop in order to better center herself. She’s grinning from ear to ear, her chin set in one hand while the other holds up a peace sign. Megumi’s smile isn’t as wide but nevertheless it’s genuine, and anyone looking at the picture would know. It’s a great picture of the two of them, and he thinks it’s probably the first, too.

Megumi hadn’t realized he’d gone through the whole stack till he flips to the next one and is met with the first photo, but once he does, (y/n’s) quick to reach out and take them back. She doesn’t snatch them as aggressively as Nobara had, she handles them gently, careful not to leave an ugly smudge or crease.

Megumi watches with eager intrigue as she tucks the edges together neatly, making the stack smooth in her hands.

“Sorry if that’s creepy— is that creepy?” She turns to him suddenly, full of worry that she’d crossed a line, but Megumi just chuckles, and shakes his head at her.

“Not creepy” He muses, his soft smile remaining as he dips his hand into his pocket, retrieving his own small collection of photos.

He stares at them for an indecisive minute, clenching and unclenching his jaw, working up the courage to make the smallest of gestures. When he does hold them out to her, he still doesn’t say a thing. His throat is too dry and hot to even try. He thinks it would be worse if his voice cracked right now.

(y/n) smiles as she tucks her pictures away in her purse with great care so that she could better look through the pictures he’d taken. His face flushes with color when she finally takes them from him. Even the small brush of the tips of her fingers against his has Megumi’s breath catching in his throat.

And he holds his breath as she eagerly slides through the stack of photos. His throat is far too constricted now to show any sign of life. He very well could pass out at any moment. He just hopes she’d leave him there in a heap on the ground.

The relief of the exhale doesn’t come until she begins to giggle. It’s soft at first, almost under her breath as she continues admiring his photos, but then it erupts into something brilliant and bubbly, as if it was coming out of her uncontrollably. As lovely as the reaction was, it didn’t do much to ease Megumi’s nerves. They began to sink their teeth into his heart and gut, and he knew that any minute now, his knees would give out.

When her laughter calms down and she finally looks up at him, the surprise is evident on his features when he sees her colored cheeks and nervous smile. She hands the stack back to him, and Megumi’s quick to tuck them into his pocket, where maybe he they’d disappear forever, or at least just from the front of their minds.

“That’s pretty cute, huh?” She asks, an aftershock of quiet laughter shaking her shoulders and crinkling the corners of her eyes. This time, Megumi can’t help the way he laughs with her, but he does duck his head bashfully.

(y/n) thinks it’s all the more cuter, how he resorts to his nervous habit of rubbing the back of his neck and looking anywhere but directly at her. She wonders if he even knows he’s doing it. With a surge of confidence, she rocks on her feet.

“Wanna ditch our friends and get lunch or something?”

He shrugs and nods, thinking anything would be better sustenance than the too-sugary drinks that Nobara had an addiction to. But the implication of the question dawns on him too late, and suddenly his eyes are widening as he realizes what she really meant.

“You mean— like, a date?”

It’s so damn cute the way his brows furrow and then raise ever so slightly, waiting without a single ounce of patience for her clarification. (y/n’s) giggling again as she nods her head, putting him out of his misery.

“Yeah, like a date,” She repeats teasingly.

Megumi nods his head again, this time faster, as if there was a time limit to her offer and he was worried he’d already wasted too much of it. Her smile brightens and there’s a small but noticeable skip in her step as they head off in a new direction together.

“Now maybe it won’t be so creepy when our friends see those pictures” She says, and Megumi can’t decipher if she’s messing with him or not. The look he gives her barely hides his panic.

“They’re gonna see them?”

“What do you think they’re talking about right now?” (y/n) retorts, knowing for a fact that Yuji and Nobara were gossiping away about the pair’s photos that consisted only of each other.

The thought makes Megumi’s face feel hot, and there’s no discretion in the way he tugs at his collar. The idea makes him nervous, his stomach flipping excessively. That said, he knew with the amount of gossip those two chatterboxes would generate, there was plenty of time to add a date to today’s agenda.

“They probably won’t even notice we’re gone”

(y/n) nods in agreement.

“They’ll be grateful to have the time for girl talk,” She teases.

With purpose, she steps closer to him so she could link her arm around his, tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow and shyly smiling up at him. Megumi returns the smile, his arm hooking a little further to keep her tucked next to him as close as he wanted. It was another chilly day outside, but he could almost forget about it with the way her closeness sparked warmth in his chest that flooded throughout his whole body. He hoped he’d get to do this for the rest of their day—

“So… where do we want to go?”

—and more days to come. ___

xoxo ~ jordie

#fushiguro megumi #fushiguro megumi x reader #megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro x reader #fushiguro megumi imagine #fushiguro megumi x reader fluff #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader fluff #jjk imagine #jujutsu kaisen imagine #megumi brainrot

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familyvideostevie · 2 months

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it's your turn for choosing

this was born out of a prompt request from my dear, dear, @softlyspector. this is for you, becca!

getting asked out via a smudgy scribble on a coffee cup | valentine's day prompts

joel miller x reader

summary/warnings: joel stops by your coffee shack every day. it's not your fault you're a little in love with him because of it. | modern au, fluff, flirting, jesse and cat and ellie cameos, game!joel in my head. i have not been a barista so sorry to all baristas if this reads wildly off-base. | 5.6k

a/n: it's giving rom-com! happy valentine's day. a bit different from my usual fare but hopefully it makes your heart warm. love u. thank u always to @macfrog and @bageldaddy for your eyes.

___

7:32 am. It’s helpful in this line of work to know exactly when you’re fucked.

The espresso machine has been on the fritz all week and despite how much you want your current method of fixing it to work – banging a fist on the top until it stops wheezing – all signs point to today being a very bad day indeed.

You’ve only been open for two hours.

Here for three, awake for four. God, you’re tired.

Anyway – you’re fucked. And there’s nothing you can do about it.

You call the time of death on the machine and search for something you can write on.

The Zone – a stupid name, but you can’t be bothered to change the sign that came with the place – is a coffee shop that sits between towns.

Your coffee shop.

It's more shack than shop, not really a zone of anything, just an order window and a five-drink menu. It's the kind of place that appears like a mirage for tourists right before they get on the highway at an ungodly hour and serves as a quick stop for everyone else. You open earlier than any other place around to get the truckers and the farmers and close when you stop being able to keep your eyes open.

The faded brown clapboard building is no bigger than an RV. The paint is chipped and the roof is a too-bright shade of green and you serve your drinks and the occasional sweet treat when you can get a good deal off of the baker two towns over through a window. It’s not a fancy chain, it’s not a drive-thru. You’ve got a bathroom and a few rickety cafe tables and chairs and no fucking common sense since you like it.

You even love it, some days.

And the craziest part is that it works. Even on mornings like this one, when your espresso machine breaks during the lull between rushes and your part-time help calls in sick and you’ve spilled coffee all over your apron twice – it works.

You tear off the lip of a cardboard box and write in big block letters: NO ESPRESSO TODAY. Maybe Tess, the baker, knows someone who can fix it. She knows everyone.

“Fuck you, you piece of junk,” you say. You give the machine another smack for good measure.

Someone clears their throat and you whirl around, makeshift sign in hand.

You’ve been doing this long enough that a handsome customer doesn’t phase you, but the man standing at your order window makes your stomach swoop for just a second.

“Morning,” you say, summoning your smile. “Hold on a sec, let me just –”

You lean out the window and wedge the piece of cardboard against the napkin holder on the ledge.

The man’s gaze drops to read. You take the opportunity to look at him.

He’s tall and broad – if you had to guess, you’d say he works on one of the farms around here. He’s tan, dark hair threaded through with grey. His arms are crossed and you wish he wasn’t wearing a jacket so you could see his forearms. His denim shirt is undone at the top and you fixate on the chorded column of his throat, on the teasing glimpse of chest hair underneath.

The guy looks tired.

Bone-tired, the kind of exhaustion you see when you look in the mirror. It comes from hundreds of early mornings and late nights, from hours on your feet and plenty of worry. He’s got lines at the corners of his eyes and a few around his mouth and you find yourself hoping they’re from laughter.

“No espresso,” he reads, slow and unhurried. His drawl fits in with most of the folks around here, but you’re sure you haven’t seen him before. You’d remember.

“Hope that doesn't scare you off,” you say. “Still got everything else.”

“Everything else being…” He glances at the chalkboard that serves as your menu.

DRIP COFFEE. LATTE. CAPPUCCINO. TEA. HOT CHOCOLATE. All written in your blocky hand in white paint.

“Three options.”

Trial and error have taught you that simple works best. You’ll make anything people ask for, so long as you know how and have the supplies, and if they’re nice about it you won’t charge too much extra.

“Can I get you one of those three options?”

You’re not trying to rush him, but the next wave of people is bound to show up any minute.

“Black coffee will do,” he says. His mouth tugs up at the corner into a smirk that makes your face feel hot. “If you have that.”

“Thank you for taking pity on me,” you say, going for teasing and missing the mark by a mile. You just sound tired and genuine. “You just made my morning.”

He looks amused and you turn from him, unable to hide your grin. You pour a steaming cup and snap the lid on.

“Pretty shit morning if this is makin’ it,” he drawls.

You hand him the cup and your fingers brush.

“You have no idea.”

He eyes the sign again and then your stained apron. “I got some notion.” He tugs his wallet from his back pocket and pulls out a $5 bill. “Keep the change,” he says.

You want to refuse, to thank him, but a few more cars pull up and Mr. Black Coffee just raises his cup to you and heads back to his truck.

Well, shit. You hope he comes back. A tipper like that, and hot? You sure wouldn’t mind if he became a regular customer. __

You call Tess that afternoon and she does know a guy, so the espresso machine gets fixed and things go back to normal. Your part-time help returns in the morning and nothing else breaks.

Today is uncharacteristically warm for the season. The inside of The Zone is almost stifling, always at least 15 degrees warmer than outside, and you keep wiping your sweaty hands on your apron as you make espresso after espresso for the lunch crowd.

Cat, a spunky girl who likes to practice her latte art when it’s slow, takes orders at the register. You keep half of your attention on her and half on the four drinks you’re working on.

“Black coffee, please,” someone says to her. Someone whose voice you recognize.

“Can I get a name for that?” Cat asks. It’s busy enough that calling names is easier than calling orders, no matter how small your menu is.

“Joel,” he says. You let the milk steam on its own and pour the black coffee before Cat can do it.

“I’ve got it,” you tell her. “Can you finish up those drinks?”

She shrugs and you swap places. You know you’re sweaty and coffee-stained but you smile at him and hand over his coffee.

“Hot coffee on a day like this?” you tease. He – Joel – is sweaty, too. The collar of his work shirt is dark with sweat and his hair is a mess. He must be here on his lunch break. He takes the cup from you and slurps a long sip as a reply to your question.

You laugh. Joel looks pleased.

“Operatin’ a full menu, I see,” he says, pulling out another $5. “Glad you got it fixed.”

“It’s still a piece of junk,” you shrug. “Just don’t tell anyone I said that.”

He waves off your offer of change and raises his cup at you, taking a few steps backward towards his truck.

“Thank you,” he says. He eyes the tag on your chest and tacks your name on at the end. It sounds good from his mouth.

“Bye, Joel,” you say. His lips twitch but you barely have time to think about it before you have to take the next few orders.

The line dies down and you step away from the register to help Cat with some cappuccinos – your least favorite drink by far due to all the damn foam they require – and she eyes you.

“Dude,” Cat says. “What the hell was that?”

If it wasn’t already a billion degrees in here you know your face would feel hot.

“What the hell was what?”

She can’t reply for a few seconds while you grind beans for some espresso.

“I didn’t even know you knew how to flirt,” she muses, tapping a frother full of milk a few times. “That was pretty bad flirting if you ask me –”

You turn the grinder on again to drown her out.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you yell. She rolls her eyes at you until you turn off the machine.

You tamp down the grounds and slot them into the machine.

“I mean, not my type at all, for like, so many reasons,” she says, wrinkling her nose. “Way too old for me, for one. Man, for another. But I see the appeal, I guess. Seems like he likes you. And was that a five-dollar bill? Black coffee is two bucks, last time I checked –”

“Can we get back to steaming milk, please?” you snap, more embarrassed than mad. “I am not taking flirting advice from a teenager.”

“I’m twenty!” she sputters. “Wait, so you admit that you like him?”

“Milk.”

Cat is right, though, and you know it. You just don’t see any harm in having a crush on some guy who comes to your coffee shop. Running this place means you see hundreds of people every day. You know their names, you ask them about their kids and their pets and their jobs, and you smile at them even on your bad days. It’s just part of the job. The daily interactions keep you afloat, make you feel more solid in your own life. People see you, they recognize you, they know you – even if it’s just because you make them coffee.

Maybe Joel will keep coming back. Maybe he’ll become one of the regulars you know things about.

And if you have a crush on him?

No harm done. He’s nice to look at.

And he tips well.

Joel stops by again.

And again.

He comes in every morning – sometimes at lunch – and orders the same thing. You learn the rumble of his truck by ear alone, the crunch of his boots on the gravel. Sometimes people in line say hi to him and a smile works its way onto your face on instinct when his voice reaches your ear. It’s never slow enough to have a proper conversation but he smiles at you, tells you he likes the flowers, your new apron.

All of it is flirting but maybe not flirting.

Maybe he’s just being polite.

Also, he keeps overpaying.

One day, almost a month since you first saw him, he doesn’t come in the morning. When you don’t see him in line at lunch, either, you’re a little disappointed. The weather is perfect – not too hot, not too cold, the sun shining – and you want to see him in the sunlight.

The day crowd is long gone and you’re only an hour or two from closing when his truck pulls up.

“I was getting worried,” you call as he walks over. Usually, he’s got some kind of dust or paint or something on them – Joel is a contractor, you’ve learned through your brief encounters, not a farmer – but today his clothes are clean and un-ripped.

“I’m honored,” he says.

You have his cup ready by the time he reaches the window.

“I’m just surprised you can get through the day without a cup of coffee.”

He snorts and hands you his cash.

“I can’t,” he says. “Had shitty home brew this morning.”

He takes a sip of your coffee and sighs. Your heart picks up and you don’t hide your grin.

“What’s with the schedule change?” you ask.

He smirks. “Miss me?”

You scoff and cross your arms. Heat rises in your chest and you feel almost giddy.

“Just curious,” you say. “Don’t let it go to your head, but you’re my favorite customer.”

Joel laughs and scratches the back of his neck.

“Reckon that’s the tip.”

“Actually, ordering a cup of black coffee is the way to any barista’s heart.”

Joel’s eyebrows climb up his forehead.

“Ah,” he says. He takes another sip, his eyes dancing with mirth. “‘Course.”

“Nah,” you say with a teasing smile. “I’d never be so shallow.”

There’s no line behind him but you expect him to go back to his truck, anyway. But here he is. Talking to you.

You grab a rag and wipe down the counter to keep your hands busy.

“I’m, uh. Meetin’ one of my kids here,” Joel says. The sudden shyness that accompanies his admission is a surprise.

Your eyes dart to his hand but you see no ring, nor the pale shadow of one.

“Both of ‘em moved to the city recently. Ellie – she’s comin’ up for the night.”

“I’ll bet you miss them,” you offer. You’re not sure why he’d want to bring his daughter to your coffee shack, but you’re not complaining.

Joel smiles at you. It’s a sad smile but still a good one. The affection in his eyes is raw.

“Sure do,” he says. He tucks one hand in his pocket and takes another sip of his coffee. “But it’s good for them. Sarah – she’s a little older – is in school and Ellie is workin’ on her music and whatever else she’s into these days.” The pride in his voice is clear.

“Well, I’m honored you want to bring her here.” You gesture to your slightly sad sitting area and the empty lot behind him.

Joel looks ready to argue with you when a faded, older version of his truck pulls up. Music leaks from the open windows and the driver bops her head to the beat a few times before shutting it off and hoping out, thumbs flying on the screen of her phone.

“That’ll be her,” he says drily. “Hey, kiddo.”

Ellie looks up from her hands, tucks her phone in her back pocket, and grins at Joel.

She doesn’t look a thing like him, but the connection is obvious. She moves like him, her shoulders set like she’s ready for a challenge at any moment. Joel sets his coffee down at the window and meets her halfway for a hug.

You look away and busy yourself with restocking whatever you can get your hands on.

“Dude, you come here every day?” Ellie asks. “Joel, this is so far from –”

Joel talks over her.

“Drive go okay? Sarah said they’re doin’ shit on the 35 –”

Ellie huffs.

“Yeah, yeah, some traffic getting out of the city ‘cause of the fucking lane closure, but otherwise fine.”

“Good.”

You turn to face them, a genuine smile firmly in place.

“Hi,” you say. Joel picks up his coffee again, which Ellie eyes with a scowl. You introduce yourself to her. “You’re Ellie, right? I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Ellie frowns. Behind her, Joel’s mouth twitches but he says nothing. It’s a lie, obviously, but something tells you he doesn’t mind and she believes it.

“Really?” She throws him a glare and then rolls her eyes. “You gotta stop telling strangers about me, man.”

“Someone’s gotta warn ‘em,” he says.

She laughs. “Hey, fuck you!”

“Only good stuff,” you say. You like her. “Joel says you’re working on your music?”

Ellie’s eyes light up. “Oh, yeah,” she says. “I’ve got an audition next week.” She turns to Joel. “I brought my guitar ‘cause I have a fuck ton of songs to play for you.”

He puts a hand on her shoulder and she settles a little.

“I bet they’re real good.”

Ellie flushes and rolls her eyes. “Yeah, well. You have to hear them first.”

You feel a little off-balance again, like you’re on the fringes of something you shouldn’t be seeing. The love on Joel’s face is clear as day.

“Do you want some coffee?” you ask her.

Joel winces. Ellie gags.

“No offense,” she starts, eyes darting between you and Joel. “I know Joel is fifty percent coffee on a good day, but it’s not my thing.” She looks at the menu and narrows her eyes. “I had a mocha the other day and didn’t hate it. Do you make those?”

“Look at that,” Joel says. “You’re convertin’.”

“Am not,” Ellie says. “It’s got chocolate in it, dude. No shit, I like it.”

“Yeah, give me a few minutes,” you laugh. “I’ll put lots of chocolate in it.”

They sit at one of your tables and you hear their laughter in the background as you make her drink.

It’s strange to see Joel like this – to build up on the man you’ve imagined him to be in your mind. Father never occurred to you. It makes sense, though, like a missing piece of him slotted into place. But it also makes the crush feel a little more real. Now that he’s more than your favorite regular customer. Now that you know a piece of him, of who he really is.

It makes you want to know more.

You finish her drink and call Ellie’s name. They both stand and Joel digs in his wallet again.

“Don’t you dare pay me, Joel,” you say. You direct your next words at Ellie. “Really. I’m just honored you stopped by.”

She eyes Joel and he eyes her right back with the same look. She must have learned it from him.

“Yeah,” she says. “Me too.” She grins at you with all of her teeth. “Joel loves this place. Talks about it all the time.”

She takes a sip of her mocha and her eyes go wide.

“Wait, this is fucking good. Man, I see why you drive –”

Joel clears his throat.

“We’re off,” he says. “Thank you, as always.” He sounds softer than usual as if being nice to his daughter is the best thing you could do for him.

You suppose it is.

“You’re welcome, as always.”

Ellie knocks her shoulder with Joel’s as they head back to their trucks. She must be whispering something to him because he swats her away with a groan and she cackles.

They both wave at you as they drive away.

Joel keeps coming in the mornings, and your conversations return to their fleeting cadence. Even so, it’s hard to deny that your crush on him has kicked into high gear.

You try not to let your gaze linger on his lips, on his throat. On his hands when he takes the cup from you, how your skin brushes and it makes you warm all over. You think about how he laughed, how relaxed he was around Ellie. You want to know what he’s like outside of your small daily interaction. You want to know what he eats for dinner, how he spends his weekends, what he listens to on the radio.

You want him.

Business is busy, which helps. A kid from a few towns over – Jesse, he’s called – signs on to work part-time, mostly for the second half of the day. He’s been a barista before so the training is minimal, but it still changes the flow of things. He’s a charming guy and the regulars take to him easy enough.

It’s you who is distracted.

One morning, Joel comes in as expected. Jesse is working, too, trying to clock some extra hours this week.

Joel is on the phone in line, his attention somewhere else. He’s frowning, a deep crease between his brows as he waits in line. All it would take to smooth it away is the press of your thumb.

You try not to stare and probably fail, but manage to take and make the orders ahead of him without making any mistakes, though your whole body feels alight.

He hangs up right as he gets to the window and sighs, giving you a tired smile.

“Howdy,” he says. You set his coffee down in front of him and he pulls out a ten-dollar bill instead of a five.

“Joel –” you say, but he interrupts you.

“My brother called and said he needs breakfast,” Joel grumbles. “Y’got any of Tess’s bear claws?”

Right, they work together, you remember. He’s mentioned Tommy in passing.

“I think so, just hold on a sec.”

“Take your time,” Joel says. It sounds like he means it, even though there’s a line behind him and he probably needs to get to work.

You do find a few bear claws in the box Tess gave you early this morning when you stopped by the bakery.

“You’re in luck,” you say, putting it in a paper bag. “Well, Tommy is.”

“Savin’ my ass,” he tells you when you hand it to him. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

The word sends a jolt of lightning through your whole body. He doesn’t even seem to realize he’s said it but your world shifts slightly on its axis. Sweetheart.

He turns on his heel before you can give him change for his cash, his phone ringing.

“Jesus, Tommy, I said I’d –”

You let him fade into the distance and smile at your next customer.

“How can I help you?”

A few orders later you end up next to Jesse making some lattes.

“Was that Joel Miller?” Jesse asks. “Before. The guy with the black coffee and bear claw?”

You startle. “Um. It was. How do you –”

“I didn’t know he was a customer here,” Jesse says. “Does he come in a lot?”

You unpack a few more cinnamon buns that Tess gave you this morning. “Yeah, every day.”

“Damn,” he says. “He must really like your coffee.”

“Are you trying to say it’s bad coffee, Jesse?”

He huffs a laugh. “No, boss, ‘course not.” He grinds beans for a few seconds but continues once he’s done, steady hands tamping down the results. “I just know he lives like, a half-hour away. And that there are plenty of coffee shops there, too.”

You narrow your eyes. “How do you know him, Jesse?”

“His daughter, Ellie, is a friend of mine,” he shrugs. “Went over to their house plenty of times in high school.”

“Well. He’s a contractor, right? I bet he has a job out here.”

Jesse clips the espresso into the machine and starts on some milk.

“I’m not saying he doesn’t,” he muses. “I am saying that it takes at least 30 minutes to get here from where he lives.”

It’s silly. You’re half-flattered, half-confused. Yeah, you like Joel, and yeah, you’re pretty sure you’ve been flirting every day for over a month. But you figure it’s convenient for him. Coffee and an ego boost all in one.

But if he’s going out of his way to come to The Zone? Well, maybe it’s not just for the coffee.

“Your coffee is good,” Jesse stresses, seeing the gears in your mind turning. It looks like he’s trying to hide a grin. You need to stop hiring young people who have keen eyes and big mouths.

“I think the ice needs a refill,” you say, snapping back into focus.

“He might be here for something else, too -”

“Go refill the ice.”

He throws up his hands with a smirk. “I’m going!”

7:24 am. You’re on your own again and you’re fucked.

The espresso machine is working perfectly and the early rush has ended. The weather is beyond shitty. Rain falls in sheets and the sky is so dark it feels like the sun didn’t bother to rise. It pounds on the roof and blows in the window every time you open it. The awning does nothing to shield customers as they shout their orders over the wind at you. Your fingers are going numb and your front is damp enough to set your teeth chattering.

Joel’s truck pulls up and – well. You’re fucked. And he’s why.

You’re fucked because you can’t stop thinking about him. You can’t stop thinking about what Jesse said. What Joel said. Sweetheart.

A harmless crush turned into something more intense, something heavy in your stomach. You want him earnestly, fully, with every piece of you.

And you still barely know him. But you want to.

Maybe it’s the weather, maybe it’s the fact that you’re damp and cold and frustrated with your own heart and brain. But you see his truck and you decide to do something about this stupid crush.

You write your phone number on a cup with steady hands and set it aside for Joel. You scrawl on it as neatly as you can: Want to get a drink somewhere else sometime?

It’s a bit of a coward’s way out. You should just ask him, say how you feel to his face. He’d probably like that better, anyway. But, well, this just feels safer. He could ignore it, he could throw it out, he could see it and decide to never come back.

Sweetheart.

Somehow you don’t think he’ll do any of those.

The rain lashes against the window so hard you don’t open it until you see the lonely figure approach. The morning rush has been a morning trickle, a few brave souls venturing out for something from you.

Joel, it seems, is one.

You open the window and are greeted with a spray of mist.

“Gimme a sec,” you tell him. It’s so windy he leans in close to hear you. He’s wearing a jacket that’s ill-suited for the rain, his hair plastered to his forehead. Your fingers twitch with the need to brush it back.

You quickly fill the cup you’ve set aside and pass it to him with two hands so it doesn’t blow over.

“Brave of you,” you say. He’s in the rain and you’re both getting soaked but you want to talk to him desperately. It’s a buzzing need at the front of your brain. “Thought the weather would get you, too.”

“Told you,” he all but yells over the wind with a flash of white teeth. “Shitty coffee at home.”

“Drive safe, Joel,” you tell him. He nods at you and jogs back to the truck, cup in hand. You won’t be able to see if he reads it from here, but you hope so. All you have to do is wait.

And wait.

The rain stops.

You’re still waiting, phone silent.

Sunshine peeks through the clouds with a slightly surreal post-storm glow. A few more folks have made their way to The Zone but today has been slow. The clock ticks slowly towards 3 pm and your phone does not ring.

“Don’t be stupid,” you mutter. “He’s working.”

You step out of the shack and into the slightly humid air, the gravel under your feet shifting wetly. The tables you’d set out this morning are, mercifully, still there, though they’re spattered with rain. You might as well close up now.

You’re bent over the last of the chairs, wiping them down with an old rag. You’re focused, so much so that you don’t pay much attention to the hum of an engine and the crunch of tires behind you.

A door slams but you don’t turn around.

“Sorry,” you call over your shoulder. “We just closed.”

“Shame,” he says.

You whip around and find Joel, hands in his pockets. He’s in a different shirt than this morning and his jeans don’t look soaked. You’re still damp, water stains on your pants and shirt.

“Oh,” you breathe. “Hi, Joel.”

He smirks. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen you outside of that window,” he says, before jutting his chin towards the tables. “Can I help?”

You’re very aware of your whole body all at once. He’s looking at you, drinking you in like you’re his morning cup of coffee.

“Uh, sure,” you say. You want to ask why he’s here but the words won’t come. “They go in there, in the little closet on the right.” You point to the open door to the shack.

He dips his chin low just once and then crosses the distance between you in three big strides. He grabs the chair closest to you. The t-shirt he’s wearing shows his arms and you feel what he’s just said – it’s weird to be in the same space like this. You’re outside but he feels so big.

Joel’s arms flex and you swallow, following him with another chair. He stacks his in the right place and holds a hand out for yours.

“What did you write on it?” he asks, casually.

The words don’t totally register. “What?”

He doesn’t answer. His arms are crossed, brow furrowed. Your mouth goes dry.

“On my cup. This mornin’.” He keeps his gaze on yours and for some reason, you can’t look away.

“Oh – you, you didn’t see?”

He shakes his head. “Was rainin’, remember? Got smudged before I got in my truck.”

“Right.”

You tear yourself away and leave him standing there. Maybe you should just lie.

But then you think about the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when you make him laugh, and how he asks you how you are and how he brought his daughter here and how he tips and how he drives all this way for your – for you.

Joel waits, his footsteps the only indication he’s followed you.

You turn around.

“I wrote my phone number,” you say. “And I asked you on a date.”

The corner of his mouth pulls up and you think he’s…blushing?

He rubs a hand over his beard and you hope he’s hiding a smile. Your heart is in your throat, beating so loud you worry that he can hear it. All of your bravado sinks into the damp ground at your feet. Maybe you’ve read this totally wrong. Maybe he’s just a nice guy, maybe your coffee is just really good and your employees are fucking with you. He’s here to let you down easy, to tell you he’s not even available, not interested, not –

“Alright,” Joel says. He walks towards you and tugs his phone from his back pocket. “I’ll take that number.”

Oh.

He hands it over and you type it in, heart jackhammering in your chest. But you watch his face, see the quirk of his mouth and his blush and it makes you brave.

“And the date?” you ask, giving it back. Your fingers brush and your heart keeps pounding but your nerves take a sharp turn away from doubt and towards excitement.

“Well, you gonna ask again?”

You both seem to have found your footing with whatever this is. The flirt in him is back full force, and he’s looking at you in that way of his. You want to know all of his expressions. There is so much to learn.

“Are you going to say yes?”

“S’why I came back,” he admits. “Figured you’d be closin’. Hoped you’d be free.”

“So you could read the cup?”

Joel takes the other two chairs and heads for the door again. You trail him. God, his arms are distracting.

“Most of it,” he says. “Couldn’t make out the last few numbers, though.”

“Well, once we’re done here, I’m free. If you wanted to go on a date with me.”

Joel turns and you’re in the small space at the same time, your chests almost pressed together. You must smell like sweat and stale coffee but you watch as Joel inhales, eyes on yours.

“I do,” he says.

It would be so easy to kiss him, a quick, chaste press of your lips to see what he tastes like.

His pupils dilate and you sway into him for a breath before you realize what you’re doing and step back outside.

You take a deep breath of fresh air. “Great.”

He rubs the back of his neck with one hand and you head for the tables.

“Y’know,” he says. “Ellie’s been on my ass about this.”

You laugh, high and bright. “Has she?”

“That girl ain’t capable of missin’ an opportunity to stick her nose in,” he grumbles, but it’s affectionate.

“Well, I think she’s smart,” you goad.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Reckon she is.”

Joel’s brows furrow and he takes a few quick steps into your space, so close the tips of your shoes almost touch.

“Oh,” you breathe. “Hi.”

“Hold still,” he says. He reaches for your face slowly, slow enough that you could pull away but you don’t. He brushes something from your cheek with the pad of his thumb.

“Grounds.” His voice is a little hoarse.

“Thanks,” you breathe.

He smirks but the flush creeping up his neck tells you he’s not wholly unaffected. It makes you feel…it just makes you feel.

Joel Miller likes you.

“Well, don’t just stand there,” you say.

His eyes widen slightly and he leans in just a little but you slide out of his space with a grin.

“The sooner we finish up the sooner I can buy you a drink.”

Joel laughs, loud and full. “Oh, how generous of you.”

“You’re very lucky,” you say.

“I agree,” he drawls. He taps your chin with one knuckle.

His eyes sparkle and he smiles, looking luminous in the post-storm sunshine. You see a flash of a future – watching him drink coffee in a kitchen instead of through the window of The Zone. Your hands meeting over a shared table, fingers tangling, that smile directed at you in the morning light.

Giddiness rises in your throat and spills out of you in a delighted laugh of your own. Joel just grins.

“So,” he says. “Where’re you takin’ me?”

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here!

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fluff

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llamagoddessofficial · 3 months

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How would Farmer Sans handle hearing that MC was sick? Maybe they usually meet up a certain time while managing their morning chores and they’re just.. not there, only for him to later find that they’re bedridden

"hey, pumpkin."

The sound of Sans' voice, regardless of how soft it was, made you panic.

You sat bolt upright from your spot curled into the couch, jolting out of your strange fever dream. A cooling pack fell off your head, and a blanket you didn’t remember grabbing slipped from your shoulders to your lap.

Immediately, you could tell that you weren’t on your home couch. You didn’t recognise the blanket someone had tucked you under. You weren’t cold, you couldn’t smell the usual mix of dust and gradually fading damp - in fact, there were many wonderful scents mingling in the warm air, soup and tea and a sweet bread aroma that made your stomach rumble.

It certainly wasn’t where you expected to wake up, after you fell asleep in front of the dodgy TV once the painkillers finally kicked in. This was someone else’s couch. And after a few bleary moments, you recognised it all.

... It was Sans’ couch. You were in his house.

You looked up a little to see the man himself, as handsome as ever, leaning over the back of the sofa and looking at you. A gentle flicker of relief passed over his face.

“rise and shine,” he said, voice as warm as the room. “how’re you feelin’?”

Huh?

...

Your eyes widened. "S-Sans!?"

Bad decision. At such a sudden vocalisation, your body decided that was the perfect moment to send you into a horrendous coughing fit that made the inside of your throat feel like someone had gone at it with sandpaper.

Sans just put a big gentle hand on your back, letting you work through it, quiet as you hacked your lungs up.

Eventually the coughing eased off; once you had control of your body again, you turned your gaze back to him.

"Y-you...” Your cheeks were starting to burn. “why am I...?"

“you weren’t answerin’ the phone. i got worried.” As he spoke, you kept messing with your shirt, nervously pulling it down over yourself. “came to check on you, an’ you were totally out of it, could barely answer me. i had to go work, but figured i should bring you somewhere me an’ pap can keep an eye on you.”

... Oh no. You put your hands over your face, slowly getting quieter and quieter as the situation dawned on you. “Y-you really didn’t need to...”

“course we did. ain’t safe for you to be so sick all on yer own.”

This was a nightmare. Now, on top of being sick, you were absolutely mortified at Sans seeing you in this state. Tired, achy, sweaty... you were dressed in a stained old shirt and pyjama pants, visibly unshowered and pretty much as ungroomed as one could get. You distinctly remembered throwing stuff on your floor before you fell asleep, too weak to get up and go put it in the garbage - empty blister packs and used, crumpled tissues. Did he see all your dirty trash when he came to find you?

You wanted to melt into the couch. He had seen you delirious and ill, at your absolute greasiest and grossest. Stars, what did he think of you now?

“I-I’ve been out for hours?” you asked.

“mhm.”

Your whole world was coming down around your ears. Why couldn’t Sans have just let you die at home, where no one would see your shame?

“you didn't tell me you were sick,” he said, so quietly you almost didn’t hear. There was a strangely... sullen edge to his tone?

Your face was on fire. You had already intruded so much on him and his brother’s kindness over the last few weeks. Sans had repaired your stove and water pipes, bought you fresh food from the farm, helped fix a leak in the roof, not to mention when you asked him to stay the night like you were a frightened baby. Now here you were; being sick and disgusting right in the middle of his house.

Before he could say anything else, you pushed the blanket off you, swinging your legs over the side of the couch and scrambling to your feet.

“I-I should get home,” you said, hoarse.

Immediately, Sans’ brows raised. You didn't look at him for long, walking unsteadily and trying your best to concentrate on not tipping over.

“I’m so sorry to intrude. I’ll just-”

... Your feet went out from underneath you.

You squeaked, loudly - but Sans didn’t care, he scooped you up like you didn’t weigh a thing. To him, you probably didn’t weigh a thing. You could feel his massive strength through his clothes, and you immediately knew that if he wanted to, he could’ve thrown you straight into the air like a child.

You couldn’t tell if it was the height that was dizzying, how close your face was to his, or if you were just way weaker right now than you realised. But immediately your hands balled in his shirt.

"... easy," he murmured, one arm under your thighs. "i don't bite."

... Your face filled with so much heat it felt as if the tips of your ears were going to set alight. You tried to say something, but when you opened your mouth, literally nothing came out. Not a sound. All you could do was hold on to his shoulders.

Sans’ voice became normal again, jokingly stern. “sorry. not goin’ anywhere on my watch, pet. you need to rest. look at you - yer burnin' up.”

Your whole body had tensed up. But not out of fear. You just stared into his eyelights.

He very gently sat you back down onto the couch, putting the cold pack into your hands. “you stay right there, ok? i’ll getcha some soup. it should be ready by now.”

"O-ok," you helplessly replied.

Sans moved away, disappearing into the kitchen.

...

There wasn't much else you could do, but lay down and put the cooling pack back on your head... trying to figure out how to make your heart slow down.

#llama writes #sans: [uses his 'talking to a scared horse' voice]#mc: Why the fuck am I into this??? WHY AM I INTO THIS??#also hes upset because he wants to look after her and he doesnt like that she didn't tell him earlier #he likes caring for you. how could you deny him the opportunity #do you HATE HIM???

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theminecraftbee · 1 month

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Vintagebeef and time loop?

The second-most annoying thing, he thinks, is that his crops just won't grow.

He's wanted to retire for a while now. Head out and live on a farm. Get some rest. Not have to worry about gunfire and business fronts and drugs and appearances and being in charge. He'd known he wouldn't be able to escape fully. Beef always knew he was on a timer, no matter how he tried to bury the hatchet and bury his past behind you. It always catches up.

He had a big name. He had a big life. He can't just retire from being head of Big Salmon, even if his loyal Skizzleman is the only person he told where he was going. One day, someone will catch up with him, and perhaps if he's lucky they'll turn his tractor into a car bomb. If he's unlucky, it'll be personal.

So in a lot of ways, really, the fact he keeps on waking up in the morning is a gift. It may be the same morning over and over again, sure, but he collects the eggs from his chickens, and he pats his dog, and he feeds his pigs, and he feels the sun shine on his face in a place that smells nothing like asphalt and fumes.

If his tomatoes would grow, it'd be nearly perfect, getting to wake up again and again in the sun like this. It's better than a man like him deserves, really. And it may be Wednesday, and Wednesday, and no tomorrows, but he didn't have himself much of a tomorrow anyway, and collecting the eggs from the chickens is nearly as good as harvesting the crops.

Quiet, and peaceful.

Or it should be. But see: the crops not growing are the second-most annoying thing.

The first most annoying is--

"HALLO! I have decided that this time, I am announcing I am here to assassinate you, ah? That way, you won't see it coming and manage to escape."

Beef groans and puts his head in his hands. A red dot appears on his temple.

"Don't try to run. You have a lovely home, of course, and I don't want to put holes in it. You've repaired those holes real fast, I have to say. You're a real hole expert. No, wait, that sounds terrible in English. Ah well, I'll just say it again."

It's him again.

"...hello? VintageBeef? I have been hired to kill you by your rivals? You aren't even moving. See, this is how you always get me. You do not move and I think I have killed you, then I come back in the morning and it is fixed! Very strange, very strange."

He hasn't realized it's a time loop. Somehow. Beef's tried to tell him. It's a little hard when he's busy being as annoying as possible, and ruining what would otherwise be the best chance for Beef to retire he's got.

"Well, okay, I guess I'll just pull the trigger. This is boring. You're boring, except for the part where you won't die. Hey, wait, maybe you can introduce me to your chickens instead? So next time I can bring you a totally safe chicken."

"Go away," Beef says.

"But I'm being paid so much money to kill you!" the famed assassin codenamed Iskall85 says. "We're friends, aren't we?"

"No!"

"But I've tried to do this so many ways!"

"Have you considered there's a reason it's not working?"

Iskall considers for a moment. "Naaaaah," he says, and Beef's instincts flare all at once. He dives to the ground as Iskall takes the shot. "Awww, no fair. I thought you were not moving."

"What do you want from me," Beef says.

"I mean, I feel like I've been pretty clear," Iskall says, and Beef doesn't say that he's not even asking Iskall at this point. He's asking the universe. He's asking this Wednesday. He's asking why this has happened to him.

The universe, of course, does not respond, and Beef ducks behind cover for yet another day of his peaceful time loop retirement being completely ruined.

#answered #fakezircon #ask game #a bee fic #hermitfic #hermitcraft #vintagebeef #iskall85 #i am just writing these as my brain takes me btw. anyway take this bizzare trope mashup of an au #like can you IMAGINE it would be fantastic right

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imagines-to-quench-thirst · 1 year

Text

Farmer Clark

something just snapped at me when I saw this picture. I mean look at this picture

Pairing: Clark Kent x reader

Genre: SMUT, 18+, sir kink, breeding kink, female receiving

Notes: I saw this picture on Pinterest and yeah, I got carried away. Ah, to be on a farm with Clark.

The sun was blazing on the hot Metropolis day. Clark's farm was standing proudly on the hills surrounded by nature. Green hills were holding the fruits of the labor of Clark's blood, sweat, and tears, making produce for him and you for the following year. Y/n walked out of the barn, watching Clark throw a ball of hay over his shoulder as if weighing 2 grams. Maybe for him, it did. His muscle shined from the sweat that glistened on his slightly tanned skin. His pecs tensed every time he pulled, hauled, and threw something, anything, around the farm.

The man was a god walking among mortals, and you felt your mind fill with lewd images of him. His hand held the wrench as he knelt down in front of his tractor, trying to fix minor damage, a damage he told you about, but you could not concentrate on that as you saw his biceps move with each swing, tug, and pull. Observing him kneel like that gave you more ideas and wants. Wishing you were the one sitting there and him kneeling in front of you, eating you out until you see the stars, and he was so good at that.

"-pass me the...Y/n...Y/n?" Clark brought you out of your daze, noticing your head snap and your eyes trying to find him, finding him on the floor, lying on his back, looking confused, his hand reaching for yours. Giving him your hand, he chuckles.

"As much as I love to hold your hand, your hand can't unscrew a 5-inch bolt. Pass me the tool there."

With a slight blush on your cheeks, you pull away, taking your hand away from his grasp and handing him the appropriate tool, crouching down and sitting on the hay-filled ground, watching him do the work. Work you knew nothing about, you loved being around the farm, and living that quiet farm life, enjoying it with Clark. Relishing in every moment with him in this life, every early morning even though you hated to get up sometimes, every day off when you ran across the field while Clark chased you, every kiss that was stolen away from you while you were trying to make an apple pie, every time riding the tractor while he drove enjoying the bumpy ride.

"-in your world..."

"Huh?"

Snapping back, you see Clark in front of your face. "I said, 'You really are in your own world, darling?' That is what I said."

Laughing awkwardly, you look at him, seeing the smile on his face, his eyes fixed on you, and his big strong hands caressing your tights. Clark saw the glint in your eyes, he felt your heartbeat quicken when his hand inched a bit higher towards your waist, caressing unhurriedly as if trying to make you say it. To say what you want. What you want him to do to you.

"You know that I can feel you, sweetness. Every breath that stops in your throat, every whimper that you muffle, each gaze you throw at me. Therefore, you can tell me, darling. What do you want?"

Clark was playing the long game as much as you did. But on a much higher level. And he looked so delectable like that. Muscles on display, just wearing the overalls, he was playing every single character in your favorite romance books. And you wanted nothing more than to skip to the best part, but you needed to speak, as thinking too long might not help. He is a hero, but reading minds was not his forte.

"I want you, Kal-El. I want you to have your way with me."

Leaning into him, you kiss him, wrapping your hands around his neck, scratching the baseline of his hair, nipping and tugging. Clark felt himself shift into more of his primal urges, and the kiss was the fuse that started it. His nose filled with your arousal as his hands began to remove bits of your clothing; unlike Clark, you had more clothes on yourself. Sitting in his lap, you felt his length harden, your hips sway back and forth, and you continued to make out. The motion takes a new direction as Clark picks you up in his arms, laying you gently on the ground, the hay starting to make your skin itch. Pulling away, Clark breath out

"Put this behind your back." He offers his jacket, and you happily take it, placing it on your back.

Laying comfortably on it, Clark stops to take you in, your heart, your body, your whimpers, and at that moment, he wants to devour you.

"Darling, will you let me eat you out?"

You can simply whimper as your legs want any friction as they rub together. Removing your pants and underwear, Clark's face is in front of his other favorite pair of lips(as he said), and for once, you didn't mind the view. Clark was face down, ass up, and after his perfect face was his perfect ass sticking in the air. His blue eyes looked into yours, and you felt his tongue lick you, so slowly and sensually, like a feather touching your skin.

"More, Clark! This isn't enough." You say as you cup your breasts, fondling them, trying to add more sensation.

"I just started, pet. Believe me, I will have my way with you. I will corput you." Clark stated as he started his work. Licking up your folds, tracing each curve, fold and dip you had to offer. All of his tongue work leading to your clit, sucking with a harsh motion making you yelp and arch your back. Clark knew what he was doing to you, but you had no idea what you were doing to him. Sure, he was in pain as his cock was painfully hard and his balls heavy, needing to be emptied inside you, to breed you but for now, seeing you like this and that just being the start gave him some satisfaction. His fingers found your backside as they toyed with the rim making small circles on the entrance.

That feeling to you was different, your first time of him doing that and still being so gentle. The sensation started to bubble in you feeling a climax nearing extremely close.

"Clark, I am close. Stop."

At the word, Clark stops and looks concerned "Are you okay? Was I too rough? I know we didn't talk about anal-" You laugh at his words as you bring him up to you, kissing him passionately, telling him in the kiss that everything is perfect.

"What I mean by 'Stop.' was that I do not want to cum like this, but I want to cum together."

Clark looks at you and chuckles himself.

"You had me worried there, missy. But what you ask, you shall receive since you have been such a good girl."

"Yes."

Clark towers over you, his muscles shining from the overhead lighting and casting an intimidating shadow on your body.

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, sir." You reply.

Your body tenses as you feel his cock tapping your clit, teasing you. His hips push forwards with a slow, agonizing pace, your walls making way for his massive length as he nestles deep inside you, finding the warmth and spark he wanted. Placing your hands on his shoulder, you let yourself relax and enjoy the moment. His hips moved back slow as ever, making you whine at the loss of his fullness. Clark chuckles darkly

"I knew you wanted me to fuck you. But today, I am not doing that." he says while looking deep into your soul "I am going to breed you." he proclaimed, slamming his hips into you, the sensation dilating itself to a maximum in a second. Taking a fast pace, you saw his eyes closed, focused on what he is feeling and giving you as his ears are filled with your moans and pornographic sounds filling the empty barn.

"I will make sure you are full of my cum. No matter how many times you will carry my child." he voiced, his hands keeping yours in a gentle touch while his hips proclaimed you.

Hearing his statement, you felt a fire stir in you. You and Clark talked about having kids and occasionally having baby fever but nothing so sure came from his mouth as of seconds ago.

"Yes! I want your babies, Clark!" you screamed out, giving him an inkling that you, too, wanted this life.

His hips continued to snap into yours as his fingers found your clit rubbing it, pressing just hard enough for you to be closer to your climax.

"Then if we want a baby...we need to cum together. What do you say, missy? Are you close? I can feel you squeeze me tighter and tighter."

At a loss for words, you shake your head up and down, shutting your eyes and feeling the inevitably snap in you as you came. Clark's pace slowed as he rutted into you, letting himself fall beside you, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you inhumanly close.

"You really make me crazy. You know that, darling?" Clark said, kissing your neck, leaving a few hickeys in its wake. You watched him carefully pull out as he grabbed his overalls to clean you up. You pull away from him, saying "Those overalls are the reason we are in this position. Don't you dare ruin them."

Clark looks at them, confused "They are just overalls."

Standing up slowly, still feeling full, you say, "Those are the sexiest overalls I have ever seen."

With a naughty gleam, Clark throws the overalls over his shoulder " Then I will have to find another way to clean you up."

I have a audio file on farmer Clark in the making if you want to hear a snippet of it CLICK HERE.

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katanashipping · 1 month

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Seriously though, the general canon of TMNT 2k3 must be such a wild ride for Robin O'Neill.

Like. Here is your big sister, brainiac maniac science superstar, the smart one, the one who has it all figured out and who probably has three PhDs by the time she's 23 and the story begins. April just landed her Dream Job with an actual Celebrity Scientist and she is going to create Big Science that will Help Lots of People and--

--and she's quit her job one month in and announces she is going to reopen your late parents' antiquities shop now. Take some time to Find Herself, whatever that means. OK, right, we can work with that, what bout--

--her shop burns to the ground, and April prompty goes completely AWOL for three months. Great! Amazing! You're not panicking at all! This is April you're talking about, after all - the smart one, the good one, who has it all together, and she is dating Casey Jones, neighborhood vigilante now.

HOW DID THEY EVEN MEET.

So you're like. OK. I should probably go to New York and look into that. Meanwhile April rebuilds the antique shop brick by brick and moves back in, things get serious with Casey Jones, she keeps offhandedly mentioning a bunch of Italian men that like, fix her boiler and stuff, she's fine. She's fine. You don't think she's fine.

Before you can do anything about it, she goes AWOL for a few months again.

You eventually find out she has been hanging out with her boyfriend's country mum at a derelict farm. Cleaning. Cooking, sort of thing. Maybe you're a bit concerned now. Just a bit. You decide you will definitely visit her soon. She excitedly mentions that she has started practising kendo using a real sword, and her teacher is this old guy who gives her lessons one on one. You move your visit forward.

So you go to New York. You enter her apartment, which is the one you grew up in, rebuilt eerily similarly to how you remember it. Your sister is happy to see you. She's just going to nip out for a minute to grab some milk. That's fine. You go through the list of things to talk to her about in your head one more time: how are you? how are you Really? let's do some girly things, without the boyfriend and the teacher and the Italian men. Just us girls. Won't that be nice?

April comes back upstairs. You'll never guess who she ran into on her way to the shops!

Behind her stands your beloved uncle Augie, who went missing fifteen years ago without a trace.

Like. Holy. Shit.

That same evening, as you're trying to work out the new sleeping arrangements now there's three of you in the flat for the night, you pull uncle Augie aside for a moment. You're worried about April, you say. Something has been going on with her, and it's weird.

Uncle Augie looks at you for a long moment. His clothing is ripped, his beard is a growth on his face. There are deep lines on his face that you don't remember, marked not by smiles and laughter, but by sadness and fear. His arms are tree trunks. He smells like he hasn't showered in a month.

Nah, he says. I think April's doing just fine.

#tmnt 2003 #tmnt 2k3 #robin o'neil #april o'neil #SHE'S FINE OKAY.#DONT WORRY ABOUT IT.#and then Robin just never shows up again. she doesn't even come to the wedding.#but it's FINE. I'm sure it's JUST FINE.

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spcowboyau · 1 year

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HOMEWARD BOUND: PROLOGUE 2

STAN: So.. what's going on? Who are you? ???: Right, how rude of me. My name is Kyle. Kyle Br- KYLE: Just-.. Kyle. STAN: ...Pleasure. STAN: I'm Stanley Marsh, but please, just call me Stan. KYLE: Nice to meet you, Stan. KYLE: ... KYLE: I'm sorry we had to meet this way. But then again, if it wasn't like this how else would we have met, isn't that right? STAN: I suppose you're right about that, heh. STAN: ...It's alright though, about this. I don't mind the extra company. KYLE: I'm glad. STAN: Yeah.

STAN: I feel like I should, uh, ask.. where am I supposed to take you? KYLE: Oh, uh, I don't.. know...? STAN: ...You don't know? KYLE: No, I don't. Could I maybe just... stay with you?? STAN: (STAN: Score!?!?) KYLE: nevermindthatssuchastupidthingtoaskfromatotalstrangerimsosor- STAN: NONO HEY- it's alright pardner, we'll uh, we'll find a place for you.. eventually......... for now.. I guess you can just stick with me. STAN: ...Tell you what, how 'bout I take you back to my daddy's farm? I'll fix you up with an old horse I don't ride no more. We can stop by at the saloon on the way too!-- only if you want... KYLE: ?! KYLE: I'd love to! Thank you so much! STAN: Giddy up then, boy! 'Ts no big deal.

BUTTERS: Why, isnt't this a nice surprise! If it isn't ole Stanley! Y-You ain't been through in a while! STAN: Butters, cheery as always! BUTTERS: Ahh, and a brand new face to join yours? How about that! STAN: That's right, meet Mr. Kyle here. No last name, he's a mysterious one, isn't he? KYLE: Y. Yeah. I guess I am ahaha BUTTERS: Now wait a diddly-darn minute! Ain't you the one from them posters they hung up all around the county?! KYLE: POSTERS?? STAN: Posters?? BUTTERS: Y-Yeah there's posters alright! As a matter of fact, here's one right now! 100 bucks so far!

KYLE: Shit, oh god, Stan what do we do?? (STAN: Broflovski?? Like Gerald Broflovski??) KYLE: STAN??!!?! STAN: Huh what hu huh KYLE: I SAID. WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO. STAN: Oh, uh, don't worry too much about it... This happens all the time. We'll just keep a low profile I guess. KYLE: KYLE: Okay. This is fine. Okay. STAN: Butters, fix this man a drink, will ya? STAN: And me. Fix me one too. BUTTERS: O-On it, good sir! STAN: STAN: You'll be alright. I promise you, I've had bounties on my head n' I'm just fine aren't I? KYLE: I guess so, KYLE: This is. so much. All at once. STAN: Wanna talk about it? KYLE: No, not yet. KYLE: I want to just live right now.

STAN: Alright. STAN: Take your time.

★ PREVIOUS (START) | NEXT

#homeward bound #south park #sp cowboy au #prologue #stan marsh #kyle broflovski #butters stotch #au #yaoi #sp au #south park au #sp style #stan x kyle #style #fanart #sp fanart #official content #alternate universe

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primordial-shade · 6 months

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Minotaur Partner Headcanons

Hellloooo I’m back, very sorry for being away but honestly I uploaded those previous two posts on a whim and came back from Spain to my tumblr having loads of notifications. SO thank you and here’s another segment of my Monster Lover Headcanons with the Minotaur! One a bit of a Greek fix lately so here we go.

Background

Minotaurs. Big beefy and sweet as all hell.

Headcanon for how they started? Easy, out Mr Original, Asterion the sweet poor lamb (BTW for those who maybe don’t know that was the Minotaur’s original name) did actual kill the sacrifices but tried to help them but they all fled in fear of him and died in the Labyrinth except one, a lovely lady I’m going to call Hemera.

She ended up staying in the labyrinth with Asterion, falling in love and determined to get them both out.

Theseus fucks along and when he’s about to kill her beloved she knocks him the fuck out, uses the yarn to get them all out, then fucks off with her hubby to the Mountains and lets everyone think Theseus killed him by leaving behind part of his broken horn.

They start a farm up in the mountains (With support from Asterions mother Persiphae and his sisters and eventually his brother in Law Dionysus who are happy Asterion is alive and happy cuz FUCK MINOS.)

Eventually they have several kids (Adorable as fuck) and a thriving mountain farm that the kiddos inherited.

As such Minotaurs are all related, and as such they often seek human partners.

Minotaurs like in mountainous regions, often protected by the God Dionysus, whose wife is all their many times great aunt who was forced to marry Theseus and tried to kill him and only gave him the yarn so her brother could kill him and use it to get out we love you Adriane <3

They grow lots of things but they are famous for wine 😉

White, red, rose, dessert. They make every type and its so fucking good.

Maybe you’re a wine coniseur, maybe you decided to go visit the farms on holiday, maybe you’re a local they trade with or a worker on the farm.

Needless to say when you catch a Minotaurs eye, you are staying for good.

SFW

Big sweethearts. Big beefy adorable sweethearts. Muscled as fuck and strong, with big soulful eyes and soft fur and hnghhghhg

I got fucking sidetracked

Anyway, Minotaur’s are very family orientated and all work on the huge collective farms in various roles. Don’t worry, wether or not you can contribute to the farm is moot, you’re their love and you don’t have to prove yourself in anyway and also if you’re human they kinda get overprotective and its like, ‘no please don’t help we don’t want you to get bruised or tired we love you just go and relax and let us do all the hard work baby <3.’

The hardest of workers, baby if you have a minotaur partner one of your main jobs is teaching them not to overwork themselves because they just wanna be good and make sure everything is good and they can’t stand doing nothing or not taking care of you.

If they could physically carry you around all the time, and this is more about your want to walk because they could carry you around all the time, you’re their Love, their sweet delicate loves. Please let them carry you around, it makes them so happy.

Their favourite thing in the world is taking care of you.

You’re hungry? They will literally go out to the farm and find the juiciest, best tasting produce and will hand feed it to you.

You have achy muscles? Oh poor baby, let them get their big strong hands and soothe all those aches and pains away.

If you do the same for them??

Ooooh, love, love love love.

They’re favourite thing? Honestly is when you lay down and they can curl up and put their head on your lap, letting you scratch their heads and between their horns.

Ooooh you scratch between their horns or behind their ears?? Very happy Minotaur, very happy wiggly minotaur. You’ll be lucky if you can get up for the next few hours, this is a pleasure that is rare and cherished.

They will also always show off. They can’t help it they just so want to impress you.

They’ll play fight with other Minotaurs in front of their loves, pick up heavy things, lift you up and carry you around.

They love making flower crowns too, and any crafts they take up they’ll make you something.

They love being praised. They absolutely love it, please praise them. Tell them how strong they are, how sweet they can be, how soft there fur is or how lovely their eyes are. They will melt, making soft little ‘moo’ sounds out of sheer pleasure.

They will also praise you constantly.

Your talents, your looks, even how you breathe. If it can be praised they will do it.

They also take a little longer to fall in Love, it’s a long term distrust thing, but once they do they fall *hard*.

And they will do anything in their power to prove this love to you. They love hard and they love deeply.

Bless their hearts but for a long time they’ll probably act like a Minotaur in love until one moment when they see you holding a baby Minotaur, or if the sun catches on your face the right way or even just sitting together and drinking something warm and suddenly it’s like a switch goes off in their heads.

“I love this person. ILOVE THIS PERSON!!” Nothing but joy and love and warmth.

Very physically affectionate. Hugs, cuddles, handholding, licking, kissing….

Yeah, their love language is love and praise. Which leads us into

NSFW:

So Minotaurs are big. In every way.

Not only are they generally built like strongmen. All muscles and covered in a nice thick layer of fat, male and female Minotaur are built this way.

Big muscles, big breasts and pecs, fat cocks and pussies. Everything is big and ready for you to feast upon.

One of the major things they like doing to you is lick.

Their tongues are thick and long, and they love to lick the taste of your salty sweat from your skin, to lick your salty semen and tangy arousal from your pussy or cock. They long to spread you open and lock you clean or flick their tongue over your most sensitive parts.

Sit on their face. Don’t give them any bullshit about being to heavy they are fucking Minotaurs and you will sit on their face so help them Dionysus.

Suffocation??? Who gives a shit about that, fucking sit on them and let them eat your ass/pussy out!!!!! If they die they die, and they will die with no regrets.

They are so soft with you though, loving touches and praising how good you taste and feel around and in them. How good you sound calling their names and begging for them. Such a darling thing, a sweet pretty love.

Yeah they are the kings/queens of accidental overstim. It’s always just one more orgasm, one more sweet baby, just give me one more. God they love you so much, please let them keep going, please just one more orgasm, just one more sweet orgasm.

Your legs will be shaking, you’ll be cockdumb/pussydrunk to the point you can barely speak but you keep going because you love them so much and gods it feels so fucking good.

You will be covered in fluids. Cum, semen, spit, all over the place. Covering your skin, filling your mouth, filling you. There will not be an area untouched by them and you love it.

#monster x reader #monster fucker #monster lover #monster x human #terat0philliac #terato

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botanyshitposts · 8 months

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Opinion on the US's Cogs damn obsession with corn?

don't know what you're talking about specifically but my understanding of US agricultural policy in general is that being a farmer in capitalism sucks and has since colonization and for a long time the US government tried to make it suck less with subsidies which sometimes work (because people get paid predictably regardless of demand and its less like gambling with crops) but sometimes go over really badly (because then too many people grow it and the price per bushel goes down and then government has too much corn) and then a couple times they got rid of all the subsides and related regulations and that REALLY didnt work (because then the price just crashed hard and with nothing to compensate them a bunch of farmers, many of whom were in debt for other farming-related reasons, couldnt get paid and actually had to foreclose their farms, which accelerated the long-standing trend of farms getting foreclosed on and then being bought out by bigger farms that then ended up running INSANE multi million dollar operations, sometimes even on farms in other states where the owners do not live, in communities they do not contribute to) and they had to backpedal on it and then eventually they just started on the current system where you simply pass a farm bill every 10-12 years instead of yearly or biyearly and that way you simply dont have to think about it, and then when it is election time you go stand by a cornfield for a while for tv. it does not fix the huge enormous farms buying out smaller farms problem or any of the complicated related problems but it DOES put it off for longer which is more important.

sometimes also you (USAID for instance) can give the too-much-corn you have from farm subsidies to a foreign country as a 'gift' and say youre just being a helpful little guy, but in the process of doing so undercut the local farmers in that country because they cant compete with free stuff but that's cool because then the foreign country can't really survive as well without US agricultural aid and you can manipulate them to do imperialism better AND you have more demand for the corn which might raise the price per bushel in the US. also sometimes the corn is fed to livestock en masse because the meat is worth more and sometimes its made into gas or high fructose corn syrup, and sometimes the price is so low per bushel that the insurance on the field is worth more than the actual corn.

but. i CANNOT stress enough that the most important thing about corn is that you can stand next to it on tv and if you cant do that, maybe you can stand next to a guy who is around it a lot and say you are helping him.

in my relatively uneducated opinion the most epic way to solve this complex multi-century interdisciplinary push and pull of supply and demand would be to just pay farmers a salary through the state since youre already paying out massive state subsidies for crops you dont need anyway and the farmers are performing a vital service and that way you can guarantee people a consistent salary AND control how much of each thing gets planted so you dont have a massive stockpile at all times AND you reward individual people instead of paying out large amounts of money to whatever massive operation sells the most corn by virtue of being big, but if you dont want to do that then the second best thing is to just pass another mediocre farm bill whos inflexible 10-ish year lifespan makes it impossible for it to respond well to changes in market demand and that way you can just put off making tough decisions and instead stand next to a guy and a cornfield on tv again. which as we have covered is the most important part of american agriculture

#you know?#(i took an agricultural history class in college. dont remember everything but i remember my overall impression was this)#asks #plont asks

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rustycopper4use · 7 months

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Ok, uhm....I've seen someone make a request for poly Ozzie x Fizz x Reader in which the reader is Blitzø's brother, but I got a better one for you! How about (poly ofc) Ozzie x Fizz x Male Reader who is Striker's older brother? Like, maybe he heard about what happened in greed ring and came to apologise on his brother's behalf and maybe offer his services as bodyguard?

Fizz x Ozzie x Male reader!

sorry I went a little bit off the rails but I hope you like it!!

At the beginning you were close to fizzaroli as kids.

you first met him at one of his shows, and you would try to see all his shows. And ended up dragging your younger brother striker to them, much to his protests.

You would spend hours with fizzaroli, him being the only sense of affection in your life. Giving your family’s old fashioned values. His was the escape from it all.

Your father resented the wasted time spent with some lowly circus clown, he would try every thing to make you to stop seeing him. After awhile he even turned Striker against you, which in retrospect wasn’t hard he idolized him.

In the ended up with you sneaking out the house everyday to see the goofy imp.

However that was until the fire. You had been only been able to talk to him when you actually came to the circus.

So one day you went to see him, with a small birthday gift you’d be able to pay for.

only to met with ashes, and burnt remains of childhood memories, it was hauntingly void of life still fresh with smoke.

And you never heard from him again.

You left the gift in the remains. It became a regular thing, you’d leave a small gift every year on his birthday.

A way to remember him, maybe you’d just like the sadness that came with it rather than the bitter empty feeling in your cold aching chest.

Or you’re still in denial, waiting for the day he’ll somehow come back and it’ll be some big cruel joke.

After that you replaced that time with meaningless jobs, helping dad around the farm.

While your younger brother took up kill for hire, you would be along aside for protection, an extra set of hands.

This new attitude brought a sense of pride to the rest of the family.

Your relationship wasn’t the same with your less than functional family. You weren’t ever close to your father or brother but, it got even more distant. Opting for only talking when needed.

One day striker came back from a job beaten bruised, and burned.

As you fixed him up, he whined about his failed attempt, he brought up an all to familiar name.

“Y’know that lowlife clown was such a brat to deal with, and his pathetic friend Blizto-“

“Are you talking about fizzaroli?”

“-Wait no, Fizzaroli’s alive?.”

“Look I don’t care if you had a soft spot for that thing, I had a job and I’m gonna go through with it.”

“You never thought to tell me he was alive!”

“Of course I didn’t, Dad and I knew you were going to act like this, you became a better demon because of us.”

“Get out.”

Striker gets to door before turning back towards you.

“Im not gonna give up this job because you’ve grown weak.”

“Oh I know you won’t.”

He left.

You weren’t sure what to do now. Striker was a stubborn person, he wouldn’t give up till Fizzaroli’s head was on a stick.

Luckily for you. you were just as petty as the snake.

For the next few days you looked for opportunities to work at Ozzie’s. You came across for a listing for a personal bodyguard for Fizz.

You got scheduled for an interview, part of you dreaded seeing him again.

You headed down(up?) to the lust ring. The gorgeous neon lights, against the calming rain.

The Ozzie’s club was nothing short of a spectacle. And the start to your new life.

Ozzie was apprehensive on hiring someone with relations with the demon that kidnapped Fizzaroli in the first place.

But Fizz reassured his worries, he knew you weren’t like him.

The start of this job was- not exactly awkward, but there was this weird air around you three. A few weeks in and you’ve finally settled in, you grew comfortable with the duo and life finally felt back on track.

You still felt guilt for what your brother did, you would always give gifts to fizzaroli as a form of an apology, a better change than what you did for 15 years. You also get into the habit of going above what was asked for even at your own expense.

Even when Fizzaroli explained he didn’t blame you, it was your brother’s actions after all. You settled for buying him flowers every other day.

The two would flirt with you, fizzaroli being more bold, knowing exactly what makes you tick and that special spot that makes you melt.

Ozzie on the other hand, had a different approach. He took on a more romantic strategy, he learned very early on that his voice was your weakness, a few praises and you were a goner.

When striker found out he was pissed. His own brother fooling around with blue blood, how did you turn out like this.

Every time he would show up you always up lovey-dovey just to rub salt in a wound.

Fizzaroli adored it when you’d get riled up and your southern accent would slip. He would purposely push your buttons lovingly just to hear it.

Every time Fizzaroli would want attention you’d always make sure to hold his face given it’s the only part he can really feel now.

Ozzie was the only one that Could cook, and that still didn’t change with you around. Sure you weren’t as bad as Fizz but still.

Fizzaroli would call you a cowboy (affectionately)

#x reader #lgbtq #gay #lgbtqiia+#fizzaroli x reader #fizzmodeus #fizzarolli #fizzaroli helluva boss #helluvaboss #hb spoilers #fizzarolli helluva boss #helluva boss asmodeus #fizzmodeus x reader #Fizzmodeus x male reader #helluva boss #striker #reqs open #request

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marmett · 10 months

Text

i think the fallout fandom at large dont give the various groups of new vegas enough credit for what they have the potential to build in the anarchy ending. like, a lot of ppl like to focus on how they couldnt possibly find solutions to all the problems the mojave has unless they have the ncr/legion/house, but there are so many issues that the ncr and house created in the area that independent settlements are already finding their own solutions to. and just imagine how much they could get done w/o the ncr and house fucking around and making things worse.

like, westside developed an entire farming co-op! food supply issues are a major problem in the mojave. dr. hildern's idea is to raid a vault and use unstable scientific research to fix it, but westside is doing fine on their own. imagine what they could do when the ncr moves out and they can expand to take over their old fields too.

another food supply issue is w/ the early stage capitalism the ncr and mr house brought along, and the brahmin barons like heck gunderson who can fuck up the food supply chain on a whim. getting rid of ppl like that and returning to independent, community based farming would do massive good for the area, and it would possibly open up an opportunity for jacobstown to start trading w/ the rest of new vegas!

like yeah, they had issues w/ anti-mutant prejudices, but i feel like when relying on other communities becomes a necessity ppl will get over it. and westside is right there too, i dont think theyd have as big of a problem working w/ a super mutant community when mean son of a bitch is already a beloved member of their own community.

and yeah, security and protection would still be a huge problem, but westside again has shown that communities can take care of themselves! they had to deal w/ the fiends on their own bc mr. house and the ncr didnt rlly care abt them and left them to fend for themselves. novac also came up w/ their own solutions to protecting themselves w/ boone and manny. and maybe this is the optimist in me, but i think fixing supply issues will reduce the need for communities to protect themselves from other ppl.

anyway yeah. the communities in new vegas have SO much potential to build smth great. i love thinking abt it.

#fnv #fallout new vegas #westside is my fave settlement if u couldnt tell LMAO

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llamagoddessofficial · 4 months

Note

Excuse me could we get some farmtale sans headcanon please just a crumb

You don't need to ask twice lol

He's deceptively strong, even by Sans standards. He's on par with Skull for raw strength. This guy carries massive heavy things pretty much for a living; he loads bales bigger than you. He could carry you around on one arm, and he might genuinely tuck you under one arm if he needs to carry you while he's busy

However he is also extremely Somft. He simply wants to sit on the couch and wear chunky knit sweaters and drink soup all day.

His greatest talent is coming up with places to nap that are out of sight of Papyrus. You'll be regularly tripping over him

He's wonderful to nap with! He smells like straw and sweet veg, his strong arms are perfect for cuddles. He is unreasonably comfy.

He flirts by giving you things from the farm. He'll show up to your door without warning, carrying cartons of fresh eggs, boxes full of veg, butters and jams and chutneys... one time, even a whole wheel of cheese.

(Probably saves you hundreds on groceries.)

Papyrus frequently asks you to go check on Sans while he's working, maybe to bring him food or a drink, 'see if he's doing it right', etc. Papyrus knows Sans is absolutely fine and knows how to do those jobs. But he also knows that Sans makes an art out of half-assing certain chores and making them take forever... if you're there, Sans wants to show off, and he ends up working twice as fast.

Sans has a way with animals. His vibes are just so easygoing that even the most high-strung creatures like him. Anytime he falls asleep, he ends up with chickens sitting with/on him until he wakes up.

For a guy who works with plants, he's pretty terrible at remembering the names of them. He knows the important ones, and that's about it. Don't expect him to remember more than he absolutely has to.

He's an excellent seamster! If anything you like rips, let him know. He can make it look good as new.

His love language is acts of service. He does the absolute bare minimum for people he doesn't like, and equally, he does So Much for people he loves (like you). He'll tow you for miles if you break down, he'll pick you up from anywhere at any time without complaint, he'll lend you incredibly important items of his as if it's no big deal. If you leave him alone in your home for too long he'll find something to repair or tweak... clothes, furniture, holes in the walls/creaky windows, etc. You'll come downstairs in the morning to find out he's fixed your heating.

His ideal date is driving out to a quiet field at night, then sitting under a blanket together and watching the stars. He may not know his plants... but he knows his stars, that's for sure.

Too bad he'll be too busy looking at you.

#llamagines #LOVELY MAN LOVELY MAN

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dilatorywriting · 1 year

Text

Heroes vs. Villains : Pomefiore

Gender Neutral Reader x Pomefiore vs. Neige Leblanche Word Count: 2.8k

Summary: Woe to the Ramshackle Prefect, being caught up in the drama between the Disney Villains and their respective heroes. Pomefiore Version ie. Wherein Vil tries his very best to correct your abominable wardrobe and you swoop in to kidnap save an unsuspecting gentleman in distress.

[PART 1] [PART 2] [PART 3]

“Your wardrobe is atrocious. And I’m not going to be seen with someone who looks like they rolled around on the floor of their closet and put on whatever stuck to them first.”

Firstly, your closet wasn’t big enough to step inside, let alone roll around in. So take that, Mister Metaphor.

Secondly, you didn’t even own enough clothing for that to be an option. Dressing yourself like some kind of confetti monster? Yeah, no. You had three pairs of donated, grey, uniforms and a couple over-large sweatshirts that Jack had kindly donated to you once fall set in. Today it just so happened to be Uniform #2 that was the clean one of the set. So.

All of that being said, from the sounds of things, your Crimes Against Fashion had spurred an emergency shopping trip. A shopping trip spearheaded by the Vil Schoenheit, and very hopefully being funded by his seemingly never-emptying wallet. Also, to be perfectly honest, Ramshackle was cold. And you would very much like some new socks and at least one fuzzy pair of pajama pants to go with Jack’s old crewnecks. Maybe a nice throw blanket. That alone was worth the blow to your dignity.

“Will I survive?” you lamented, as Rook fussed with your sad excuse for an umbrella.

“No,” Epel drawled, entirely unsympathetic. Not that you could blame the guy. An afternoon that the House Warden spent with you was one less hovering over Epel—one less hour stuck in front of a mirror, one less etiquette class that was more punishment than lesson. Perhaps one more secret rack of barbecue ribs snuck in from the Savanaclaw Dorm.

“Mon Coeur, you are going to get soaked,” Rook tutted, finally conceding on trying to fix your shredded nightmare of a parasol. You’d found it in one of the many dusty closets Ramshackle had to offer. One of the ghosts said they recognized it from their time on campus two-hundred years ago.

“Sorry.”

“It is far from your fault!” Rook gasped, and Epel rolled his eyes.

“Why don’t you ask Vil to buy you one?” your purple-haired friend mocked, and you fought the urge to stick your tongue out at him.

“Maybe I will,” you sniffed, indignant.

“More likely he’ll just see it an’ get all upset, and be like, ‘ah! How ugly this darn thing is! Throw it away before my eyes bleed!’” he crooned, dramatic—so caught up in his theatrics that he nearly dropped the little apple carving he was working on.

“Yeah, right. Like Vil would ever be caught dead saying ‘darn,’” you jabbed, and Epel hurled the fruit at your head. Rook caught it gracefully and returned it to the grumpy farm boy with a gentle toss. “But otherwise, spot on.”

“‘Spot on’ about what, precisely? Your collective complete and utter lack of decorum? This is a public space, show some class please.”

And with that scathing remark, Vil Schoenheit had officially entered the scene.

The venomous beauty’s purple eyes traced over you in the way that they always seemed to—picking apart whatever things he deemed worthy of plucking. His gaze landed almost immediately on your near-disintegrated umbrella, and it narrowed with distaste.

“You’re not bringing that with us. In fact, you might as well just toss it with the garbage on the way out.”

You and Epel made painfully long eye contact.

Rook shoved a red-and-white checkered parasol into your hands with an indulgent smile.

The journey to the outlets from there was actually pretty pleasant. Vil’s private car was swanky and smelled like the fancy sort of air fresheners that didn’t prick at your nose with an oversaturation of chemical fruitiness. He rattled off list upon list of ‘essentials’ that was sounding longer and more expensive by the minute. But (as he immediately confirmed upon seeing your mounting horror) this was to be a Schoenheit Expenditure, so you decided to let him enjoy himself and tally up a ridiculous amount of brand name garbage.

The stores had private parking. And that was immediately intimidating.

Vil fixed his ‘normal people disguise’ more firmly in place before walking you through the building with a surprising level of enthusiasm.

“It works a bit differently—” he continued, piling item after item into a cart that was already close to overflowing. “—Most of these products are meant to be customized, but I suppose we can look into that later. Off-The-Rack is not usually my preferred method of browsing, but it will have to do until we’ve bulked out your general wardrobe into something passable.”

He was muttering to himself like a mad scientist—holding swatches to your face, tugging bits of various fabric against your fingers. His efficiency and complete competence in all things was endearing, if not a bit terrifying.

Then, Vil draped a soft, amethyst, scarf around your neck.

“Here,” he said, still mostly buried in the racks. “You can wear this now—for the cold. This color suits you.”

“Really?” you hummed, doing your absolute best not to let your eyes fall to the price tag dangling off the end of it. You failed. “It’d fit you better,” you rambled, trying to take your mind off the triple-goddamn-digits you’d just seen. “It actually matches your eyes kind of perfectly, don’t you think?”

There was a pause then, and for a moment you worried that you’d said something irritating—maybe unintentionally questioning his fashion judgements or blablabla. One thing that you knew for sure was that when the King of Poisons had to stop and ponder on a reply, you’d done fucked up. And were his ears red? Oh no you must have really pissed him off—

“I am trying to focus on turning you into an even marginally acceptable member of society,” he rushed out finally, sounding strained. “So if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Fine, fine,” you sighed. “I’ll go grab us some coffees or something.”

“Don’t wander too far,” he called, sounding distracted. “And no—”

“No caffeine, decaf only. Stimulants will ruin your skin, and digestive tract, and blablabla,” you droned. “I know your drill.”

“That goes for you too, potato,” he tutted, a pleasant warmth coasting over the reprimand.

You waved him off with a grumble and headed out into the main building. It was bright—nearly unpleasantly so—and every surface looked like it was made of a stone so expensive that you probably wouldn’t even be able to pronounce its name.

You wandered around aimlessly for a few minutes, wondering idly if a place this upscale would even have a café kiosk. Surely rich people still drank coffee, but you’d also heard something once upon a time about how ‘to-go cups’ and ‘not savoring the brew’ were some kind of gross social faux pas. You sighed, and as your shoulders slouched you felt a brush of sinfully soft fabric against the back of your arm.

You froze and reached hesitantly up to your neck. You were still wearing the purple scarf. You pinched at the ridiculously expensive cashmere with wide eyes. Did this make you a thief? I mean, no one had bothered to stop you or anything. Did these sorts of stores have different rules? Like an honesty policy maybe? And you technically hadn’t even left the building yet! So maybe—

WHAM!

“Ah! I’m so sorry! I just—I have to—!”

You were ripped out of your morality spiral by a sound like a storm, and you looked up past your assailant to see a herd of people stampeding in your direction. Immediately, your I-was-shopping-with-an-internationally-recognizable-superstar instinct kicked in, and you bodily hauled yourself and whatever poor sap who had nearly mowed you down into the nearest store and then into one of the changing rooms beyond that.

The tempest that followed was a roar of cacophonous noise, but thankfully brief. Only a few people ducked into the store you’d taken refuge in, and none of those ventured very close to your hiding place. You breathed out a sigh of relief. It sounded weirdly muffled behind the changing room’s thick, velvety, curtains.

“Th-Thank you for that,” stuttered whoever you’d just kidnapped.

“Don’t worry about it,” you shrugged, and turned to get a better look at your new partner in crime. Immediately you froze, an odd sense of recognition working through you. “Uhm—Are you Neige? Neige Le Blanc?”

“Leblanche,” he corrected gently, and then winced. Like he’d only just realized that maybe outing himself after being nearly accosted by a mob was not the best idea.

“Oh. Alright,” you said, dazed.

This was Vil’s arch nemesis? He reminded you a little of a cocker spaniel—with big, wide, heavy-lashed eyes and soft, dark, curls framing his perfectly petite face. Sure, he was lovely. And maybe you were a little biased here, but this guy—this, this walking cherub—was standing in the way of Vil’s absolute, tyrannical, reign over all things sexy? Sure, he was adorable enough. But most beautiful of them all? Come on.

“U-Uhm…” Neige stuttered, nervously clasping his fingers. “Do you… Want an autograph or something? As a thank you?”

“What?” you blinked, allowing yourself to be pulled back into the very surreal situation unfolding around you. “Oh. No thanks. I don’t want to be massacred.”

He gasped. “I know that they may not have left the best first impression just now, but I promise that my fans would never do that!”

It wasn’t his fans you were worried about. Vil’s high heels looked sharp enough to gut a man, and you did not want to be the first test subject for that hypothesis.

“Don’t worry about it,” you shrugged.

“…I might have to camp out in here for a while,” he mumbled after a quiet moment, morose.

“Probably,” you sighed, sympathetic. “Sorry.”

“You, uhm, you don’t mind keeping this a secret, do you?” Neige smiled, wobbly.

“I’m not going to turn you over to your ravenous fangirls,” you reassured. Because sure, the mean-spiritedness of the residents of Night Raven College may have been rubbing off on you, but you had yet to become that heartless.

“Thank you,” he relaxed, genuine appreciation warming his dark eyes. And then he aimed that kilowatt, darling-of-the-world, smile in your direction and fired. “You’re my hero.”

For a moment you were honestly, thoroughly, dazzled. It was like you could hear songbirds and heavenly choirs singing all around you—filling the dark space with sparkles and warmth that danced merrily across your skin like the soft fizz in a soda pop.

But then, like a sign from God, your phone buzzed angrily in your pocket and you glanced down quick enough to catch a bright V.S. flash across the screen.

Oh shit.

You turned, ready to make a bolt for it and leave your companion stranded, when something atrocious caught your eye.

“Is that a sweater vest,” you gaped, poking at the stitched material poking out from beneath Neige’s RSA blazer. “With squirrels on it.”

“U-Uhm. Yes?” he squeaked, cheeks dusted pink.

How in the fuck does Vil think he’s less fuckable than this guy, what the fuck.

“I-I’m sorry, but did you just say—"

You hurriedly pulled the (stolen?) scarf from your neck and shoved it pointedly over Neige’s mouth, before wrapping it securely around the rest of his head. Your phone was buzzing again—longer and sharper this time. Like a certain someone was spamming you with indignant, ‘how dare you abandon my magnificent ass,’ essays.

“So that hopefully no one will recognize you,” you (lied) explained cheerfully, and tightened the makeshift gag. Now he could be the accidental thief. Neige gurgled his thanks into the fabric, or at least, you assumed that’s what he was spluttered out. It was hard to tell past the, you know, gag.

You peaked out beyond the curtains and observed the empty storefront like a proper super spy. All clear. Thank God.

You swiveled back and thumped Neige Leblanche on the shoulder with what was perhaps a bit more force than necessary, seeing as his knees had started to shake. He swayed in place, an odd shade of pink creeping past the barrier of the scarf and nearly all the way to his hairline. Hopefully he wasn’t about to faint or something—you really didn’t have time for that.

“Good luck,” you told him emphatically, before darting out of your hiding space and back into the horrible fluorescent nightmare before you.

“Wait!” you heard him call. “I didn’t even get your name—"

But at this point, your phone had graduated from spurts of rage to outright howling in indignation, so you didn’t have much choice but to keep on running. You pressed down on the green ‘accept call’ button with all the enthusiasm of a soldier being sent off to the front lines.

“What?”

“Don’t you take that tone of voice with me,” Vil hissed, doing an impressive job of keeping his voice low and level while simultaneously sounding ready to tear your ass to pieces. “Where are you?”

“I got lost looking for coffee with no caffeine. You know. The best part of the coffee,” you admitted. Sort of.

“You got lost?” he sounded incredulous. “In a single-story shopping center? With maps at every corner?”

“There were a lot of people,” you defended.

He sighed, clearly put upon, and you had the distinct impression that he was pinching the bridge of his nose. “Just meet me back at the side entrance. We should leave—it’s starting to get crowded and I don’t want to deal with the stampede when I’m inevitably recognized.”

“Of course,” you agreed easily, and made your way up to one of these supposed ‘maps at every corner.’ And oh. It was actually… very well drawn and very helpful. Fuck you, huh? “Did you get everything you needed?”

“I got everything you needed,” he corrected. “And we will be trying every single item on when we return to campus.”

You whined, and man, oh man. You didn’t think it was possible to smack someone upside the head through a phone, but somehow Vil made it work.

It didn’t take long from there to find the exits, and just in the nick of time too it would seem! As a steady stream of eager ‘shoppers’ began to flood into the building—most of them twittering about ‘did you catch a photo’ or ‘I heard someone saw him around that one store!’ Vil watched them through the tinted lenses of his glasses, lips pursed.

You were just about to step back into the car and out of the chilly rain when an eruption of screaming broke out somewhere in the near-distance. You immediately braced for impact, but when you were not immediately trampled into a pile of gelatinous goop beneath the thundering feet of hundreds of fanatics, you chanced a glance upwards.

Neige Leblanche was being herded out of the main entrance by a troupe of security guards, each one holding a different black umbrella over his head. It created a shadowed canopy that, despite the rain and gloom, somehow managed not to dull the radiance oozing off him and his perfect-perfectness. The fair beauty rubbed awkwardly at the back of his head, as if perplexed by the swarm of people ducking in and out like a pack of dogs circling a big, juicy, steak. Nevertheless, he waved to each and every fan—smiling demurely and sweetly as he went.

“We should go while they’re distracted,” you whispered, tugging at Vil’s arm. “And in case the swooning is contagious.”

He didn’t move. There was an odd sort of look on his face, one that usually preceded some of the most brutally cutting insults you’d ever heard.

You turned back to the growing mob, curious about what could have possibly snagged his attention—and ire—so completely.

Wrapped artfully around Neige’s neck, and flapping neatly alongside the chilly autumn breeze, was your purple scarf.

The dainty actor lifted the soft fabric to his lips, burrowing his chin into it not unlike how some adorable little round-cheeked bunny might photogenically cuddle into a—a cloud. Or a pillow of cotton candy. Or something else equally as cute and ridiculous. Neige’s cheeks bloomed a fetching shade of pink and his wide, brown, eyes glittered from over the folds of cashmere. His audience squealed.

“Well, at least it’s not you they’re mauling this time,” you hummed, shooting Vil another hesitant glance. That sour expression had twisted into a familiar and awful icy sneer that you hadn’t seen him dawn in a very long time. “Vil?” You called. “Are you alright?”

“Hmm?” he blinked, seeming to come back to himself. That frigid snarl was washed away by a mask of complete stoicism, and honestly, you weren’t sure which was worse. “Oh. Yes. Of course. Shall we?”

The hand he offered to help you climb over the many boxes of clothes and into the backseat was stiff, tight. It clapped around your wrist like a pair of manacles, and he didn’t let go until you were out of the parking lot, past the backroads, beyond the gates of Night Raven, and all the way back into the lavish halls of Pomefiore.

#twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #Vil x Reader #vil shoenheit #Vil Schoenheit x Reader #Pomefiore x Reader #neige leblanche #neige x reader #My Writing #Heroes vs Villains Pomefiore Part 1

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rentumblsstuff · 2 months

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Random Hatchetfield Headcanons

The first time Alice Woodward ever smoked weed was when (after much inner turmoil) she asked Deb to shotgun it with her.

Max has two snaggletoothed incisors which is why people swear to god he has fangs.

Deb also has a snaggletooth which is what inspired the vampire part of Alice’s vampiric sapphic play. Alice also thinks it’s ironic she made a vampire character when Deb is a vegan.

Ruth as a Sophmore hit on Senior Alice a lot. Alice thought it was funny and she and Deb “adopted” her. Max and Steph also put the PANIC in bi panic for Ruth.

Max would find it weirdly hot that Grace wears bathing suits under her clothes because of the idea that he gets to see what her body looks like before even she does.

The hospital is downtown, so Becky Barnes definitely got infected in TGWDLM. Despite never wanting to do it again, Becky climbs the tree as someone calls the HFPD to save Kathy’s cat because she’s still infinitely compassionate even under Pokey’s control. Plus, Pokey knows she wants to get over the trauma associated with climbing trees, so he makes her do it to give her a big number about finally overcoming her past. She accidentally flings the cat as soon as the song starts, which is why in Show Me Your Hands, the cat dies so quickly even though it JUST got called in.

Peter infected Steph who infected Deb who infected Alice in TGWDLM. Pete and Steph would have been Sophomores and Deb and Alice were Seniors, but I always imagine Steph and Deb knowing eachother because MRFC said Steph is in the Smoke Club on Twitter at some point. Assuming Steph’s been a little punk for a while, she’s been in the smoke club since at least Sophomore year, and probably a new inductee the same year as TGWDLM (2018).

Alice and one of her parents (maybe Bill) were also raised in purity culture because we know the Woodwards and the Chastitys go to the same church. The Woodwards probably take it with a grain of salt though (Alice has expressed dislike over Grace’s prudishness)- either that or one of her parents (probably her mom) wasn’t originally from said church and also raised Alice with “this is what you’re learning here, but here’s also what I learned at my church at your age.” Bill was likely the one raised in purity culture because he does NOT LIKE DEB and thinks that if she HAS TO date a girl, she should date someone like Grace Chastity, implying she’s an exemplary teen girl. Ms. Woodward lets Deb sleep over and probably knows she smokes and likes her anyways; three points for Alice’s mom not being the puritanical one.

Ted reads romance novels. He’s a former geek turned sleazeball- you know he reads the smuttiest novels ever and calls them “his research”. He refuses to read any book with the friends to lovers trope because it’s too upsetting to think about. (Side note Time Bastard gave us a definite date that timelines don’t branch/reset before depending on whichever theory you believe because the homeless man is in every timeline, meaning that Jenny’s death is fixed in time and never changes: October 7th 2004, so the timelines change anywhere between October 8th 2004 and 2018.)

In whatever timeline Emma finally gets to have her weed farm, she meets Paul when he tells her he was prescribed that marajamij for his anxiety and he was too scared to try Xanax. She thinks he’s kind of cute for a wet cat of a corporate slave. “Fuck the patriarchy? Yes please.” (Side note Paul seems so uptight and unfuckable like bro gotta be blank down there like a Ken doll and has no discernible kinks from what I remember while Emma is laid back and chill asf and like… normal in comparison so yeah sure Paulkins canonically fucks but does Emma enjoy it?? Like dude even Pete’s more fuckable than him come on.)

Pete and Steph don’t kiss when they admit their feelings for eachother even though one of them would die before ever getting to kiss each other because they both think it’ll only make it that much harder to go through with sacrificing the other. One of the reasons Pete also chooses to be the one to take the bullet because he doesn’t think he even COULD pull the trigger on her. Like it’d be physically impossible for him, in his mind.

TGWDLM was originally meant to be an allegory for the institution brainwashing us. Show Me Your Hands and America’s Great Again: examples of people in power working for and fulfilling the evil wishes of some almighty, otherworldly, inhuman THING (be it aliens, be it those in power). It’s clearly meant to satirize the way that power corrupts and tries to convince you its way is better. Even Hidgens, THE FUCKING TEACHER, tries to teach his student that it will be better for everyone to join in that corruption and give in to the hive mind. This reminds me of how the school system in America tries to paint our history as something glamorous; manifest destiny instead of genocide of the indigenous populations. The people in power convincing those under them that the deaths of countless lives is a good thing and it will pave the way to a better future. Cool motive, still murder. Which is why Emma “Fuck the Patriarchy” Perkins is the last one to be infected. She was incapable of being brainwashed , and even when she was the last one left, she saw that the people watching didn’t care, and the all-consuming threat of corrupted power closes in on her until the very last moment.

The Lords in Black were going to try to convince whoever sacrificed their most treasured something to do more work for them, but Grace required very little convincing. Like Wiggly spoke into her mind like “Gracy-Wace! You forgot my booky-wook! Look in it, see any thing you like? Wanna kill all the pervy-wervys?” And she’s like “holy cow I can kill all the pervy-wervys with this book?” Pete would have needed the most convincing because he’s just lost the only girl who will ever love him (in his mind) and so he’d think these things took away his one chance at true love and NEVER want to deal with them again. Even if they offered him a way to get her back, he’s too smart to know that won’t come without an even bigger price AND too paranoid to think she won’t come back wrong like Max did.

If the Green-Foster family ever did get to move to California and Lex got to be an actress, her interview attitude would be a lot like Reneé Rapp and if she ever got asked about why she’ll openly shit talk people in an interview, she’s like “I used to work retail I learned pretty fast that nothing gets done if you keep your mouth shut.”

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