#I wrote this at 1 a.m. in the morning | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

atomicami · 1 year ago

Note

cami would you write a sub abby? like maybe where she needs your help to get off?🤭🩷

my sweet dani, that mind of yours truly is incredible…i wrote this one just for you querida 🤍

close call

contractor!abby anderson x joel’s daughter!reader

- summary: it’s the night before the annual bake sale, and abby needs your touch now more than ever.

- content: smut MDNI, no outbreak/modern au, contractor/engineer!abby, texas living, no sarah, joel & jerry are still alive (jerry is not a doctor in this), reader has a business degree, abby gets needy, sneaking out, oral & fingering (a!receiving), masturbation (r), abby whimpering and begging?? and i think that’s it but lmk if i missed anything

- author’s note: well if i’m being honest i really did not expect to be writing another contractor!abby fic so soon, but this request gives so much desperate contractor!abby energy that i just had to do it. however i do have to clarify that this is not a part 3. i’ve stated this before in one of my asks, but part 3 is going to be more about the bake sale…this is just more of a little bonus chapter i guess.

anyways, this one’s for you dani, and for all of my contractor!abby fans out there that need a little pick me up rn. i hope y’all enjoy it 🫶🏻

You didn’t expect to be doing it again so soon.

After you had snuck your way out of work to go see Abby at her father’s contracting site, you have to admit that the rest of this week flew by surprisingly fast for you.

You had been keeping yourself occupied in the meantime, between doing customer calls at work and preparing for the bake sale, you’ve been quite patient with yourself and didn’t feel the need to have to sneak out again until the next time you’d plan to see Abby. It was almost as if you simply had just been sick that day, and Abby’s touch was the remedy that cured you.

Although…there might be a feeling that you’ve jinxed yourself in saying so when you receive a phone call the night before.

You spent the morning on your work shift as usual, and your dad was generous enough to let you go before lunchtime so you could start baking for the sale tomorrow. After spending the rest of your day prepping, mixing, baking, and decorating, you were left with a variety of fresh pastries by sundown, ready to sell the next morning.

By the time you finished cleaning up the kitchen and getting ready for bed, the clock struck 10 p.m. Normally you’d stay up a little longer, but after the exhausting day you’ve had today, you genuinely needed to rest for tomorrow. You had to be downtown by 7 a.m. to set up at the farmer’s market for the bake sale. Given how weary you were, it didn’t take long for you to fall asleep.

However, you were only able to get a few hours of sleep in before your phone began to ring.

The sound of your ringtone startles you awake. Letting out a tired groan, you muster up the energy to reach over to your nightstand to turn on your light and pick up your phone to see who was calling you.

“Abby?” you whisper to yourself, rubbing your eyes to get a better look at the screen. Once you do, the phone call disappears and your lock screen shows with the missed notification, giving you a chance to look at the time.

It was barely past 1 a.m. Why the hell was she calling you this late?

Her contact name shows up once again in a second call, and this time you swipe to answer.

“Abby…what is it?” you answer groggily to her.

“Hey…are you awake?” she asks shyly.

You roll your eyes before responding. “I am now.”

“Look, I’m sorry if I did wake you up, but I really need you right now…”

Her words start to replay in your head. The tone she had in her voice…she didn’t sound like her usual, cocky self. She sounded desperate…kind of like how you were the last time you saw her.

“Abby, it’s one in the morning…what is it that can’t wait until later?”

You knew what she was asking for, you just needed to make her say it. Kind of like how she made you tell her last time.

“I um…I can’t get myself off,” she muttered back. It was quiet, but not quiet enough to where you couldn’t hear her.

You simply nod, soon remembering that she couldn’t see you right now. “Alright, um…do you have your boxers on, then?”

“No—I mean, yes I do, but I don’t mean this…I need you to come over.”

You scoff at her through the phone. She truly can’t be serious. Having to do this over the phone would already be difficult enough for you. But to sneak yourself out in the middle of the night to do so? It was going to be too much.

“Abby, you can’t be serious right now—“

“Come on, baby, don’t be like that…My dad isn’t even home right now, please?”

“Okay, but my dad is.” You reply to her instantly. “There’s no way I’m gonna be able to get out of my house without waking him up.”

You keep trying to tell her that it’s not going to work out, but Abby continues to beg about it. As much as you wanted to, it clearly wasn't the right time to do so. But eventually, you just had to give in.

“Okay, fine! I’ll come over…” you said, quickly lowering your voice down. “Just…just give me five minutes.”

After hanging up the phone, you get up from your bed, taking the time to stretch in the process. Grabbing the first pair of shoes you find, you quickly slip them on before grabbing your phone and keys and exiting your room.

Once you’ve shut the door, you begin to tiptoe down the hall as to not wake up your father. The door of Joel’s bedroom was slightly cracked open, and you could see that he was fast asleep. You quietly pass by his bedroom and make your way down the stairs, praying that the wood doesn't start creaking from the weight of your footsteps.

Before you know it, you’ve successfully made it out the door, and you begin to cross the street to Abby’s place. Once you’ve made it to her front door, your phone buzzes again.

“Abby: there’s a spare key under the mat.”

Jesus. The least she could’ve done was to have let you in her own house, especially since you had to do most of the work sneaking yourself out.

You reach down and slide your hand under the doormat, quickly finding the key that was hidden underneath before unlocking the door and letting yourself in. It’s the first time you’ve been inside Abby’s house, and you’re not bothered to even get a good look at it, you just needed to find her right now.

After wandering throughout her house for what feels like forever, you finally find her bedroom. Not even bothering to knock, you simply walk in to see Abby lying in the center of her bed, her long blonde locks draped over her shoulders, and her muscle tank covering her top half while the rest of her body was covered with her duvet from the waist down.

“Hey,” she pants out, propping herself up on her bed to get a better look at you. “I’m so sorry I had to—“

“Sit up,” you tell her, cutting off her sentence.

“What?”

“You heard me. Sit up.”

You then walk your way over to the left side of her bed and kneel on the ground, causing Abby to scramble around and sit up from her bed. Once you’re settled on the ground, she’s got her legs hanging off the bed, and you can see that she doesn’t have anything on underneath.

“Thought you said you had your boxers on,” you told her.

“I-I did…I just couldn’t wait for you to get here…” she replies, looking away from you as she does so.

“And you say I’m the needy one…” you mutter to yourself. You then spread Abby’s legs open, revealing her pussy to you. Despite how truly annoyed you were that she made you have to sneak out in the middle of the night, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to be touching her like this right now…because your mouth was practically watering at the sight of her wet pussy.

Without hesitation, you insert two of your fingers inside her. Her body jerks back for a moment at the sudden touch, before soon settling down, letting her pussy relax around your fingers.

It seemed like Abby was trying to compose herself right now because you could hear how hard she was trying to hold back her whimpers and whines as you kept slowly pumping your fingers in and out of her.

“M-More…” she whispers out to you, trying her best to not sound needy.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” You asked, eyes still fixated on her pussy.

“I-I need more, please…” she responds, her voice just a little louder this time.

You look up at her as your fingers continue to move inside her pussy, your movements not stopping as you maintained eye contact with her. “I’m gonna need you to be more specific than that, Abigail, or else I’m not giving you what you want,” you tell her sternly.

You can easily see her trying to hold back her frustration right now, and you were honestly enjoying it. The fact that you’ve put her in this state of submission outside of her usual cocky persona truly has you beaming with pride.

“I—fuck—I need your mouth, p-please…” she whines out to you, hands gripping onto the sheets as your fingers curl into her g spot.

“See, there you go…That wasn’t so hard now, was it?” you tease back at her before leaning in and attaching your mouth to her clit as you continued to finger her.

It didn’t take long for the speed of your fingers to increase inside her pussy and for your mouth to suck harder on her throbbing clit. Between the pleasure you were giving her and the whimpers and moans that were escaping from her mouth, you can’t help but feel the need to take care of yourself down there.

As you continue to eat Abby out, your non-dominant hand begins to trail its way down into your shorts and slide below your underwear. You instantly feel a sense of relief once your fingertips reach your clit, rubbing it gently as you continued to give Abby the pleasure she needed.

You began to whimper and moan into her pussy, the vibrations from your mouth causing chills to rush through Abby’s body as she tried to chase her orgasm.

Her pussy soon began to clench around your fingers more than usual, indicating that she was close. You briefly removed your mouth from her pussy to speak to her, quickly replacing it with your thumb in the meantime. “You’re getting close, aren’t you?” you asked, looking up at her.

Abby nodded quickly in response. “Y-yes, fuck, p-please don’t stop…” she whined out, quickly grabbing your head with one hand and pushing it back into her pussy while her other hand grips onto the edge of her bed.

You were practically being suffocated in between her strong thighs right now, but you could honestly care less. You weren’t stopping until she finished. You continued to desperately moan and whine into her pussy as you kept rubbing your needy clit with your other hand, trying to chase your orgasm as well.

“Oh fuck, baby, right there, I’m gonna—Fuck!”

Abby tried her best to warn you, she really did, but before you both knew it, her release was already spilling out of her pussy and onto your fingers and mouth, causing you to greedily drink up every last drop of her before slowly removing your mouth and fingers out of her.

Once Abby had recovered from her orgasm, she looked down at you just in time to see you take your other hand out of your shorts. She kept her eyes on your fingers, admiring how they were covered in your release as a result of the pleasure you just gave to her.

She brings her hand down to your chin and lifts it to meet her eyes with yours. The deja vu feeling was hitting her now the second she saw your pupils blown out once again, just like how you were not even a week ago when you went down on her under her desk while she was sitting across from her father.

You hesitate for a moment before soon making the effort to stand up to her height, bringing your two fingers that were coated in your slick up to her lips.

“Clean them up,” you commanded.

Abby nodded as she held the hand that was put to her mouth before parting her lips and sucking your fingers clean. Her eyes were trained on yours, maintaining eye contact as she did so.

“There you go, just like that…” you mutter out to her quietly.

Once they were clean, Abby removed your fingers from her mouth, making a slight pop sound as she did so. You lean in to plant a kiss on her lips, tasting a bit of yourself from her lips and vice versa. You then reach down to grab your phone and keys before walking towards her bedroom door to leave.

However, you pause in your tracks for one moment and turn your head around to look at her fucked out self one more time.

“I’ll see you at the bake sale.” you reminded her, that same smirk appearing now on both of your faces before you turned back around and exited her bedroom, now leaving her by herself.

Well, it’s safe to say that Abby was going to have to return the favor for you real soon.

- a/n: i have to admit this one’s not my best work, it was my first time writing sub abby y’all believe me i tried my best 🙏🏻

also, i don’t usually self promote my fics but i did post my first dina fic the other day, it’s called overnight sensation and it’s a smau series. i’ve spent a lot of time and effort in making that fic so far so it’ll truly mean a lot to me if you guys could check it out 🤍

but other than that, i’ll see you guys in part 3!

tags 🏷️: @abbyscherry @whore4abby @zombholic @aouiaa @uraesthete @lia-winther @gaptoothedlesbo @deadbolted @abbysfavewh0rx @echostinn @mochiivqi @floptron @totallyghostdgirl @swtsuna @bellaramslover @naomis-daydream @ur-fav-pixi @sirenbxby @paprikahoernchen @thesevi0lentdelights @mostlyhornyandsad @tohoko

(^ i think that’s everyone?? let me know if i missed anyone/if you’d like to be tagged in the real part 3 LOL)

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lohotine · 9 months ago

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AN: Wrote this at 1 A.M.. Might be a Lil funky.

Pure Vanilla x Reader

Oneshot

Warnings: Drunk reader

-Sober-

You, in an attempt to seem cool, chugged a bunch of alcohol at a party.

You are also a lightweight.

This did not end well.

Currently, Pure Vanilla was helping you stand up straight and leading you back to your room.

Luckily, he was actually sober. (Unlike you.)

"You're so handsome today," You'd blurt out unknowingly.

Pure Vanilla's face would flush a light pink, and the flower on his staff spun around slightly. Though, he continued walking nonetheless.

"Ah, t- thank you.." He'd mumble with a smile ever so slightly noticeable on his face.

"I wish you'd just kiss me already~" you'd whine, face also flushed. In your case however, it was from the alcohol.

"You're much too drunk. We should get you to your room," Pure Vanilla explained, averting his gaze from you.

"And then you'll give me a kiss there?"

He chuckled slightly.

"Sure.."

And so, Pure Vanilla would walk you up a few more stairs and then you'd both be infront of your room.

Once the both of you entered, you immediately began to cling to Pure Vanilla's arm.

"Can I have my kiss now?" You asked needily.

He only smiled before taking hold of your chin and looking at you dreamily.

He closed his eyes and you closed yours. A pair of lips pressed against your own. It was sweet, and lips were gentle, yet longing for something more. The kiss would linger for a while before he pulled away.

Pink dusted the blonde's face as he failed to maintain eye contact with you.

How I wish we could do this when you are sober.

He'd think to himself.

"Ah, we really should get you tucked in. Come now." His delicate fingers would lace with your own, and he would walk you towards your bed.

The kiss was enough to keep you quiet, at least for a little while.

Pure Vanilla would lay you down and gently place the blankets over your tired body.

"You should stay with me.." You'd say in a daze.

His face flushed an even deeper crimson.

"I couldn't possibly-" He'd fluster.

"Pleasee?" You made a pouting face.

Pure Vanilla sighed before reluctantly sitting on the edge of the bed.

"I suppose... since you're asking. And you'll probably need help in the morning."

He looked truely angelic when the moonlight hit his soft features. It made such a beautiful sight, especially with the added blush on his face.

"I love you~" You'd coo, pulling him down to lay on the bed next to you.

You wrapped your arms around his waist, leaning your head on his shoulder.

"I love you too.." He'd say back.

Hopefully you'll still act like this while sober.

That's really all he had been longing for.

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iloveboysinred · 7 months ago

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WEST DISTRICT [Saturo Gojo]

18+ mdni | Gojo x fem reader smut, sequel to you've been missed

synopsis; The days following you and Gojo's encounter, nothing much had really changed. You didn't know how he always found his way into your life. One night, he decides to take you out, his heart on his sleeve as he tries to win you back.

cw; sappy Gojo, three seconds of possessive Gojo, shower sex, p in v sex, oral (fem receiving, Saturo is a munch, change my mind..) "stop running" kind of activities, porn with feelings, minimal use of y/n (I don't think I used it at all), smutty smut smut MDNI!!!!!!!!1 lmk if I missed anything, minimally proofread, written by an amateur :')

5.4k words

decided to rewrite this because I didn't like the first version at all, hope you enjoy sweet cookie bear readers :3 listened to this song while I wrote

masterlist

You had to admit slowly cutting Gojo out of your life was something you never thought possible to begin with.

All the time you had spent chasing after him and pining for his attention, you tried to now invest in yourself; improving your cursed technique, spending more time with your co-sorcerers, even indulging in new hobbies to keep yourself occupied.

But it was hard to ignore him. He was everywhere all the time.

Besides the few times where you would accidentally lock eyes, catching him glancing over at you on more than one occasion, you would hear chatter about him at Jujutsu Tech. Or irritatingly enough, your friends would ask questions about him, wondering why you never seemed to bring him up anymore. It seemed like no matter where you went, Gojo would follow.

It was frustrating, trying to pretend he didn’t exist when he constantly made his presence in your world known, even if it wasn’t on purpose.

What made it worse was the fact that things hadn’t changed much from that night. Gojo still couldn’t find time in his schedule to text you, let alone call you. It stung, sure, but you weren’t the slightest bit surprised. The only thing you could say is that his gaze lingered on you longer than it used to, and he made somewhat more of an effort to try and communicate with you in person. It was nice, but you still felt like he wasn’t treating you as a priority.

“I just need you to be patient, okay?”

His words from that night still buzzed around in your head, making you feel even more bitterness at the fact that since then he still hadn’t really made time for you. You thought maybe you were just overreacting, it had only been three days since the last time you had sex with him, and everyone knew he was a busy man. Knowing this you tried to be patient, but you just don’t know how much longer you could keep waiting.

So, here you were, laying in bed cozied up and watching your favorite tv show. It was hard to pay attention, your mind elsewhere, the tv empty background noise to the thoughts coursing through your mind. It was late and you thought you’d probably be heading to bed soon, but you couldn’t sleep, distracted by anxiously glancing at your phone once in a while, just to end up disappointed when the screen remained blank.

Your mind wandered over to Gojo, shamefully feeling giddy at the thought of him, his hair, his eyes, his body– down to the way he knew how to pleasure you so well. It was times like these that you wished he was there.

The warmth in your chest almost made you feel pitiful, reminding yourself that he had to earn the right to have access to you.

You gave your phone one last solemn glance before just deciding to pick it up, the stupidly cliché thought of “what's the worst that can happen?” convincing you to send Gojo a text.

“Saturday 7:30 A.M” “Good morning, pretty ❤️” “Good morning, toru” was the last exchange between the two of you before there had been radio silence on both ends. You stared at the texts for a second, pondering on what to send him. Should you ask what he was doing? No, it’s 8:00, what else could he be doing besides sitting at home? Maybe you should ask if he wanted to go out somewhere tomorrow– but then it would defeat the entire point of making him put in the effort. Your internal debate ended when your eyes caught the text bubble popping up on your screen. He was typing. You sat up a little in anticipation, turning your read receipts off just so he wouldn’t know you were stalking his messages.

“Heyyy pretty girl 🥰 whatcha doingggg?”

You turned your phone off, setting it aside and trying to focus on the tv. Stopping yourself from responding too quickly. You ignored your phone when it pinged again, swallowing down your anxious excitement. You felt like a highschool girl fawning over your crush. It was almost embarrassing how hard you had to force down the urge to respond.

But then it just kept going. Ping after ping until you caved in and checked your phone.

“Toru <333 (26 new messages) “

Swiping up you gaped at the barrage of messages, the text bubble reappearing right as you opened the chat.

“What is it, Gojo ? 26 messages is crazy.”

“Read receipts off, baby? I knew you were ignoring me 😣”

“You’re one to complain. Sorry I'm not waiting hand and foot for you anymore.”

You felt as if you were being unnecessarily cold, almost wanting to send a cheeky remark to soothe the sting of your response. But you didn’t, waiting patiently to see what he would say next. Afterall you were still on the fence about him, deciding a few rude words didn’t seem like a big deal compared to the way he has been acting for months now.

“Ouch, pretty girl. You’re so mean to little ol’ me… anyways, I was wondering if you wanted to go out to eat with me tonight?”

You looked down at yourself for a second, considering his offer. Your bed was comfortable and you didn’t really plan on going anywhere, your pajamas and tousled hair evidence of that. But then again, you were always cooped up in your apartment, and this kind of energy was exactly what you’d been asking him for. You texted him your agreement and he told you to be ready by 9. You’d taken your time getting ready, pampering yourself and making sure you looked nothing short of ravishing. You opted for a sleek navy cocktail dress and some black heels, your hair pinned and framing your face perfectly, your simple outfit paired with some light perfume, the elegant scent sure to attract some compliments on your night out.

It was 9:10 when you heard a series of knocks on your door, signifying that Gojo had arrived. Glancing yourself over one last time, you opened the door to let him in. It seemed as though he had opted to keep it simple as well, wearing a plain white button up and some slacks, his blindfold gone in exchange for a simple pair of sunglasses. He greeted you, pulling a singular rose from behind his back and handing it over, a bright smile on his face. “You look amazing, y/n” he looked you over a couple of times, drinking you in. You gave him a small smile, setting the rose down on your countertop. The gesture made you want to melt, but you reminded yourself once again that this was just half a step towards him making everything up to you.

“Well, let's go. Are you just gonna stand there, Gojo?” you quipped, impatient to get going. “Sorry, just wanted to check you out a bit, baby” He smirked when you rolled your eyes, grabbing your hand in his and leading you outside.

The ride was getting to about 30 minutes from your place, you and Gojo driving through the city in comfortable silence. You would occasionally catch him throwing fleeting glances at you, his grip on the steering wheel tight. You could tell he was nervous about something, but you couldn’t figure out what it was. He wouldn’t tell you where you were going, or what he had planned. It was almost making your nerves act up as well, briefly wondering if he was planning to murder you or something.

You pushed those thoughts away though, when you pulled up in front of a beautiful restaurant. It was cozy, warm lighting filtering through the blinds and jazz music faintly humming from the inside. White curtains flowing freely from the windows on the second floor balcony overlooking the city underneath. It was probably the nicest restaurant you’d ever been to. Making you confused when you noticed that nobody was inside, only a handful of waiters and waitresses standing behind the counter.

“Come on, pretty. I reserved the whole place for us.” You looked at him in mild shock, Gojo looking away from you to fumble with the car keys, turning the ignition off and stepping out, coming around to open your door and help you out of the passenger seat. The place looked so much prettier now that you were standing in front of it. “Wow Gojo this is…a lot.” an anxious look briefly came over him, glancing between you and the building. “Is it too much?” you shook your head, offering him a shy smile. “It’s perfect, Gojo.. thank you.”

Walking in you were cheerily greeted by a waitress, bringing you up to the second floor to a balcony seat, placing down the two menus on the table. You barely caught the exchange of looks she and Gojo exchanged, the view in front of you capturing your attention almost immediately. You weren’t that high up, but you could still see the glittering lights from the buildings and skyscrapers in the distance. The breeze carried with it faint scents of food and the sounds of the city, blowing your hair out of your face, the flames from the candles dancing in the direction the wind was going.

You could feel Gojo’s stare, and you turned to meet it. Locking eyes for a second before he hurriedly picked up the menu.

“Gojo..” your voice was so sweet, warming his chest and encouraging him to peek at you from over the laminated piece of paper. You looked so beautiful, it took his breath away. So many questions and regrets swirling in his mind. How could he deny himself of you for so long? Why did he push you away when you were always right in front of him, waiting for him to be the person you deserved? He sighed, dropping the menu back down on the table, reaching over to grab your hand in his. “ I want to really apologize,” he knew he was starting in the right direction, but he just couldn’t get the words out, his anxiety of what you might say choking him up.

“I should’ve never said those words to you that night– I should’ve been treating you better from the beginning, honestly. I want to ask for your forgiveness. You’re so much more to me than a booty call. I care for you. I really do. I don't care what the higher ups or anybody has to say. I want you to be mine, and I want to be yours.” His eyes bore into yours, heart dropping to his stomach when you pulled your hands away, looking at him with hesitation. He couldn’t blame you, though. The last thing he deserved from you was forgiveness. It was only fair that you broke his heart a fraction of how he had broken yours multiple times.

“Honestly, Saturo.. I think it’ll take a little more than a few nice words and a pretty restaurant for you to erase everything you put me through. I need more effort from you. This is our first date ever and I've known you for years. I deserve better than a text here and there and a once in the blue moon call. I want you to change, okay? “ You stared at him imploringly, sitting up to wrap your arms around yourself. “ I’ve had feelings for you since I met you, but we never went anywhere. I’m just afraid you’re gonna keep wasting my time.. “ His chest tightened, bringing his hands back over, grabbing yours from their secure place in your arms. “Baby, I swear to you– on everything I love that I won’t. I’ll be the man you deserve. I’ll change and I'll be somebody that makes you happy, okay? Just give me one last chance.”

Your face softened at his groveling, the expression of pure sincerity and pleading in his eyes making your heart clench with affection. It was so unlike him, to be so soft like this, and it felt good knowing he was doing it for you. “Okay..” he smiled at you, sweetly bringing your hand up to press a warm kiss to your knuckles. “Okay, baby.”

The night went by smoothly, you chatted, ate, danced and laughed. It was getting late now, and when you were readying yourself to leave the same waitress from before scurried up to your table, setting down a plate with a big slice of your favorite kind of cake, the words “Be my girlfriend;)” written in chocolate icing neatly decorating the plate. You looked up at Gojo with a blank look on your face, raising your eyebrows at his smug face. “Really, Saturo?” “If you don’t answer I'll eat it.” You rolled your eyes, picking up your fork and taking a piece into your mouth “We’ll see, okay?” he deflated a little, but still reached over to pick up a fork, taking his share. “You really shouldn’t eat with your mouthfull” “oh shut up, Gojo”

When you got back in the car the atmosphere was lighter, soft music playing from the radio, the two of you sharing little stories and jokes. It was nice, and for the first time you felt content with him, allowing those same feelings you had been trying to forget come rushing back. You watched him as he drove, lazily leaning back, steering with one hand on the wheel. He looked so good and you couldn’t help but squeeze your knees together, filthy memories swirling around in your head. Quickly, you look back outside, trying to distract yourself watching the city pass you by in a blur.

You pulled up in front of Gojo's home, deciding you should head back to his place and leave for Jujutsu Tech together the following morning. It wasn’t as extravagant as you’d think it was, but definitely bigger than the average home. It was a bit of a distance away from the city, sitting in a secluded area surrounded by trees and other plant life. The place was vacant, and quiet, you briefly reminded yourself that Gojo spent most of his time at the school, and Megumi lived in the dorms.

Gojo opened the car door, helping you step out and walk up the cobblestone walkway, mindful of the fact you had on heels. When you walked in he helped steady you as you took them off, dropping them right next to the door, the wooden floors cold under your bare feet. You’d been to his house a few times in the past, so you somewhat knew your way around, walking up to the grand kitchen, always clean from its lack of use. Gojo came up behind you, holding onto your waist and nuzzling his face into your neck. while you poured yourself a glass of water.

“Hey Gojo” “hmm?” “Do you have any soap and towels? I wanna take a shower.” You felt him smile into your neck “can we take one together, pretty girl?” he hummed, rocking you side to side. You paused for a second, thinking it over. Showers with Gojo could never just be showers. He always had his hands on you, pressing up against you so you could feel how hard you had made him. He always got so touchy; threading his fingers through your hair, sucking red marks into the side of your neck.

“Yeah...yeah Let's go” walking to his room he pulled out a pair of fluffy white towels from the closet, handing you one. You set it on the bed, opting to get out of your clothes right there instead of having to carry everything back with you. You stood in front of the mirror, catching a glimpse of Gojo behind you, watching you as you stripped right in front of him. You slipped the dress over your head. He sauntered over to you; pressing himself against your body. “Fuck…no panties, baby?” he rasped, making chills flit up and down your spine. “Mmhm” you teasingly whined your hips back into him, giggling at the low moan he breathed right by your ear. “Can we skip the shower, pretty girl? I think I'll lose my mind if I don't get a taste of you right now..” you reached up, placing your hand on his cheek, Gojo melting into your touch. He was so desperate, grabbing your hips and anchoring them against him, pressing your ass harder against his crotch. “Please..please, baby.” he whined, pressing light kisses against the side of your neck. You almost wanted to give in when you felt his hardening bulge against you.

You pulled away from him, suppressing a laugh at the stricken look that overcame his face, grabbing the towel and wrapping it around yourself, obstructing his view of you. “Don’t be gross, Saturo. We’re sweaty. We’re taking a shower” he rolled his eyes, grabbing his towel and following you into the bathroom.

Steam shrouded the glass of the shower doors, the heated water stinging your skin, your muscles relaxing in satisfaction. Saturo held you in his arms, his woefully resting his cheek against your shoulder. His fine strands of hair tickling your neck.

The warmth of his body made you want to doze off. He lazily rubbed your soapy washcloth up and down your back, playfully rubbing it over the swell of your ass, flicking the soapy cloth against your skin, snickering when your head parted from his collarbone, looking up at him with a bleary glare.

You looked so pretty right there, the steam made the warm color of your lips stand out, the droplets of water collecting in your eyelashes, dribbling down your skin tempting him to kiss you. He pressed his lips to yours, letting his eyes fall shut, blissful of the warmth radiating from your body.

Gojo quietly sighed into the kiss when you followed his lead. Pressing your lips back against his, holding onto his shoulders and deepening the kiss. He could feel his heart beating miles a minute and he swore he would die right there; relishing the feel of your lips on his.

He ran his hands down your sides, squeezing your hips affectionately, chasing your lips when you pulled away. Separating from you was making him dizzy, the steam in the bathroom causing sweat to sheen above his brow, the air you stole from his lungs making him struggle to catch his breath.

“Toru…” you mumbled, pressing your lips so sweetly to the corner of his mouth, his heart clenching at the nickname. “I love when you call me that, baby..” he breathed, his crotch against yours, the beginning of an erection hard pressed against the skin of your navel. “You haven’t called me that in a good long while, pretty girl..” you closed your eyes, leaning your forehead against his collarbone. His body loomed over you, his lips pressing nips and kisses to the side of your neck. “Say it again, baby..” he bit down softly on the junction of your neck and shoulder, his soapy hands coming down to grip the swell of your ass, kneading it firmly, the washcloth long forgotten, discarded somewhere on the floor.

“I never knew you liked it” his had creeped down to the underside of your thigh, picking your leg up and wrapping it around his waist. He backed you into the shower wall, eyes gazing into yours. His pupils were shot, droplets dripping from his hair, and running down the front of his face. The tip of his dick kissed the skin of your pussy, the firm head of his dick bumping against your clit as he rubbed himself against you. “Anything sounds good coming from your lips” he breathed, and you smiled, placing a sweet kiss right to his collarbone.

Looking down, you watched his length slide back and forth between your thighs, the friction making heat slowly rise in your core, warmth swarming in your chest at the blatant display of his need for you. “Toru, stop teasing me, its fucking hot in here” the heat in the room was frustrating, the steam from the shower and the warmth radiating from his body making you hazy. You didn't know how much longer you could let him tease you. He chuckled breathlessly at your impatience, leaning his forehead against yours. “I got you, baby.” You sighed in satisfaction when he hoisted you up, your back against the wall, his arms supporting you against the slippery surface. He reached down, teasingly rubbing the tip of his dick over your folds, tracing it over your clit a few times, making you whine, squeezing him the best you could with your legs around him.

He groaned, sliding into you. Your warm walls wrapped around him snuggly. Sucking him into your velvety walls, your pussy was a tight fit around his dick. He pumped you so full, your walls fluttered around his girth, thick tip slightly curved up from your position, pressing against your g-spot, the texture of your walls stimulating him perfectly. He rolled his hips in tight circles, slow fucking you, dragging his dick along your walls in a steady rythm. It was hard, not letting himself go and beating your walls loose, especially when you looked so good in his arms, sighing his name with every slow drag of his hips, your head falling on his shoulder, nipping at his neck no doubt marking him up. It was nothing short of heavenly, being right here with you now.

You melted into his arms, closing your eyes in bliss, your breathing picking up with his change of pace. All you could do was call out his name. Your hands searched for something to ground yourself with, pressure building at your core. It was overwhelmingly hot now in the bathroom, his warm body working against yours and the steam from the shower blinding you, making it hard to focus on anything besides the man in front of you. He rocked his hips into you, hitting against the spongy wall of your g-spot. His thrusts were consistent and well-aimed, soft grunts falling from his lips, eyebrows furrowing with effort.

You were crumbling beneath him, hushed curses escaping your lips, raking your nails down his back. The squelching sound of your wet pussy sucking him in was spurring him on, not letting up for a second. You felt yourself flutter around him, his thick dick stretching you open, dragging out moan after moan from your lips. It was sweet torture, the way his pelvis smacked against your ass with every thrust, barley even pulling out to roll back into you. The force of his movements makes you slowly slide down the wall, his arms struggling to hold you up against the slick surface.

“Hold on, baby” he pulled out of you, your legs turning to jelly when he set you down. He turned off the shower, sliding the shower door open. The bathroom was foggy, making it hard not to stumble on your way out and into the bedroom.

He eagerly laid you on the bed, crawling down in between your legs. He eased your knees apart, coming face to face with your pussy, your skin still damp. He happily sighed, languidly lapping up at your folds, sticky with the essence of your arousal. You felt your legs tense on his shoulders, Gojo spreading your thighs apart, holding them open as he tongued you down, burying his face into your pussy.

His lips slurped your clit up, softly sucking on the bud, flicking against it with his tongue. He hummed when your hands found his hair, running your fingers through the damp locs, shuddering when he pressed his nose against the skin of your mound, running his tongue over your folds, continuously coming back up to your clit. His eyes were closed, blissfully eating you out. You whined his name, rocking yourself against his tongue. He was taking his time with you, drinking in every last drop of your leaking arousal. The pressure in your core returned, your body tingling with pleasure.

He could feel you tensing into his mouth, now look up at you with half-lidded eyes. You gasped, feeling him latch his lips around your clit and suckling on it hard, humming against your pussy in satisfaction. Your muscles tightened, a low keen escaping you when you came, your legs closing around his head. He continued to suckle on your bud, flicking the tip of his tongue to grant you extra stimulation. It was like he was on auto-pilot, his lips never leaving your clit, your body convulsing under him, helplessly jerking into his mouth. After a few minutes the overstimulation was getting to be too much for you, weakly you pushed at his forehead, shying away from his mouth on your swollen heat.

He dragged his tongue up your slit one final time, leaning up to press a chaste kiss to your navel, your stomach rising and falling with the labor of your breaths. He propped himself up on his elbows, laying his weight on your body and gazing at you, watching you try and catch your breath.

“You alright, baby?” he asked, looking over your face, his eyes softening at you. You threaded your fingers through his hair, tousling it, smiling down at him, appreciating how handsome he looked when he was so disheveled, his eyes were still unfocused, his chin still glistened with the juices of your orgasm. It made you all the more needy, blood recirculating through your body, clit hardening once more, gazing at him through half lidded eyes. His fucked out look making warmth swell inside you. Your weeping pussy clenched around thin air, the room temperature making your clit all the more sensitive after your orgasm.

“I’m okay, toru.. I just need you right now.” He chuckled, pressing a kiss between the valley of your breasts, one hand coming up to softly knead your flesh, rolling his thumb over your nipple distractedly. “Is that right?” his eyes flitted back to your face, crawling up to be at eye level with you. He leaned forward to brush his lips against yours, hands coming down to spread your legs wider once more. “Yes, toru.. Please..” Your body was still hot from your most recent orgasm, the wetness between your thighs uncomfortably sticky, you could feel his hard length right below you, tip kissing the skin of your mound. “Please? Please what?” His voice was playful, almost teasing, his tone dropping down to a low murmur. You felt hot frustration bubbling up inside you, tired of his relentless teasing and prodding.

“Toru, just fuck me already, please” you pleaded, grabbing the back of his head and slamming his lips onto yours to convey your desperation. Gojo laughed into the kiss, pressing his lips harder against yours, tracing his tongue along your bottom lip. You pulled away, a thin string of saliva connecting you to him, your eyes half lidded, panting with the effort of holding yourself up.

He leaned back, kneeling between your legs for a second, admiring the sight of your sopping cunt in front of him. He almost wanted to lean down and have his fill of you again, to tease you a little longer. But the uncomfortable ache of his dick, that's been hard for much too long, and the look of pure, carnal lust in your eyes persuaded him against it. He hastily grabbed your thighs, dragging you down so that your ass was flush against his thighs, flushed, leaking tip pressed right up against your pussy lips, throbbing with need. He braced himself, pushing into you at an agonizingly slow pace, watching your pussy suck in every last inch he had to offer. Your wet, aching pussy engulfed him, your post orgasm sensitivity making your walls twitch around him. He stayed there for a second, leaning his head back, eyebrows slightly furrowed in bliss.

He allowed a low groan to fall from his lips, moving his hips slowly forward, your walls expanding, fluttering to welcome his girth. He closed his eyes, leaning over your body, folding you in half against his lean build. “I’ve deprived myself of you for so long, baby” he grunted, hips steadily increasing in rhythm, rocking into you, his thrusts well aimed and precise, beating against your g-spot with vigor.

His movements felt so intense, your sensitivity amplifying the sensations he made you feel. There was nothing but static clouding your head, you couldn’t focus on anything but him inside of you, filling you to the brim with dick. It was hard to pay attention to what he was saying, his voice nothing but a murmur to your ears.

“I know i told you to be patient, baby..” you wheezed at a particularly rough thrust, hand coming down to press against his lower stomach “T-toru- ah! Baby, s-slow down” you whimpered, head lolling back when he ground his hips into you, seeing stars in your vision from the white hot pleasure shooting up your spine. “I-i told you to wait for me” he continued, panting, staring at you with half-lidded eyes, working his length into you.

He was slowly losing his mind at the way your body reacted to him. The sounds of your pussy squelching only turning him on. “But i’m tired of waiting, baby.” he slapped your hand away, fucking into you at such a pace you felt like he was gonna split you in two. “You’re mine” he growled, burying himself deep, so deep his pelvis was pressed hard against the hilt of your mound, his fingers coming down to pinch and roll your neglected clit between his fingers, attaching his lips to your neck, biting and sucking his marks into you, solidifying his statement. “Oh my god- Saturo! Fuck, baby, s-s’good” you squealed, shutting your eyes tight, fists gripping the sheets so hard the cover sheet was starting to slip off the mattress. “I know baby, only i get to fuck you like this, you understand?” he grunted, losing himself in the way your walls massaged his length, nothing but pure bliss running through him. The headboard rocked with the force of his thrusts, stroking your walls with a harsh rhythm, the stimulation on your clit sending you into euphoria. “I said.. Do. you. Understand?” he snapped his hips with every word, glaring into your teary eyes. You gasped, nodding your head frantically, too fucked out to even use your words properly. “Y-yes toru-aagh” you spoke in babbles, feeling like you were floating, his fingers on your clit and his thrusts making your soul ascend from your body.

It was all too much at once, your mouth running dry as you came again, body jerking helplessly under Gojo’s weight. Your head is thrown all the way back, tears blurring your vision from the impact of your orgasm. He eased you through it, moaning into your neck as your walls repeatedly constrict and release along his length, a ring of creamy white collecting at his base. His thrusts significantly slowed down, careful not to overwhelm you while chasing his own release.

You felt him spill into you, the warm, running substance of his cum dribbling down your thighs when he pulled out of you. You felt winded, limply laying on the bed– the feeling in your legs long gone, your body exhausted. The bed shifted, Gojo leaving for the bathroom and returning with a small towel, wiping you and himself down, trying to stop the mess between your legs from soiling the sheets.

He flopped down next to you, bringing you into his chest as he always did, bringing the duvet over to cover you. The silence was comfortable, the two of you basking in the afterglow. You spent the rest of the night exchanging soft kisses and sweet words of affection to each other, enjoying your moment of peace together. For once you felt hopeful, no longer afraid to embrace him; and Gojo felt the same, holding you close with care, letting you doze off in his embrace, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat lulling you to sleep.

In the morning, despite your soreness he took you again, and again. In the kitchen, in the living room- in the shower, again. He was addicted to you, to your body. He couldn’t deny the warmth in his chest seeing you fast asleep in his bed, wearing his white button up, the thick duvet shielding you from his view. Yaga had blown your phones up multiple times, but neither of you really cared, enjoying each other’s company, exploring each other’s bodies.

It was then he decided, watching you snuggle up into his sheets, neck littered with bites and blooming bruises– that he would do anything, anything in the world to keep you. Even something as small as picking the phone up when you called.

taglist, requested by these lovely people(I hope you don't mind me tagging you again); @sharycatx3 @fatcatsfallingfromthesky @kalulakunundrum @elilovesall @laviefantasie

@sadmonke @toffeebrat @frozenmallows @ilovebattinson

#❥iloveboysinred #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk smut #gojo satoru smut #gojo smut #gojo x you #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #jjk gojo #x reader

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nenelonomh · 3 months ago

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creative routines

many famous creatives have unique routines that help them stay productive and inspired. here are a few examples:

maya angelou: she would rent a hotel room to write, free from distractions. she worked from early morning until about 2 p.m., then spent the rest of the day relaxing and reviewing her work. (i love the sound of this routine).

ludwig van beethoven: he started his day with a precise coffee routine, counting exactly 60 beans per cup. he composed music in the morning and took long walks in the afternoon.

charles dickens: he wrote from 9 a.m. to 2 p.m. every day, followed by a long walk through london, which he found essential for his creativity.

honoré de balzac: he had an intense routine, writing from 1 a.m. to 8 a.m., taking a nap, and then continuing to write until 4 p.m., fueled by up to 50 cups of coffee a day.

franz kafka: he worked a day job and wrote at night, often staying up until 3 a.m. his insomnia and vivid dreams influenced his writing style.

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obitez · 6 days ago

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Holiday Bets

written for @bucktommywinterfest

Round 3: Holiday Themed Calls

Rating: T Word Count: 1447

Additional Tags: Established Relationship,

Warnings: Canon-typical Emergencies,

Tommy looked down as his phone buzzed again with an incoming text message. He looked down, as he did so, Lucy looked over from where she was sitting from him across the table. “Who is it? Buck again?” she asked. Tommy waved her away. “I didn’t even unlock my phone,” he said. “Let me see what he said before you interrogate me.” “So he did text you?” Lucy asked. Tommy ignored the question, and read the message. Evan: How many calls with X-mas trees do you bet we’ll get? Tommy chuckled reading the message. They had been dating for a little over eight months, and Buck never ceased to surprise him. He typed a message back and hit send. Tommy: What are you talking about?

“So,” Lucy leant forward in the seat she was sitting in. “What’s he talking about that has you laughing?” Tommy held his phone to his chest. “What’s got you wanting to know?” he asked. Lucy narrowed her eyes at him. “Oh come on,” she said. “I know it’s Buck, but he wouldn’t be sending you anything you need to hide from someone while you’re at work.” Tommy chose not to follow up on whatever that statement meant, and instead tried redirecting. “What’s got you so interested?” he asked. “I’ve texted him a lot before here.” She leant back a little then, resting her chin on her hand and studied him. “Maybe I’ve been wanting to question you about what you talk about for months now…”

Tommy’s phone buzzed again, and Lucy lifted an eyebrow as she heard the slight vibration. Tommy quickly looked down to read the message on the lock screen. Evan: Chimney saw a x-mas tree stand this morning and wants… (unlock for more) Before he could unlock his phone to read the actual message, Lucy came around him to look over his shoulder. “So what’s he talking about?” she asked. Tommy knew there would be know winning with her for now, so just unlocked his phone and let him read the texts as he did.

Evan: Chimney saw a x-mas tree stand this morning and wants to make a bet on how many x-mas tree calls well get this year “Oh,” so Lucy hummed. “They’re still making bets over there.” “They never stopped,” Tommy said as he began typing a question. Tommy: are we talking just A-shift or all the 118? It took a couple minutes for Buck to respond, but he did after a couple minutes. Evan: just a-shift “I say six calls,” Lucy’s voice popped into his ear to say. “What?” Tommy asked. “I just read the message,” Lucy said as she walked back around the table to sit in the chair she had vacated. “How many Christmas tree calls are they going to get? I say six.” Tommy rolled his eyes as he texted Buck back. Tommy: I say 8, Lucy says 6

An hour later, Buck texted him again. Evan: +1 - a guy fell carrying a tree into his house and hit his head Tommy knew he shouldn’t laugh at someone’s misfortune, especially when it was bad enough that they needed to call 911, but he let out a little chuckle. No one was around to see or hear it, so if asked, he would deny it. Tommy gave Buck’s message a thumbs up right as their own alarm started sounding. Later that evening, right before the sun started to go down, Buck texted him again. Evan: 2 - another guy fell trying to get his fake tree down from his attic Tommy’s eyebrow lifted at reading that. Two in one day? It was only the first week of December. At this rate Lucy was going to lose big time, so was he. This time he actually wrote Buck a message. Tommy: 2 in one day? How many calls did you bet on?

Evan: I took your advice and bet 8 Evan: Eddie only bet 3, I think he’s going to lose That was the last call, Christmas Tree or otherwise, that the 118 had received that shift, so Tommy didn’t get any more texts. Their next shift, the 118 hadn’t received any Christmas tree related calls at all, but Tommy’s team did. Shortly after 10 a.m. the alarm rang and they were called out for a medevac at a Christmas Tree farm just east of the LA city limits. Dispatch didn’t provide them many details about what was happening on scene, something about one of the workers cutting down a tree and getting hurt by a chainsaw. There were already EMTs on scene providing treatment, but they would need a helicopter transport to get the patient to the hospital if they wanted him treated in time. Tommy wondered if this could be included in the bet. Maybe they would have to start a new one, how many calls involving Christmas Trees will the Harbor team receive this year? That would be a good one, they could make it a competition. “Over there’s the clearing they mentioned,” Lucy pointed at a small grassy clearing about a hundred yards outside of the group of evergreens. Tommy could see the ambulance that had arrived ahead of them. He set the helicopter down, and within ten minutes the patient was loaded and they were on their way to take him to the hospital. When they finally returned to Harbor Station an hour later, Tommy fished his phone out of his pocket to text Buck.

Tommy: Do you want to make a bet on how many Christmas tree calls we’re going to get? Buck texted back less than a minute later. Evan: we’re still ahead of you 😉 Maybe this could just be a thing between him and Buck, Tommy thought. No need to get the others’ opinions on it. Their last shift of the bet was the day before Christmas Eve, they had both gotten lucky this year, that way. So far, the 118 had made 7 calls involving Christmas Trees, none of them had life threatening injuries, thank God, while Harbor had only had that first one.

Evan: One more day to get to 8 calls! Tommy rolled his eyes as he read Buck’s text message as he typed a response. Tommy: Aren’t we not supposed to be wishing for people’s misfortune? Buck: 🙄 we’ll get at least one call today. I just want only one to involve a Christmas tree. Tommy: Be careful what you wish for Be careful what you wish for was right. It was halfway past 11 p.m. when Tommy got another text from Buck. Evan: Can we talk?

The notification from the text message made the screen and bunk Tommy had been trying to get a quick nap in light up. He hummed as he picked the phone up to read it. At this hour, with a message like that, Tommy figured Buck most likely wanted to actually talk, as in on the phone, not through texts. He rolled over and planted his feet on the floor as he got out of the bunk and walked out of the room, not wanting to disturb the others trying to get some rest. Then he brought the phone up to his ear as he listened to it dial Buck’s number. “T- Tommy?” Buck;s voice sounded from the phone speaker. “Hey,” Tommy greeted him. “What’s up? Why’d you want to talk?” Buck was silent for a minute, and Tommy listened to the sound of his breaths, slow and slightly deep. “We… We had a bad call,” Buck finally said. And Tommy waited him out, figuring out the reason Buck wanted to call him. It wasn’t so much he wanted to have a conversation but, he just needed to put the words out there. “It was a house fire…” Buck said. “We got there not even five minutes after the call came in, but the place was fully blazing. It started from the lights on the Christmas Tree,” Buck sucked in a deep breath. “The only good thing was that no one was home. No one was hurt… But they lost their house, Tommy! You should have seen the looks on their faces when they drove down the street to find their place up in flames.” Tommy was silent for a moment, thinking over what he should say. “No one was hurt though, right?” he asked. Buck hummed in confirmation. “Then that’s one good thing. Yes, they lost their house, right before Christmas, but at least no one was inside right?” “Yeah,” Buck repeated. The following morning, no one brought up the results of the bet and who won. It was never mentioned again.

#bucktommy #tommy kinard #evan buckley #bucktommy fic #911 abc #buck tommy winter fest #holiday themes calls

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mimicha-arts · 1 year ago

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Date: 09/13/2023 In my previous post, I wrote that time in s2 is broken and dead. I was curious if this was true for s1, too… For me the main problem of the last month was the dates in the files (character intros), the date of Emma's death + September 9th mentioned in episode 3, so I tried to consider these as related things. I always was confused by April-September thing, I thought that it is a mistake, but. Probably not. So. Let's break down the first episode! It was a deep dive, I'm not sure how real any of this can be, but (c) Let's divide everything into three parts:

Сhronology

It's not about Quede

April is not April

WARNING: SPOILERS

Chronology

April 16, which we see hours later that day. Qiao Ling receives an order from an unknown customer.

The goal is to get financial core data of Quede company. Information has to be obtained by diving in Emma, during the last financial settlement meeting before the release of the financial report, 2 days ago, on the April 14th, photo was posted at 10 pm.

Additionally, it is mentioned that there was an earlier photo, but they start with the most recent one so that the information is not “outdated”.

Events take place from April 16th to 17th in the present for Lu Guang. From April 14th to 15th in the past for Emma and Cheng Xiaoshi.

April 14th: 10:00 pm - start of diving. As Emma, Cheng Xiaoshi lived through the events in the company's office and stayed for overwork.

April 15th: About 2:45 a.m. Emma's parents text to her, Cheng Xiaoshi decided to reply.

9-10 am, morning, the meeting began. A conflict situation occurs, the laptop falls, Emma!Xiaoshi is on the floor. Lu Guang records data from the screen - Cheng Xiaoshi returns to the present time.

Later this day. Somewhere later that day, information about the company is leaked, involved people are arrested (news from April 17th)

Before 10 pm: Emma comes home after this day, she realizes that the situation with Quede is a stain on her career, because she was Mr.Zhu's assistant, there is no way for her to find a job in this field anymore.

Lately she discovers messages (02:48, that Cheng Xiaoshi texted) with her parents - this becomes her motivation for a call. It's the same day, still today (今天）- April 15th. This is the reason why we know that the disclosure of the company's affairs occurred on the same day after the meeting.

After 10 pm, before 10:30 pm Emma goes to the train station but runs into Liu Min, agrees to go with him.

About 10:34 p.m Liu Min attacks Emma.

Somewhere between April 15th and 16th. An accident occurs, Liu Min will be left paralyzed.

April 16: At the moment of dawn, Emma jumps from the bridge.

Later this day, Quede Company was suspended (news from the 17th)

Later, Emma's body is found in the river in the evening (mentioned as "yesterday", news from the 17th)

April 17: present 9-10 am: Lu Guang gives instructions to Xiaoshi, they successfully obtain the information, Xiaoshi returns to the “present” time.” Evening, the same day: We receive information about the disclosure of financial fraud in the past tense until the 17th from the news at the end of the ep. Additional note: in these events, there is another Cheng Xiaoshi from the "future" (events of October 22-23), who hides first in Liu Min's trunk, and then on the bridge with Emma. The chronology of events can be written as follows:

So it's clear - Lu Guang himself receives the necessary information about the company on the 17th at 10 am. By that time, Mr. Zhu had already been arrested 2 days ago and the company's activities had been suspended 1 day ago. Precisely because of financial fraud.

Also his reaction to Emma's death is interesting. Okay, that's a guess, but I always had the feeling that he knew she was dead from the very beginning of the case.

2. It's not about Quede

And so, we know that data about the company and financial fraud were already published on the 15th. The question remains simple - why did the mysterious unnamed client need the data, since he would have received it only on the 17th, after information about the fraud in Quede was already made public before they (the client) offered this task/job. So what other events are happening on nearby dates? They're not in the episode, they're in the characters intro. Obviously, the unknown client was unknown for a reason. As we also know, there is a character (or characters, there are 2 signatures on the documents) who are collecting dossiers on the main trio. There is a high chance that all of this is connected. This event takes place from the 14th to the 17th in total. Date on Qiao Ling's file: april 8th Lu Guang's file: april 10th Cheng Xiaoshi's file: april 12th

Documents for Lu Guang should be destroyed on the 17th, for Xiaoshi - on the 19th. This timing is kinda perfect. In my opinion, this task/job came as part of an "investigation" so that the unknown could better study the process of trio's work, understand the abilities of Cheng Xiaoshi and Lu Guang, probably, what their time limits are. So, yes. If we look at it from this side, this is not about Quede, it is not about financial fraud, it has never been about it. This research is to answer questions about the abilities of Cheng Xiaoshi and Lu Guang that remained on the files.

3. April is not April

April is a lie. Events take place in September. Although it’s more likely that the time has already been broken since the first season, and we technically don’t know which one is correct. Although Lu Guang's watch and documents (character dossiers) point to April, real events cannot possibly take place in April for many reasons.

1. 3rd financial quarter This is the main reason. This is stated in the first episode by Qiao Ling, and should immediately raise questions. The third quarter cannot possibly be April, absolutely. Because the following months are considered the third quarter: July, August, September.

2. News, 3rd ep Qiao Ling listens to the news on her headphones. We are not given a name, but the circumstances are the same - we learn that Emma's "suicide" was most likely a murder. Once again, it's September.

3. Cold weather is coming Emma's parents arrive to bring Emma warm clothes and mention that it is getting colder. If it were April, on the contrary, it would only get hotter, but everything is different when it comes to autumn.

4. Murders I am firmly convinced that the numbering of victims does not correspond to the real chronology. Yes, we know that there were more victims, and Emma was never "first", I mean those cases that were consolidated by the police and are in Xiao Li's documents. We have dates for an early murder in April, Emma being somewhere in the middle of that "break", since she was killed in both “April” and “September”, and there were murders after her, where the month was not indicated. Which once again points to the fact that something is wrong with these two months. Now things are going to get confusing, we consider April like September here. I can't see and understand details, so I'm only able to find the dates, since the numbers can at least be distinguished. Emma is considered the first murder only by number (died "April-September" 16th), but number 4 (Zao Cai, a blond man) died before her, "April-September", 2nd. In the folder, her documents go after his case. I think the fact is that initially the police believed that Emma committed suicide; at first, her case was not classified as a part of a series of murders, so police did not assign a chronological fifth number, but later, with new clues, simply moved her old documents in the "correct" chronological order to fifth place.

This technically makes Emma a 5 case… Or even a 6th. Because case 6 (Nan You) is also not without mysteries. The date of death is 14. I'm not sure why they put her file after Emma. Maybe they're unsure of the date or something and it's just an estimated date? So her date of death also “fell out of space.” But if 14 is correct, then this girl died 2 days earlier than Emma herself, and Emma technically becomes case 6.

The eighth case (Zhao Lin) occurs on 25th. The mystical 7 case is somewhere before that date, but we don't know how much of this is actual April or September.

In addition to mysterious 7th case, we also have 3 other earlier victims. They had to die before "April-September" 2nd, so the time of their death is roughly "March-August". We haven't seen their documents, but we know about their cases because of the photographs (the girl in the pink suit is probably the girl with the dog from ep11, since the BG is the same)

And also Xu Shanshan.

Who technically didn't die due to the time loop, but most likely "died" (since Lu Guang was thrown out) in the original events, which was still visible for Lu Guang in the unaltered photo.

I mentioned this in the post about s2 - the interesting thing is that Xu Shanshan's phone, as shown in s2, does not have a single photo from May to the end of October (current events with unknown date), which is quite. Strange.

All the murders had to happen with the similar style and certain time frame that they could be connected as a series. Given the news about Xu Shanshan: it was written - no new murders had occurred for several weeks (数周未出现新的受害者), which fits the September-October period (s1 ends at October 23). So we know for sure that the last cases with unspecified months should have occurred in September.

So. Obtaining financial information as a goal does not make sense, "someone" studies our main characters at the "perfect time", and all the dates are intertwined and have inaccurate implications. Like, almost half a year was literally “stolen” from time? Or something similar. The dates are so deliberately strange that I am speculating solely that time was broken from this point already, not even in s2 - what happened can only be speculated for now until we are told the background of Lu Guang's story. And who is the real 7th victim if April and September are mixed up, and the time has been “changed”. The funny thing is that everything also connected to the birthdays: April 15th - Cheng Xiaoshi's birthday September 16th - Qian Jin's birthday October 23th - the day Lu Guang was stabbed, exactly before his birthday Maybe I understand something incorrectly and I'm going down the wrong path altogether. No conclusions. My CPU is blown up. Thank you @wrathyforest for discussing this with me, trying to find connections, completing everything with time points, you are the best!

#link click #shiguang dailiren #link click s2 #link click spoilers #I myself died like Emma while writing this #I don't know how many times I rewatched s1 at this point #I need to sleep #mimicha.lc

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frankiefellinlove · 8 months ago

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Bruce’s #1 Fan

By Stan Goldstein

Seven years ago today, May 1, 2017, Bruce Springsteen's "Fan No. 1" Obie passed away. If you don't know who Obie was, she was Bruce's most loyal, dedicated fan. She had the same seat/spot for every show she attended: front-row center (per Bruce's wishes). She closely followed his various bands starting with Child in the late 1960s, eventually becoming his cook and personal assistant (Steve Van Zandt's too) and, most famously, a lifetime front-row-center invitee. In a world in which "superfans" are often infamous, Obie was merely legendary.

There was a memorial service for Obie a few days after she passed at a funeral home in Asbury Park and Bruce gave one of the eulogies. Here's what he said:

Well I'm the guy that Obie spent a big part chunk of her life dedicated to. Being the focus of that attention was pretty challenging very often. Obie was quietly demanding. I didn't know I was going to speak today so I'll just give you some memories I have of O.

First time was at West End Park. We were playing next to Howard's movie theater, and one beautiful summer afternoon, I remember this girl sitting there with the flag around here. So right from the beginning she just looked different from everybody else. Obie was a misfit, outsider, a rebel and didn't look like nobody else, didn't talk like anybody else, didn't think like anybody else. She was just a unique character. And everything that the word fan connotes in all of its myriad, strange, bizarre and wonderful ways. She was a Fan-atic, she was Fan-tastic. She was deeply, deeply dedicated.

Obie's taking more than a few of my secrets with her right now. We lived very, very close to one another for a long time. And I had chicken and grapes! And I had chicken and bananas, chicken and peaches. She covered the fruits and the chicken completely.

What can I say, she was always a heartful soul. She was dedicated to me that if a bullet came my way she would be there to catch it. There was a deep, deep and very personal connection and love. I feel honored to have the seed. And what can I say, I loved Obie a lot. I'm going to miss her very badly when I get out there on the stage, that front and center spot will be empty. We love you O.

To read more about Obie, here's something I wrote that was posted on the Backstreets news page shortly after her death: (Sorry, this is another long post)

REMEMBERING OBIE DZIEDZIC, "FAN NUMBER ONE"

It was about 1:30 a.m. on Sunday, September 23, 2012 at MetLife Stadium in East Rutherford, NJ. Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band's Saturday show had crept into Sunday morning due to delays from thunderstorms, giving the 55,000 fans a chance to celebrate Bruce's actual 63rd birthday with him. A giant birthday cake was brought out, everyone sang "Happy Birthday," and Bruce then cut the cake. He brought the first piece to Obie Dziedzic, who was in her normal spot, front and center.

"The first piece goes to Obie, our first fan, right there, " said Steven Van Zandt.

Bruce followed with, "Obie, we love you. Obie was following us when we were 16. We love you, O!"

It was a special moment, one of hundreds Obie shared with Bruce Springsteen for more than 45 years — actually starting when Bruce was 18, not 16, but it sure seemed that way. Bruce called her his "first fan" and "Fan No. 1."

Obie Dziedzic — pronounced "Je-zitz," to answer a question she was often asked — passed away early Monday morning after being ill for the past couple of months. She was a friend to not only Bruce and the E Street Band, Southside Johnny and the Asbury Jukes, but to musicians and music fans around the world.

Obie, known as "O" to her close friends, grew up in Long Branch, NJ and loved music. She attended tons of shows at Asbury Park's Convention Hall, seeing The Rolling Stones, The Doors, The Who, and so many more in the 1960s. But it was one afternoon in 1969 at Long Branch's West End Park, which is still there today at the corner of Brighton and Ocean avenues, that she first saw the young musician who would change her life forever.

"There he was, this Adonis," Obie once told me. It was a then-18-year-old Bruce Springsteen leading the band Child.

Obie saw rock and roll future even before Jon Landau. Right away, she was drawn to this talented, handsome musician and made sure to see him perform anywhere and everywhere. Later when Bruce was in Steel Mill, Obie would bring pizzas to the surfboard factory in Ocean Township, NJ, where they were living. Yet she was too shy to stick around until she got to know Carl "Tinker" West, Steel Mill's manager, who befriended her. Soon she was friends with Springsteen, Van Zandt, Vini Lopez, Danny Federici, and many other musicians. She attended every Steel Mill show she could, standing in line for hours to make sure she was at the front of the stage.

Obie was a fixture at the Upstage in Asbury Park. She later saw Dr. Zoom and the Sonic Boom, and she was there the night Clarence Clemons walked into the Student Prince in Asbury Park to play with Bruce for the first time in 1971. She would drive Bruce to those Student Prince gigs too, although she said on Saturday nights she did have to watch The Mary Tyler Moore Show first.

Driving around the Jersey Shore with Obie was always a treat, as she had so many stories to share. "See that there? It used to be a Carvel," she said, pointing to a building on Ocean Avenue in Long Branch. "That's the place where Bruce told me he had his first album coming out. Garry Tallent used to live in those apartments right across the street." When Greetings from Asbury Park, N.J. was released in January of 1973, Obie found an autographed copy left for her on her doorstep.

When Bruce started to tour with the E Street Band in the early 1970s, playing some theaters, Bruce made sure she was still always up front, promising her, "Obie, whenever and wherever I play, you will always have the two front-row center seats." It was a promise Bruce always honored, for more than 40 years. When Bruce and the E Street Band used a general admission setup on the floor, his security director made sure Obie was in her normal front-row spot. She always wanted to be on the same side as Bruce and Steve.

She had one firm rule. She did not want Bruce to know she was at a show. She wanted to surprise him when he took the stage. At the April 20, 2016 show in Baltimore that I was fortunate to attend with her, we made a little bet on how long it would take Bruce to see her. It was one of Obie's first show since that 2012 birthday show. I said second song; she said not until a few songs in. We were both wrong. When Bruce took the stage, he made eye contact with her immediately. A huge smile lit up his face. It was a thrill to watch this bond between the two of them. You can hear Bruce give many shout-outs to Obie on the live recordings from over the years.

Bruce's former tour manager Bob Chirmside shared this post on Facebook:

For the five years I worked on the road with Bruce Springsteen as his road manager we held two front row tickets for Obie at every show. And I mean every show! Promoters knew better than to screw this up. Everywhere from Philly to San Diego those two seats were held by Bruce according to his wishes and the band's rider. It was always good to see Obie in those seats, and it put a smile on Bruce's face having a special someone to play to. Bruce couldn't have asked for a more loving fan. But Obie was much, much more than a fan. During the time I lived with Bruce, Obie altered and sewed his clothes, did errands, and made Bruce his meals. Obie took incredible care of him. Obie loved Bruce and got to see a side of him that few of us rarely do. On a side note. If you're wondering what happened to the front row tickets if Obie didn't attend. Well, 15 minutes before the show began, I quickly exited the venue and gave the tickets to someone that wasn't able to buy tickets. Most people couldn't believe it was for real. It felt good to put smiles on faces. Thank you Obie for the good memories!

"She was hired by Steven first. He needed an assistant at Miami Productions, and he hired her in 1975 when the Jukes got signed and recorded their first LP," said Billy Smith, a historian and Obie's longtime friend. "Steve needed someone at home in Asbury Park to run things while he was touring with Bruce. While she followed Bruce's tours as a friend/fan from the beginning, she didn't work for Bruce until the Darkness tour in 1978. On the road she did everything: coordinated guest tickets, sewed their clothes, cooked, etc. Anything that needed doing, she did it. A personal assistant to everyone."

If you listen to Southside Johnny's live version of "Having a Party," you'll hear the line, "Obie's doing the twist."

Not only did Obie help out Bruce, Steven, and Southside, she was there for John Eddie, John Cafferty and the Beaver Brown Band and others when they were first starting out. She was a fixture on the Jersey Shore bar scene in the 1970s and '80s and always, always friendly to fans. You could go right up to Obie and talk about music, Bruce, Southside. She was also close friends with Peter Wolf.

When the discussion comes up as to who has seen the most Bruce shows outside of Bruce himself, the answer is pretty easy: Obie. She was there for all 10 nights of the legendary Bottom Line shows in August of 1975. She even drove Bruce to some of those shows. "We hit traffic on Route 36 in Eatontown headed out toward the Parkway and I was a mess," Obie told me. "But Bruce was as calm as could be."

Obie, who lived for the past 16 years in Neptune, New Jersey, never gave an interview; her loyalty was 100 percent to Bruce. She was never, ever going to say anything which might upset him. She had, however, been working on a book, which sadly will never be written now. I was fortunate to have her read to me some of the stories that she was going to include. They were a delight to hear: How she and Bruce would go to the drive-in movie theater In Eatontown, New Jersey, and put a sofa in the back of his white pickup truck and sit back and enjoy the night. Another was when she was helping Bruce move into a house on Navesink River Road in Middletown in the early 1980s — she swears she saw and talked to a ghost!

Bruce mentioned Obie in his recent autobiography, Born to Run. He told the story how she was with him and Steve and Maureen Van Zandt when they weren't allowed in Disneyland or Knott's Berry Farm in the early 1980s because Bruce and Steve were wearing bandanas.

He also gave Obie credit for helping him select one of two versions he had of "Racing in the Street." Bruce told this story before playing it at the April 22, 2005 Devils & Dust show at the Paramount Theatre in Asbury Park:

I had two different endings. I'm going to dedicate this to you tonight, Obie. My oldest fan is here tonight and I love her very much. This is Obie Dziedzic — a round of applause, the woman's been around since forever.There were two people that actually helped me with writing the end of this song, and Obie was one of them. I had an ending where there's the two guys, but I had another ending where a woman enters the picture, and I played 'em both for Obie.Obie said, "I like the one with the girl." I said, "Okay, that's that." Then I played one for Steve, and Steve says, "Well, the one with the girl is what really happens. You got your pals and got the boys' club, and it lasts for a while, and you try to play down all the homoerotic stuff."I'm gonna do this tonight for Obie. I love you, and thanks for the help.

Bruce told a similar story in the 2010 documentary The Promise: The Making of Darkness on the Edge of Town, in which you can also spot Obie at the 58:49 mark.

There are so many good things to say and write about Obie — the tributes have been pouring in on social media — one of the best is from photographer Lynn Goldsmith. Obie told me this was the best description about her devotion to Bruce that she ever read about herself. To those who had the privilege to know her, it describes her perfectly:

"The girl with her head down is Obie," Goldsmith wrote, describing her 1978 photograph of Springsteen collapsing into an overjoyed crowd. "She was Bruce's biggest fan. She was there when they couldn't sell out a small club. She devoted herself free of charge to washing their clothes and doing whatever needed to be done. She did not get paid except with front row seats and the joy of knowing that she was making it easier for Bruce to be Bruce with her unconditional love. I wished I could have been like her. She inspired me because she was able to give with no strings attached. She gave freely because she believed in the power of love."

Obie was able to see several shows in the spring and summer of 2016. She was at both Brooklyn shows in April and attended all three MetLife Stadium shows in August. Her final show was on September 14, 2016 at Gillette Stadium in Foxborough, Massachusetts. Looking back, it may be fitting this was her last concert, as she told me, "That was the best Bruce Springsteen show I have ever seen."

The final time Obie got to see Bruce on stage was at his conversation with Bob Santelli at Monmouth University in West Long Branch, New Jersey, on Jan. 10, 2017. After the talk, Obie saw that Bruce's coffee cup was still on the little table on the stage. She said to me, "Get that for me!" and I was able to have someone hand it to me. I gave it to Obie. She had one more souvenir. One of the organizers of the event later said to me, "We noticed one of the cups was missing!"

Soon after that, Obie started to not feel well, and she was in and out of the hospital for a couple of months. Bruce, Steve and Maureen, John Eddie and many others made sure to visit her. Once when I checked in at the desk to get a pass to see her at Jersey Shore University Hospital in Neptune, the guard asked me, "Are you famous? It seems everyone who has been going up to see this patient is famous."

He was wrong. It was Obie who was famous.

Right now she's sitting in the front row in heaven, watching Danny and Clarence play away.

#bruce springsteen #big man #Obie Dziedzic

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mixtape127 · 8 months ago

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worlds colliding ☆ pt.1

genre : non!idol mark lee x male reader, college au, ennemies to lovers ?

summary : what if you - kinda - had to save the world and Mark was your sidekick ? or — you need to give out fliers for a class, and Mark doesn't care about "global warming."

warnings : strong language, mark is kind of a douchebag but i swear he's sweet, not proofread yet

words : 1.6k

notes : i love this story sm, it's been in my drafts for so long and it was supposed to be about p1harmony, but i like it with mark too ! might make it in more than just 2 parts if you guys enjoy it as much as i do ! and btw, english isn't my native language, so i really do hope i actually wrote well and if i made dumb mistakes, i'm sorry :((

currently listening to :

"thank you, please look forward to it !" y/n says, bowing multiple times, a smile enlightening his face, watching the group of students walk away with fliers in his hands. "i hope to see you there tomorrow !"

it must have been around 9:40 a.m., a chilly morning for a spring day. the sun was shining, the clouds were absent. the green leaves were showing, some still falling on the grass of the campus park. the students in short sleeves were out again, and the jocks were taking advantage of the cooler weather to work out outside. y/n looked up, his eyes squinting in the bright sunlight. he felt cold, his bones shaking. his poor denim jacket did not cover his bare arms, and his jeans with holes in them did not provide any warmth either. he smiled to himself, seeing some birds migrating elsewhere, formed into a triangle.

he blinked a few times, returning to his emotionless face, before continuing to approach some of the students in groups to give them the rest of his fliers. but none of them seemed interested, and y/n began to lose hope. his business professor had made it clear that if he couldn't get at least 20 students to donate, his semester was over. this was his last chance, and he wasn't about to let it go. his displeasure gradually began to show, the creases in his face deepening. the more people walked around him, the more his hands tightened around his fliers. it's one thing for them not to be interested, but for them to ignore him like this is another.

for a moment there was a flutter, no one was coming out or going in. he took the opportunity to catch his breath, closing his eyes.

"one... two... three..." he whispered to himself, focusing on the soft whistle of the wind.

when he opened them again, he saw a figure facing him approaching the doors of the art building behind him. y/n thought to himself that this was fate, that this boy was almost arriving with a glittering halo of light behind him, signifying y/n's last chance. he took this opportunity and approached the guy, feeling confident.

"hey, how's it going? i'm handing out fliers about globa-..."

a brief gust of wind caressed the skin of his face. again, no response. the boy stalked his way, his headphones screwed to his ears, only giving y/n a small glance. he stood there, watching the boy's back as he walked away. he finally admitted to himself that this time, his pride had been shattered into a thousand pieces, and someone had come to trample it right after. he noted in a corner of his head that he didn't like the idea at all. but it was without realizing it that his legs responded alone, quickly approaching the young black-haired student. he patted him on the shoulder vigorously and handed him the previously crumpled paper in his hands when the latter turned around.

Mark, on his side, put on a bewildered face, one eyebrow raised. he was sure that he had deliberately ignored this boy just a few seconds ago. his day was not starting very well. his dog had chewed on his last pair of freshly bought shoes, his roommate — Donghyuck — had finished his favourite cereal and the hot water had been turned off on his floor. then finally his bus... never came, so he set out to walk to the university, realizing halfway there that his wireless headphones were out of battery. he'd wasted about ten minutes buying wired ones just to survive the rest of the day. and it was also at that very moment, coming out of the convenience store, that he promised himself he'd keep a spare pair of headphones in the bottom of his bag, just in case.

he took out one of his headphones, and uttered an extremely nonchalant "what? i'm late." he didn't mean to sound mean or disapproving, but the day was already taking its toll on him. he almost wondered what kind of people were picking on him so much, and for what reason? had he been too mean to the salesman last night, when he asked him to get out of the store because Mark was singing EXO's music at the top of his lungs? was he too dismissive of his singing teacher when she told him to stop doing 'too much'? and then, what do you mean 'too much'? Mark really didn't like that word, even less when it described his singing.

y/n, on the other hand, waved the paper in front of his nose. he was frustrated with his morning, especially with the way people responded to him. and especially the way Mark said 'what'. he wondered why people were in such a bad mood in the morning. he let out a breath to regain his composure before starting.

"before you cut me off, i think taking this won't hurt you. i'm really passionate about this cause, so i will give you this flier. and if i have to shove it down your throat, i'll do it." he pressed the piece of paper against the boy's chest in front of him. "thank you, and have a great day."

y/n bowed before rotating drastically, turning his back on Mark. he put his hand on his heart, which was now pounding in his chest. not because the black-haired boy was a living god, but because he felt he was getting carried away and tangled up in his words. how people see him matters a lot to him, even if he doesn't talk about it much. and he knew that this interaction was going to play over and over in his head tonight and keep him awake.

"what a fucking weirdo..." Mark muttered once y/n was far enough away.

he clutched the flier in his hands before resuming his journey to his class, which was really about to start. what do you mean 'i'll shove it down your throat'? he shook his head from left to right, pushed open the door and quickly dashed down the left corridor, hitting someone in the shoulder on his way.

Mark hardly turned around, just to give a weak look to the brown man who was bending while getting lost in excuses, and he took a quick walk to room 208. once in front of it, he opened the door and quickly sneaked to his place, at the back left of the room, managing to pass out of the radar of his teacher, who hadn't even noticed his absence until then.

once seated, he took out some of his things, not forgetting his bottle of fresh orange juice, something he bought every Tuesday morning to give himself luck during that long day. Tuesdays were never really his days, always bad and gloomy. he wasn't superstitious, but if Tuesdays could disappear completely, his world would be much better.

as he took his notebook out of his backpack, the flier given to him by y/n slid silently to the ground. Mark bent down to pick it up, not failing to roll his eyes as he placed it back on the table. but his eyes were drawn to a large headline.

"THE WORLD IS SLOWLY ENDING, BUT YOU'RE THE HERO, RIGHT?"

he chuckled silently, before turning the paper over to see the back, finding that there was nothing written on it, and crumpled it up in his hand before tossing it into his backpack. saving the world was not in his plans. not today.

maybe tomorrow... who knows? and he did. he saved y/n's world, in some sort of way the day right after.

"it will serve you better than me."

y/n blinked a few times, frowning in front of his phone, which was playing a summer song, although outside, it was raining damn heavily. he wondered if the voice came from someone talking to a friend behind him, or from his headphones. but the whistle sound in his right ear brought him back to reality. he let out a faint "i'm not a fucking dog-" before looking at the umbrella someone was holding upon his head, then at a guy with brown hair. it takes some time for y/n to connect the dots — maybe because of some sort of poor eyesight — but when he does, his mouth opens up wide.

"you're the guy from yesterday that said "what" so nonchalantly it made my day way worse than it was already !"

Mark rolled his eyes. "i'm trying to save the world, being a hero, i'm landing you my umbrella." with a devilish grin, he removes the umbrella from above y/n's head. "but if you want, i can leave too."

"i'm surprised you read that flier you hated so much." he mutters.

y/n did not know if he should accept, but after all, it won't kill him and it will keep him from getting sick. even though he loved hanging out in bed instead of going to class, getting sick was one of the things he hated the most.

"thanks a lot... um... what's your name?"

"Mark."

he took the umbrella and put it over his head while nodding, repeating Mark's name quietly like he was getting used to it. their eyes met again before Mark got swept away by Donghyuck's reminder that the bus was there and it wouldn't wait for them. he let himself be swept away, and a minute later, y/n's silhouette evaporated in the distance, through the mist on the bus windows.

Mark was lost in thought. and he noticed that his name sounded pretty coming out of y/n's mouth.

#Spotify #nct #kpop #kpop x reader #kpop x male reader #mark lee x reader #mark lee x male reader #nct 127 #nct dream #nct x male reader #mark lee #mark nct #mark is a bad boy #and we live for it #mark lee x y/n #haechan

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i-amm-mj · 1 year ago

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Convenience. Part 2. Angst to Fluff.

A/N: I just wrote this and didn´t check anything, but please, enjoy it.

Part 1 here

Katsuki was confused to say the least. He didn´t know why you acted that way. He knew you wanted to get married someday, so why did you reject him? Was it him? You didn´t want to get married with him?

He didn´t know what to do when you just got up from the chair and left the restaurant murmuring a little “I´m sorry.” He tried to go after you, asked you why you did what you did, didn´t you love him? but he ended up just seeing you pass through the door and into the dark street outside while sobbing hard, completely frozen on his place.

When the public embarrassment and the shock ceased, he called his mom. Mitsuki was as confused as him. She had known you for three years and she knew you loved his son with all your heart. She couldn´t help him understand why you acted like that, so she suggested him going to see you and ask you personally. That´s how he ended up knocking at your door at 3:00 a.m., when you were probably asleep.

He knocked once, then twice. You didn´t answer the door. He knew you were in, so he insisted, knocking harder.

“Y/N, open the damn door, I know you are there” he said with an annoyed tone though he wasn´t annoyed but worried about you “Please...” he begged. No response.

“I don´t know what happened... just... please just fucking talk to me! We can fix whatever made you act that way” he spoke. Nothing...

“Oh, for fuck’s sake! just open the damn door or I’m gonna have to enter forcing the window!” he raised his tone a little. Not to threaten you or something, just out of pure frustration.

He then heard you unlocking the door. When he saw you, with your puffy eyes his heart broke. You didn´t want to look him in the eye.

“Hey...” he whispered. You just sobbed.

“Can I come in?” he asked softly, trying to not pressure you too much.

You just left the door open and turned away. He followed you, closing the door behind him.

“Are you okay?” he tested the waters “Listen, it wasn´t my intention to make you mad or uncomfortable... I just thought that it was the right time, that you wanted to marry me as much as I want to marry you. I´m sorry”

You looked at him and your eyes watered “I know the true Katsuki. Please don´t try to fool me.”

“What do you mean?” his face contorted into confusion again.

“Katsuki... don´t make say it, you know what I’m talking about...” you said, irritated with his little act.

“I honestly don´t know.”

“Oh my god, you are so cruel to me Bakugo! Why are you doing this to me?”

“I´m Bakugo now, huh?” he felt offended.

“Don´t change the subject!” you sobbed.

“Fuck, I’m telling you I don´t know what the hell are you talking about!” he started to feel angry. You had never been like this, you always have communicated him your needs, worries or whatever comes to your mind. Why were you acting like this? “Whatever that asshole of a manager I have had told you, just ignore him!”

You huffed. He took two steps towards you “Or was it something you read or saw in the news? You know those bastards are liars” You were silenced.

“Talk to me! I can´t read your mind, that´s not my fucking quirk!”

“Stop shouting! You know I hate it!” you started crying. His muscles tensed and relaxed in less than a second, realizing that the less you needed in these moments was him being aggressive.

“I´m sorry...” he approached you slowly. He tried to hug you, but you flinched, he stops and said with the sweetest voice he could “Babe, just... tell me what happened. I honestly don´t know and it´s killing me...”

You saw him in the eye for the first time that morning but backed off, ashamed. He took the opportunity to embrace you and this time you didn´t reject him, the other way around, you relaxed into his arms and started crying. He patted your head the way you like him to do it and spoke softly on your ear “Talk to me, beautiful...”

“I heard you talking with Kirishima...” you said, still crying “You said you didn´t wanna get married to me.”

He separated a little from you to look at your face “When?”

“A few days ago,” you sighed. He tried to remember... and then he realized and laughed softly, you pouted...

“I wasn´t talking about you...” he caressed your cheek with one his hands.

“Who were you talking about then?”

“Camie...” he answered “I read some shit on the internet about me marrying her and Kirishima and I made fun of it” you sobbed again, feeling dumb.

“And what about the Top 3?”

“What about it?” he asked genuinely confused.

“You said you didn´t want to get married before you got there.”

“That was two years ago” he smirked “Plans change, you change my mind about it” Your eyes watered again and started crying again “I can get to top three being a married man too.”

“You are not using me to get there?” you asked shyly.

“I would never!” He furrowed his brows. You hid your face on his chest “Listen, Y/N... I want to honestly marry you, ok?” he started “I love you... I never have loved anyone like I love you. This was just a misunderstanding. I would never use to get anything because you are precious to me. I would never hurt you.”

“I´m so sorry, Kats” he kissed your head.

“It´s ok, beautiful. Everything´s ok now”

“You are mad at me, aren´t you?”

“No, I´m not...” he took your face in his hands and wiped your tears.

“I´m sorry...” you repeated, not being able to control your crying.

“Hey, hey, it´s ok” he pecked your lips “This is gonna be a fun history to tell our kids” You smiled, and he mirrored it.

“You still wanna marry me? After the public humiliation”

“I couldn´t fucking care less about what those extras say about me.”

“I ruined it all...” you said sadly.

“No, you didn´t...” he murmured separating himself from you and checking all his pockets “I actually came in here in hopes we could fix everything...” He showed you the same ring he had offered you at the restaurant. He then kneeled “Y/N L/N, will you marry me?”

You covered your face with giggling. He thought it was the cutest thing he´d ever seen. You nodded.

“I wanna heard it.”

“Yes! Yes, Katsuki! I wanna marry you!” he put the ring on your finger and got up to hug you and kiss you.

“I love you, Y/N. You don´t know how much I love you.”

“I love you too, Katsuki, I can´t wait to marry you” you kissed him this time. He didn´t broke the kiss though, the other way around, he deepened it pushing his tongue into your mouth. You moaned.

“I can´t wait to call you my wife” he stated “I can´t wait to make a mommy either...” he lifted you from the floor and started walking towards your room...

#bnha bakugou #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugou angst #bakugou fluff #bakugo smut #bakugou imagine #katsuki bakugo smut #katsuki x y/n #katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugo mha

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ramblingsfromthytruly · 3 months ago

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"You'll not always be motivated so you have to be disciplined."

day 29+30+31/50 productivity challenge - condensing 3 days into 1 post cuz of 2 all nighters in a row i- dw tho cuz i did sleep a couple of hours in between here & there.. still genuinely dunno how i survived. learn from my mistakes & don't procrastinate cuz that's the only reason i was stuck in this mess

23rd September 2024, Monday

[almost nobody from my class actually went to school (& i'm not an exception) cuz tuesday's a study break & wednesday's our chem exam]

💤: 8 hrs - i mean ig at least that's one plus side of sleeping in?

🕒 1 p.m.- *sigh*

afternoon morning skincare

duolingo

practiced playing keyboard

did some college-related research

gradblr intro post

took bath

studied + made notes chemistry ch: structure of atom (not fully)

did so much planning fml (not good, not good at all, i procrastinated a lot!!)

did an exercise video

🚰: 4 glasses

24th September 2024, Tuesday

[study break day]

🕒 6:30 a.m. - my "night" is over & the day has begun

morning skincare

revised chemistry ch: some basic concepts of chemistry

🕒 12 - 3 p.m. - napped

duolingo

had a mental breakdown, pathetically cried, felt like a failure, etc

studied chemistry ch: structure of atom

took bath

night skincare

packed bag for tmr

🕒 10 p.m. - 12 a.m. - napped

🚰: 3 glasses

25th September 2024, Wednesday

[chem exam]

studied chemistry ch: classification of elements and periodicity in properties

studied chemistry ch: chemical bonding and molecular structure

morning skincare

quickly wrote down all formulae + important values

🕒 8 a.m. - left for school sleep deprived asf but caffeinated & motivated to get through the terrible exam

chemistry exam: i will be in deep shit when results come out *sigh* obviously i'm not happy when my friends do bad but only one comfort is that we're in shit together (they're literally the only 2 ppl i talk to in school). i NEED to do well on all my other exams, like somehow make an extraordinary improvement to show that i'm good with the other subjects and will just prioritize studying chem in the future. also made a deal with my mom that if i get above 83% overall then i'll finally get my own tab and headphones. we've been meaning to buy it for some time now, and my mom agreed only because my first tests' marks was at 64% (cuz i didn't study..). not exactly an "academic weapon" just yet.. only yet hopefully..

🕒 1-5 p.m. - came back home & slept like a log (no one's surprised)

(re) planned my day

took bath

ate my first meal of the day (how did i survive till here with just a coffee before school??)

played chess online (lost once, won once)

planned week after dussehra break

night skincare

decided to take a break today & wake up early tmr to start anew; i.e. operation proper sleep every night is green!

🕒 12 a.m. - went to bed finally

🚰: 4 glasses

🎧: a beautiful ravenclaw-themed playlist on youtube

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violetsarepurple-fuckyou · 3 days ago

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Merthur Week 2024 - Day Four: "what is that?!" + humor

@merthurweek2024

Wrote half of this at like 4 in the morning several years ago and the other half in 30 minutes in the bathroom tonight. It is terrible and I had lots of fun writing it <3

3 A.M. on a Tuesday in Camelot (1185 words) by violetsarefuckingpurple Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Merlin (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin) Characters: Merlin (Merlin), Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Nameless Assassin Girlboss/Girlfail Additional Tags: Crack, Pure Crack, Literally just sillies, Canon Era, Magic Revealed, Canon Atypical "I let them swear", Copious f-bombs, Bickering, severely unedited Summary: What it says on the tin honestly. In an effort to save Uther from an assassin, Merlin reveals his magic to Arthur. What follows is a very serious argument held entirely in whispers in the middle of the night. Merthur Week 2024: Day Four: “what is that?!” + humor

#merthurweek2024 #merthur #bbc merlin #merlin #arthur pendragon

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hwatermelons · 2 years ago

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ateez ⋆ one day at a time

⋆ 24 hours of drabbles with ateez. they are not connected to each other! ⋆ 1.2k words ⋆ bf!ateez x gn!reader ⋆ tooth-rotting fluff, a little angst (hongjoong, yeosang) ⋆ warnings: slightly suggestive (wooyoung) ⋆ a/n: lowkey wrote yeosang's based on what i'd want someone to do for me;; help

╭──────────────────────────.★..─╮

[3:07 a.m. <snooze - agust d>]

mingi jolts upright, looking around frantically, trying to determine if he’s still stuck in the nightmare. his eyes fall on your warm figure snoring lightly next to him, and his gaze immediately softens. he sighs in relief, knowing that at least you're safe in real life. as he lets himself lay back down, he gently puts an arm around you and snuggles up to you from behind, never intending to let you go again.

⋆ "don't ever scare me like that again, my angel." ⋆

[7:24 a.m. <ateez - aurora>]

san pulls you in for more cuddles, burying his face in your chest. you would've gladly stayed there for the next few hours, but there was a slight problem: you were deadly ticklish. you try to pull away unsuccessfully a couple times but eventually give in, not in any small part because of how calming his morning voice is. he could say anything with that voice and you'd give him whatever he asked for, even if it meant painfully stifling your laughter until he was satisfied.

⋆ "let's sleep in," he mumbles, "the world can wait a little longer to see your beautiful face today." ⋆

[8:52 a.m. <ateez - if without you>]

seonghwa is making you both breakfast. when you awoke, you half expected to still be wrapped in his arms where you fell asleep last night, the two of you further enveloped in a blanket burrito against the cold. instead, the smell of the eggs cooking draws you into the kitchen, still half asleep. there, you see him expertly cracking the next egg into the pan with one hand. he smiles somewhat boastfully as he sees you come in, staring in disbelief at the perfectly halved eggshell.

⋆ “it was a trick my mother taught me. i can show you, if you’d like.” ⋆

[1:02 p.m. <ateez - light>]

you and yunho are out on a lunch date, taking a walk in the dog park and enjoying the breezy day after having some slightly overpriced yet delicious gourmet sandwiches at the family-owned cafe down the street. as you sip your iced tea taken to-go from the restaurant, you notice that every dog seems to want to approach yunho. he smiles back at you sheepishly, he can't help that they all seem to like him (and you can't blame them, either.) you both stop to pet all of them and eventually end up laying in the grass under the shade of a tree, breathing in the scent of freshly turned earth and contemplating the addition of a new family member:

⋆ "should we get a dog ourselves next time?" ⋆

[3:33 p.m. <christopher - bad>]

wooyoung took you shopping at the mall, and he just came out of the fitting room for the sixth time with a new outfit. it doesn't bother you, since you had just changed into your fourth in the room next to him a couple minutes ago. you and him both insist on only buying entire outfits at a time, never settling for a single good piece that didn't go with the rest of the clothes you had. just as you're about to suggest how that jacket would be much better on him in red than in black, he suddenly pulls you into his stall and closes the door without warning, a shit-eating grin on his face.

⋆ "how do i look, babe?" ⋆

[4:17 p.m. <hongjoong - draw and draw>]

you decided to follow hongjoong into the studio today. he'd promised to take you on a tour recently, and you were curious about the place where he spent so many of his waking (and what should've been his sleeping) hours. you both have an insightful conversation with the edenary team about what it's like to be a professional producer, since writing and producing music had once been a hobby of yours and you were familiar with some of the equipment and techniques, impressing hongjoong. he knew you'd made a couple songs but didn't really know how much you were interested in this. also, he hadn't pushed you about those songs because he was afraid they might be too personal to you. he knew from firsthand experience how making music could be a deeply emotional experience, and that those songs were the result of many nights spent aching alone in your room years ago. but after your studio date, he decides to take a risk:

⋆ "you know, i would love to hear some of your old songs, if you're willing to show me." ⋆

[10:22 p.m. <mr. kitty - after dark>]

you had noticed yeosang looking a little overwhelmed at today's fanmeet. his professional smile had seemed to be fixed on his face and he had hardly spoken a word once they got out. and when you asked him if he wanted to go to the usual place, his only answer was a nod. the skate park is completely empty at this time, and you watch in awe as yeosang pulls tricks that make it seem like he's flying against the backdrop of stars. out here, he seems to release all his worries to the cool night breeze, his concentration fully on his feet, the rises and dips in the concrete, and the board he's trusting his life to between them. unnoticed, you slip away to the fried chicken shop a couple blocks from the park, knowing the owners will greet you with a meaningful smile as you and yeosang had come here countless times before. tonight, however, the restaurant is packed with students enjoying some fast food for a weeknight dinner, and you want to save yeosang the trouble. when he sees you returning with the chicken, the corners of his mouth immediately pull upward and he almost looks like he's holding back tears. he holds it inside, but he wants to thank you for everything, for noticing how he felt today, for offering to come to the skate park with him, for knowing what he needed without him having to ask, because you know he would never want to put anything on your shoulders. but you don't need all of those words to understand, so he doesn't say all of that, because you already know. and for that, he will forever be grateful.

⋆ "thank you." ⋆

[11:17 pm <ateez - one day at a time>]

the night has just begun at the coin karaoke you brought jongho to, and you're smiling ear to ear as he shows to you with each passing moment that this was the perfect place to bring him for valentine's day. singing was your absolute favorite thing in the world, and even though you couldn't hit the high notes as flawlessly as he did, you're both on top of the world as you belt out the lyrics to everything from ballads to musicals to rock. you already know all the rap parts to the songs you both chose by heart, and have a lot of fun almost outrapping top names in the industry. jongho teaches you the dance moves to some classic girl group songs, and you giggling at him only motivates him to dance even harder. around 2 a.m., you both end the night on a beautiful, familiar melody:

⋆ " when it's overwhelming, hold on tight i'll be here, don't forget it, cause in life, sometimes you need a helping hand, you'll be alright, just take it slow, one day at a time." ⋆

╰─..★.──────────────────────────╯

⋆ likes/reblogs appreciated ⋆ do not repost ⋆

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sundeathh · 2 years ago

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Aizawa’s sick day. Part II

- The following day -

Part 1 here | Masterlist

Pairing: Aizawa × Reader | Word count: 1,8 K

Fandom: BNHA | MHA | Tags: reverse comfort, home life, romance, fluffy & cute, SFW

CW: Sickness (nothing too disturbing). Also: stable relationship, cheesy stuff, married couple dynamics.

A/N: Since y'all liked it so much, I wrote part II! If it still gets enough love, then maybe I can even extend it to a III part!

06:15 A.M.

The tantalizing aroma of sizzling eggs and the rich, fragrant scent of freshly brewed coffee enveloped the cozy kitchen. Sunlight pours through the window, casting a warm glow on the countertops as you move deftly, orchestrating the morning routine.

With a soft sigh, you carefully reach for the coffee pot, savoring the anticipation of that first sip. And when the final few drops trickle into your favorite mug, releasing an intoxicating aroma that dances in the air, you glance around, your eyes landing on a sturdy black mug, Aizawa's favorite – sitting on the kitchen counter. As you take it, your mind fills with a familiar sense of home, as it holds memories of countless mornings; filled with warmth and shared moments.

The coffee machine's soft hum subsides as you switch it off after pouring his cup, bringing a serene, calm atmosphere to the room; just then, the low rumble of footsteps draws nearer, interrupting your reverie. You turn to find Shōta, your beloved, emerging from the hallway. His sleep-ruffled hair and tired eyes still carry an undeniable charm – that you cannot resist.

The corners of his lips curl into a soft smile as he catches you in his sight, his presence bringing an extra dose of comfort to the already cozy kitchen.

“Good morning sleepy cat” you greet, watching as he approaches your figure with a warm embrace. He nuzzles into your neck, mumbling something back; that you assume is a “good morning”.

His embrace lingers, filling you with a sense of love and contentment, and after a long moment, you gently pull away, keeping a hand on his arm as you gaze into his tired but adoring eyes. A soft smile graces your lips as you take in his disheveled appearance, a testament to his late nights spent protecting the city.

"Did you sleep well?" you ask, your voice filled with genuine concern.

Aizawa lets out a small yawn – his tiredness evident. "Not as much as I would have liked," he admits, his voice husky yet filled with warmth. "But waking up to you makes it all worth it."

The sincerity in his words warms your heart, and you can't help but feel a surge of affection for this man who dedicates himself so selflessly to his work and you. You reach upward and brush a stray lock of hair from his face, your touch gentle and reassuring.

"Well, then, let's make sure you have a good breakfast before heading out," you say, guiding him to the table set with the delicious spread you've prepared. As either of you took a seat, the comforting silence of the morning wrapped around you, a testament to the easy companionship you both share.

However, you can't help but notice a hint of fatigue still lingering in Aizawa's eyes and the slight paleness of his complexion. Concerned, you reach out and place a hand on his forehead, checking for any lingering signs of the fever from the night before.

"Are you feeling any better, Shōta?" you ask softly, your voice filled with genuine worry. "Considering the fever you had last night."

Aizawa leans into your touch, appreciating your care. He lets out a small sigh and offers you a tired smile. "I'm still a little worn out, but the fever broke during the night," he replies, his voice raspy yet filled with gratitude. "Thanks to your care, I'm feeling much better already."

Relief washes over you as you hear his words, but you still can't help but be mindful of his well-being. "Take it easy today, okay? Try not to push yourself too hard." you gently remind him, your concern evident in your voice.

He nods, his gaze locked with yours, his appreciation shining through. "I promise," he assures you. "But first, let's enjoy this delicious breakfast you've prepared. It's the perfect way to start the day."

With a smile, you both settle into the meal, savoring the flavors and each other's company before the morning would stretch ahead.

02:21 P.M.

The morning hours passed by in a steady rhythm, the quiet hum of daily routines filling the air. After bidding farewell to Aizawa as he left for work, you found yourself immersed in your own activities, though thoughts of him lingered in the back of your mind.

As the day progressed, you occasionally glanced at your phone, expecting a call or message from Aizawa. His promise to let you know if he felt unwell weighed on your thoughts, and a mild sense of concern gnawed at you. However, the minutes turned into hours, and still, no communication came from him.

With each passing hour, your worry grew, and you couldn't shake off the nagging feeling that something might be amiss. Was he too busy to reach out? Had something unexpected happened? A thousand possibilities raced through your mind, but none offered any solace.

Just when you were about to decide to reach out to him, your phone rang, jolting you from your thoughts. You eagerly grabbed it, hoping it was Aizawa on the other end. However, the caller ID displayed the name of one of his coworkers instead.

Curiosity mingled with concern as you answered the call. "Nemuri?" you greeted, your voice slightly strained with worry.

"Hey, is this Aizawa's partner?" came Nemuri's voice from the other end. There was a hint of urgency in her tone.

"Yes, it is," you replied, your voice tense with worry. "Is everything alright? I was expecting him to call."

There was a brief pause on the other end, and then Nemuri spoke again, her voice filled with concern. "I'm sorry to worry you, but something unexpected happened. Aizawa started showing signs of severe fatigue and dizziness during the training class we taught today. He said he was okay, but I doubted it. So I thought it would be best to contact you."

Your heart sank, a wave of concern washing over you. "Is he okay now? Should I come and pick him up?"

"Nah, don't worry about that," Nemuri reassured you. "We've got it covered. We insisted on taking him to Recovery Girl for a check-up; just to be safe. He's in good hands now."

Relief washed over you, mixed with lingering worry. "Thank you for letting me know. Please keep me updated on his condition, if you don’t mind."

"Absolutely," Nemuri replied. "I'll keep you in the loop. Take care, okay? Aizawa will be back on his feet in no time."

You thanked Nemuri for the update and ended the call. Although relieved that it wasn't a severe emergency, your concern for Aizawa deepened. You pondered the signs of fatigue and dizziness he must have shown at work, silently wishing he had reached out earlier so you could have been there for him sooner.

03:34 P.M.

Minutes turned into an agonizing wait as you anxiously awaited news about Aizawa's condition. Just when you were about to pack your belongings to head over to U.A., overwhelmed by worry, your phone rang, signaling an incoming call.

With relief and anticipation, you swiftly answered, hoping to hear Aizawa's voice on the other end. "Hello?" you greeted, concern evident in your voice.

And you did. Aizawa's tired but familiar voice came through the line, bringing you comfort but also worry.

"Hey," he said, his voice slightly hoarse. "I wanted to let you know that I'm at Recovery Girl's infirmary. It turns out I have a severe case of the flu."

Your heart sank upon hearing the news, but you were grateful he got medical attention. "Oh God, are you going to be okay?" you asked, your voice laced with genuine concern.

"Yeah, Recovery Girl is taking care of me," Aizawa replied, his tone filled with gratitude. "She's provided treatment to alleviate the symptoms, but I'll need some rest to recover fully."

Relief washed over you, knowing that he was in capable hands. "I'm glad you're getting the care you need," you said; in a reassuring voice. "Please take it easy and focus on getting better."

There was a pause on the other end, followed by a soft sigh. "I will," Aizawa responded. "But I wanted to hear your voice and let you know that I'm okay. I didn’t want you to be concerned."

A small smile tugged at your lips, even though he couldn't see it. "Sorry, but I've been worried about you anyways. Nemuri called me earlier to inform me about you. I was wondering why you didn’t call me sooner.” You mentioned; feeling a small twinge of disappointment.

Aizawa let out a sigh on the other end of the line. "I'm sorry I didn't call you sooner," he admitted, his voice filled with remorse. "I thought I could handle it on my own, but things got worse during the training class."

"It's okay, Shōta," you reassured him, your voice gentle yet firm. “Take care. I'll be here when you're ready to come home."

There was a brief pause before he spoke again, his voice softening. "Thank you," he murmured. "I appreciate your support more than you know.

You could hear the fatigue in his voice – and it only deepened your concern. "Are you in pain? Is there anything I can do for you?"

Aizawa's voice carried a hint of exhaustion as he replied, "I'm not in too much pain, just feeling drained. Recovery Girl has given me some medication. It should help with the symptoms. As for what you can do, your voice alone is already comforting."

You couldn't help but smile at his words, grateful you could provide solace even from a distance. "I'm glad to hear that.” You said. “Just remember to follow Recovery Girl's advice and take it easy. Your health is the most important thing right now, okay?”

"I will," Aizawa assured you. "I'll do my best to rest and recover quickly. I don't want to worry you any further."

"I appreciate your determination," you replied with a giggle. "But seriously, please don't hesitate to reach out if you need anything. I'm here for you, Shōta."

Aizawa's voice softened, filled with appreciation. "Thank you for always being there for me," he said sincerely, "Thank you for everything." He whispered.

The warmth in his words made your heart swell. "You don't have to thank me, Shōta. I love you." You replied, your voice filled with affection. "I'll be counting down the moments until you're back home. For now, focus on getting better. Recovery Girl will take good care of you."

"I'll make sure to rest and recover properly," he promised. “And I love you too. Can’t wait to get home.” He answered, his voice carrying a mix of exhaustion and tenderness.

"Take all the time you need," you said softly. "I'll be right here when you return.”

Then, you bid Aizawa a gentle goodbye, a sense of both longing and determination filling your heart, ready to support him every step of the way.

Likes, reblogs and comments are appreciated! Check the fixed post for requests & more details!

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matttgirlies · 7 months ago

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Matt & Me🎀

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24

a story heavily based on Priscilla Presley’s Book “Elvis & Me” based in the 1950’s - 1970’s.

fem! reader x singer! matt

disclaimer!! - in no way am i saying matt would ever support or do these kind of things, for the sake of the book certain unethical things do happen at times.

warnings - mentions of drugs

y/nn = your nickname for any confusion🩷

Chapter 22

I had just walked into the living room where I found Matt and James arguing about Colonel William. “Goddamn, Dad, call and tell him we’re through. Tear up the goddamn contracts and I’ll pay him whatever percentage we owe him.”

“Listen, Son. Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Goddamn right I am. I hate what I’m doing and I’m goddamn bored.”

Matt stomped out the front door, never returning that evening nor the following few. We were mystified. For the first time he was traveling alone—without even one bodyguard. Matt didn’t even know his own phone number; nor did he carry cash. How was he going to get around? Arrangements had always been made for him.

According to Jerry Schilling, Matt caught a commercial plane to Washington, D.C., with the intention of meeting President Nixon. When he arrived he had a sudden reaction to penicillin he had taken for a bad cold and decided to fly to L.A. He called during a stopover in Dallas, asking Jerry to meet him at LAX with a doctor. He wanted treatments for the reaction. Matt rested two days in Los Angeles and then continued his journey back to Washington, D.C., along with Jerry and a fivehundred-dollar check that Jerry arranged to have cashed.

During the flight Matt befriended a young soldier just returning from Vietnam. The soldier must have told him his life story. Before the plane landed Matt asked Jerry for the five hundred dollars and handed it over to the young man, wishing him good luck. Jerry said, “Matt, that’s all we have.” Matt responded with, “Yeah, but he needs it worse than I do, Schilling.”

Later in the flight, he asked the stewardess for a pen and some paper. Matt was never much of a letter writer, but he now wrote President Nixon a letter explaining how he could assist the youth of today in getting off drugs. It was an impassioned plea, mistakes hastily scratched out and corrected as he poured out his thoughts.

Jerry arranged for a limo to pick them up at the airport and drive them to the White House. It was 6:30 a.m. and Matt was dressed in black, including his black cape, sunglasses, his large gold International belt, and a cane. He approached the gate looking, as Jerry put it, like Dracula. His face was a bit swollen, and Jerry feared that his appearance would arouse suspicion.

As soon as Matt explained who he was and that he had a message for the President, he was promised the letter would be given to President Nixon by nine that morning. Matt then had Jerry arrange for him to see John Finlator, Deputy Narcotics Director in Washington. Matt truly wanted to help kids get off street drugs. Another purpose of Matt’s trip was to try to acquire a Federal Narcotics badge for himself.

Matt was an avid badge collector. He had detective, police, and sheriff badges from all over the nation and the narc badge represented some kind of ultimate power to him. In Matt’s mind that badge would give him the right to carry any prescribed drug he had on his person. The badge would also give Matt and his Boston Mafia the right to carry arms. With the Federal Narcotics badge he could legally enter any country both wearing guns and carrying any drugs he wished.

His obsession with obtaining this badge was triggered by a private eye named John O’Grady whom Matt had hired to handle a paternity suit. O’Grady showed Matt his Federal Narc badge, and Matt’s mind started clicking immediately: How could he get one himself?

John O’Grady mentioned that John Finlator was the man Matt should see.

Matt told Jerry to wait at the hotel in case the President called while Matt himself went to see Finlator. Within an hour, Jerry received a call from Matt, saying that his request had been denied by Finlator. Jerry was surprised at Matt’s emotional state. He sounded near tears when he said, “He won’t let me have the badge.” Jerry was able to lift his spirits by telling him he’d just received a call from the White House. “The President read your letter and wants to see you in twenty minutes.”

Walking into the White House was no easy feat, even for Matt Sturniolo. The guards were friendly but cautious as they checked him out. Jerry too was searched before entering the Oval Office along with Sonny West, whom Jerry had called to join them. Sonny had been mystified by the call and was awestruck when he realized he was about to meet the President of the United States.

Matt was led separately into the Oval Office. Jerry and Sonny were told they had to wait outside, though there was some slight chance they’d meet the President later. According to Jerry, they were brought into the Oval Office in less than a minute. Jerry knew that if there was a way to get them in, Matt would do it, and he had come through. Not even the President was immune to his charm.

When Jerry and Sonny entered they saw that Matt had made himself right at home. He introduced everyone and encouraged the President to give Jerry and Sonny cuff links, and was not shy in asking for mementos to take home to their wives. By the time he left the Oval Office he had added this most important badge to his collection. He emerged smiling, a different Matt from the one who a few hours before was emotionally upset. Nixon overruled Finlator’s decision and had the badge sent to the Oval Office, where he could present it to Matt.

The argument about Colonel that started this escapade was never mentioned again.

Our marriage was now part-time. He wanted freedom to come and go as he pleased—and he did. When he was home, he was attentive and loving as father and husband. But it was clearly understood that I was mainly responsible for the parenting of Charlotte.

An incident occurred which made me realize that I needed to spend more time with Charlotte. She, Matt, and I were about to sit for a family portrait. I was dressing her while her nurse combed her hair. Then, as I started for the set, Charlotte refused to go with me. “What’s the matter?” I asked. “Come on, honey.”

“No, no,” she kept saying, hanging on to her nurse. When she started to cry, I got nervous and short-tempered, taking her by the hand and urging, as if a child could decipher my logic, “But you’ve got to be happy Char! You’re going to take pictures with Mommy and Daddy.”

Each shot was an effort as we tried to coax her to laugh. For a moment we would be successful but then tears would reappear. She even cried sitting on her daddy’s lap as I bribed her with toys and little dolls to get a smile.

That’s when it hit me. My God, she’s so attached to the nurse that she doesn’t want to leave her. Now I knew I had to find more time to be with her. She had been affected by my own predicament. Busy centering my life around Matt, even during his absences, I had neglected not only my needs but my daughter’s as well.

I was torn between the two of them. When he was home I wanted to be with him, without other responsibilities, but I also wanted to be with Charlotte, knowing how much she needed me.

I began taking Charlotte to parks, afternoon parties, and daily swimming lessons at the YWCA, and I convinced myself that soon I’d no longer have to fake it with toys and lollipops and ice cream cones to get her to smile at me.

She would sit between Matt and me at the dinner table, squeezing spinach through her hands and smearing it on her face. Matt tried to convince himself that he found all this adorable, but the fact of the matter was that he was finicky about his food. With a goodnatured laugh he would excuse himself, telling the maid, “We’ll be eating in the den. Char will join us after she’s finished playing with her meal.”

When Matt was away from home, which unfortunately was most of the time in those days, I continued to dispatch my regular care packages full of pictures and home movies documenting every inch of Charlotte’s growth. When he was with us, I encouraged him to participate in Easter-egg hunts and other outings, inviting Nate, Amber, their children, and other family friends to join us.

Charlotte and I visited him in Vegas for her birthdays, having huge parties in the suite, where she received everything from slot machines to two Saint Bernard puppies (a gift of Colonel William’s) to an entire room filled with balloons—everything, in short, a two- or threeyear-old shouldn’t have and couldn’t appreciate.

It was important to me that Matt be home for Mother’s Day and Father’s Day, but he’d invariably call and say he couldn’t make it, then try to compensate by bringing home extravagant gifts like a marble jewel box filled with diamond rings, necklaces, and earrings, or a whole wardrobe of handpicked designer clothes from a boutique in Vegas. But that wasn’t the point. I didn’t want the furs and jewels—I had all I could possibly use—I just wanted him home. It was a constant effort, single-handedly trying to keep up family traditions.

Although Matt much preferred to spoil Charlotte, he did discipline her from time to time. Once he paddled her for writing all over a beautiful velvet couch with crayons. Then he immediately went into a panic, wanting me to assure him that he’d done the right thing and that Charlotte wouldn’t hold it against him. When I told him, “If you hadn’t spanked her, I’d have,” he felt better. The only other time he touched her in anger was after we’d repeatedly warned her not to go near the pool and she did.

By the time Charlotte was four, she realized she could manipulate the help. Whenever one of them refused to do something for her, she’d threaten, “I’m gonna tell my daddy and you’re going to get fired.” Since none of them wanted her going to Matt, they’d let her get her way, from staying up until all hours and skipping nightly baths to staying home from school. The result was that Charlotte had trouble learning what was right and wrong and what she could and couldn’t do.

“You don’t treat people that way,” I told her. “It’s abusive. Yes, they work for your father. But you don’t go around threatening them.” Used to seeing people jump at her father’s command, Charlotte took years to overcome this habit.

Since Matt had started performing again, our home on Hillcrest had become so public that we could scarcely get in and out of the drive. Photographers actually concealed themselves in our backyard, making their presence known at the most inopportune moments. Once, we were relaxing at the pool, sunbathing, when I leaned over and gave Matt a lingering kiss. He whispered, “What’s that noise? Shhh, be quiet. Sonny! Jerry! It’s a goddamn camera clicking off!” Matt jumped up and they all headed after the poor man, Matt leading, shouting obscenities and threats. This was one member of the press who I’m sure never returned.

In our three years on Hillcrest, we’d gradually outgrown the house. Charlotte and her nurse shared one room, Charlie had the other, and Patsy and Gee and their new baby occupied the cottage out back. Matt felt we needed more room; he wanted Sonny on call and close by. Discussions about a new home took on a new urgency.

When a couple of old regulars, broke and jobless, showed up at our door, Matt took pity on them and put them up in our living room. I awoke in the early morning to the sound of blaring music and found the two had passed out from drinking Jack Daniel’s and Coke. Half-empty glasses were strewn about the room and ashes littered the carpet. I felt my home was being turned into a boarding house.

“They have no respect for anything,” I complained to Matt later that day. “What if they fall asleep with cigarettes in their hands? We’ll all go up in flames. How long do you intend for them to stay?” I was making no secret of my disapproval. “I don’t want Charlotte around this.”

“You’re right, Honey. Maybe I’ll just head out for Palm Springs tonight.”

The search for a new home led us to Holmby Hills, an exclusive area of sprawling estates between Bel Air and Beverly Hills. We found a traditional two-story house, well-situated on a hill, surrounded by two acres of wellmanicured lawns and orange groves. It was larger than our other Los Angeles homes, with a high fence and forbidding gates to assure our privacy.

I had hoped that this home would redirect his attention to the family and that his weekends away in Palm Springs would now be spent with us. He had his own office, his own den, his own game room, his own theater, a breakfast room for private meals, and a dining room for family and friends. It was my intention to decorate this home exclusively to his liking, with ideas carried over from the Hillcrest house, which had been his favorite.

The house cost around $335,000, a little over the budget that we had in mind. With some persistence on our part, James warily let me hire a professional to help furnish it. This would be the first house I’d decorated from scratch and I found it tremendously exciting—having plans drawn up, choosing color schemes, fabrics, wall coverings, and antiques. I loved hunting for special pieces of furniture: a china cabinet that concealed a television set, old trunks to be used as coffee tables, and antique vases to convert into lamps. I was so excited with the project that I persuaded Matt not to look at the preliminary stages and to wait until everything was completed. Decorating became my passion. I found the challenge so absorbing that I was able to forget my worries over our relationship. Instead of pondering my loneliness, I was engaged in constructive work that required all the flair, imagination, and organizational ability I could summon.

At this time another fulfilling and liberating force entered my life—karate. It had been Matt’s love and hobby for years, and when I first took it up, it was just another of my efforts to get his attention and approval, as in the past when I’d enrolled in French classes because he liked the language, took flamenco dancing because he was an aficionado, and ballet because he adored dancers’ bodies.

He had long admired kung fu expert Ed Parker, whom he’d met years ago. I began taking private lessons under Ed’s guidance three times a week. I soon learned there was much more to this art than violence. It was a philosophy. I became even more involved when Matt cheered my progress.

On our return to Boston, he slept throughout the day and I enrolled in another oriental discipline, the Korean art of Tae Kwan Do. I became as obsessive as Matt in dedicating myself to this art. A mandatory requirement was memorizing forms, katas, and stances in the Korean language as well as learning the history of Tae Kwan Do.

The training was incredibly exacting. Over and over we’d execute the same movement until perfected. Perspiration poured into my eyes and yet, if I wiped it away, it would mean one hundred pushups under the watchful eyes of the entire classroom, a humiliation I did not desire and managed to avoid.

Now I could understand Matt’s enslavement to karate. It was an accomplishment, an achievement of confidence and physical mastery of self. In 1972, while Matt was performing in Vegas, I met one of the top karate experts in the United States at the time, Mike Stone. On this particular evening he was acting bodyguard to a prominent record producer. After the show they came to visit Matt backstage. Everyone was more impressed with Stone than with the boisterous tycoon he was protecting. Matt was complimentary and he, Sonny, and Red had numerous questions. Several years earlier we had watched Stone at a tournament in Hawaii and we’d admired his fighting technique.

Later that evening, up in the Imperial Suite, Matt encouraged me to train with Mike. “He has that killer quality. Nothing on two legs can beat him. I’ve been impressed with him since the first time I saw him fight. He’s a real badass—I like the cat’s style.”

Back in Los Angeles I made arrangements with Mike to drive out to his studio later in the week and sit in on one of his classes. It was a long forty-five-minute drive.

Elvis was right. Mike exuded confidence and style, as well as a good deal of personal charm and wit. A deep friendship would develop. Because of the distance, I decided to continue my training with a friend of his, Chuck Norris, who had a studio closer to my home. Mike would sometimes come to Chuck’s studio as a guest trainer.

I was emerging from Elvis’s closed world, becoming aware of how sheltered my existence had been. Mike and Chuck introduced me to popular Japanese martial-arts films such as the Blind Swordsman series, and with Mike I attended karate tournaments locally and in neighboring counties, taking home movies and still photos of top karate fighters. I wanted to capture their individual styles so I could share them with Elvis, hoping this was something we could enjoy in common. In the end, though, I made a whole new circle of friends with whom I felt accepted for myself. The martial arts gave me such confidence and assurance that I began to experience my feelings and express my emotions as never before. Accustomed to suppressing my anger, I could honestly vent it now without the fear of accusations or explosions. I stopped apologizing for my opinions and laughing at jokes I didn’t find amusing. A transformation had begun in which fear and indifference had no place. Along with this new confidence, off came my false eyelashes and heavy makeup, the jewels and flashy clothes. All devices that I’d depended upon for security I now shed.

I was seeing myself for the first time, and it was going to take a while for me to get used to the image. I had a chance to observe marriages outside our immediate circle, where the woman had just as much say as a man in everyday decisions and long-term goals. I was confronted with the harsh realization that living the way I had for so long was very unnatural and detrimental to my well-being. My relationship with Mike had now developed into an affair.

Excerpt from: "Elvis and Me" by Priscilla Beaulieu Presley. Scribd. This material may be protected by copyright.

a/n - i feel like u guys will kill me after the next chapter.. all im saying is get ur tissues!🎀

#matthew sturn #matt stuniolo fanfic #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo edit #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo imagine #sturniolo smut #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo x reader #nick sturniolo #Spotify

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monikafilefan · 11 months ago

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Jingle Bells and Jealousy 1

I realized I never shared my newest fic I wrote on Christmas Eve here. There’s 2 chapters: 1 in Mulder’s pov and 2 in Scully’s.

Have yourself a merry little Christmas

Let your heart be light

From now on, our troubles will be out of sight

Mulder scoffs as he draws the final insidious lines onto the smiling image of Santa Claus in front of him.

“Better,” he chuckles wryly.

The black ballpoint’s ink bleeds through the red and white dessert plate where the now new and improved Santa stares up at him. He blows cookie crumbs and remnants of pecan pie off his paper plate to get a good look at his masterpiece. The cookies were bland, but the pie hit the spot.

He feels overdressed and uncomfortable next to coworkers in ugly Christmas sweaters surrounded by tinsel by the pound. Good pie just might be the highlight of the night, Mulder muses sourly.

In a surprising turn of events while wrapping up a post X-File department budget meeting with Skinner this morning, Scully had confirmed that, yes, she was planning to attend the Bureau’s annual Christmas party for the first time in a long time. Mulder almost laughed at her joke — seeing as how they’d both agreed years ago that holiday parties could only serve to further ridicule their spooky department of two — before Skinner boldly stated that he’d hoped to see her there with her plus one. And to Mulder’s utter shock, Scully had blushed, avoided his probing gaze, and nodded. Scully had a date? His jaw had clenched so hard his teeth hurt. From there, Mulder’s plans to spend a quiet Christmas break on his couch with his pretty partner and a carton of Beijing beef had crumbled quicker than the pie crust now littering his lap.

Through the years, we all will be together

If the fates allow

Sinatra croons about fated happiness throughout the Hoover’s reception hall as Mulder slumps further in his seat. He’s only been here a half an hour and already regrets coming. The only plus side is that Diana and Spender are out of town on a case — an X-File, and aren’t here to silently mock his bullpen misery. If Scully hadn’t dropped a last minute bomb about attending this bureaucratic shindig, he sure as hell wouldn’t have either. Should have saved himself the embarrassment, he knows. He should’ve gone for a run instead of stewing in his apartment for three hours before changing his mind and frantically dusting off his tux he didn’t need for front row seats to a waking nightmare cheerfully playing out in front of him.

He isn’t sure his heart can handle what his eyes cannot get enough of: Dana Scully is absolutely gorgeous. Though, she’s always been pretty to him. Even when she emerges from her one star motel room at five a.m., sleepy-eyed and grumpy, rolling her eyes at his new case glee, Fox Mulder is wholly enamored.

But now… Christ. It must be his sorrow kicking him while he’s down again, because Scully has never been more beautiful. The green, form fitting cashmere cardigan looks so good on her with its top two buttons undone and something red and lacy peeking out underneath. It’s festive, flirty. The fine lines of her collarbones rise and fall in time with her shoulders as she sips her wine amongst the crowd. But her luminous appearance is hardly the attribute that attracts him to his partner the most. Her mind, her stubbornness, her heart… all of her has made him fall foolishly and dangerously in love.

And she looks happy without him.

Mulder sighs, sick to his stomach. He doesn’t deserve her attention anyway. His attitude pretty much proved that in the bullpen earlier tonight…

They leave the meeting with Skinner in a blur as Mulder silently reels at the implication of Scully dating, feeling the invisible noose of self-deprecation squeezing tighter.

“I thought you were going to conveniently miss that budget meeting,” Scully comments when they enter the nearly empty bullpen. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Where you, go I go,” he casually admits, trying not to sound as possessive as he feels right now. Because it’s the truth and the promise he’d silently made on his knees as he’d sobbed by her bedside in the Oncology ward.

She huffs a laugh. “Is that an early New Year’s resolution?”

“Not really new.” Mulder flops down in his chair and contemplates further, watching her fiddling with the mess on his tiny desk. He wants to just ask if she’s seeing someone. If she’s finally gotten sick of his shit and moved on, but for the first time in his life, he isn’t sure he wants the truth. “So you’ve decided to attend the Christmas party this year?”

Scully stops stacking files of neglected background checks and gives him a meaningful look. “I have.”

“You don’t think this is just another way to punish us, or you, if you go?” He whispers while pointing a pencil toward Kersh’s office across the hall. “You know how they operate up here.”

“Does enjoying a little Christmas music and conversation really seem like discipline to you?”

“Yes,” he says immediately.

“There’s pie,” she teases, pulling his discarded invitation he never read from the recycling bin and sliding it enticingly across the desk.

As much as he is itching to know more about her party plans, playing cool, calm, and collected feels less desperate. So he feigns disinterest and shrugs, “You know I’m picky about pie.”

Scully cocks her head and crosses her arms. “There’s me.”

“And you’re standing right here like always,” he offhandedly adds, hating his forced indifference more with every dismissive word that rolls off his tongue.

“Like always,” she mumbles. And out of the corner of his eye, he sees her shoulders slump, her arms falling limply to her sides. “Where I go, you go, but not if it includes socializing above subterranean territory?”

Something about the snide way she says that irritates him. Scully’s been just as pissed off about their reassignment to shit duty as he is and has never complained about being in the bowels of the basement with him. Not once.

Whatever reign he’d had on his internal turmoil snaps.

He spins around in his chair and points the pencil at her accusingly. “Am I too much of a loner for you now, is that why you’re bringing a plus one?” he hisses. “A date?”

“Excuse me?” A wave of anger rises within her sea blue eyes. Brow arched, she opens her mouth to rip him a new one he definitely deserves, but then seemingly reconsiders within earshot of others, tilting her head instead. “So what if I am?” she prods, sharp as a scalpel.

It’s unfair, he knows. His agitation and accusation. She’s never mentioned dating anyone before. Has never given him a reason to ask if she was, but the sudden white-hot flare of jealousy in his chest hurts more than her “oh brother” response to his recent love confession than he could have imagined.

Scully is staring at him like she wants to shove him against a wall and choke him with his tie. Mulder’s gut twists.

He tosses the pencil and stands. “Scully, I’m sorr-”

She holds up a halting hand.

“I’m going to the party tonight, Mulder.” Her voice is soft, a little shaky. “With or without you.”

Before Mulder can say another word, Scully turns on her heel and walks out of the bullpen, leaving him alone with a lump in his throat.

Now, Mulder’s heart hammers in time with the beat of the “Little Drummer Boy” echoing off the Bureau’s walls.

He had thought he could handle this soul-crushing feeling of heartbreak when he’d decided to come. He’d told himself he could push his own feelings aside for Scully’s happiness and show up to prove to her he’s really not a hermit intentionally holding her back in life. To remind her that he will do any thing for her. But now, confronted with the reality of her hand caressing another man’s forearm in a room riddled with mistletoe, he finds the sight of it is like a tabloid headline at a gas station checkout people are too ashamed to buy but can’t help indulging in a quick flip-through. Goddammit! His fists clench along the snowflake tablecloth. Like a train wreck, he cannot look away.

“Devil horns on Santa Claus, Mulder?” A.D. Skinner scolds wearily from over his shoulder.

Mulder startles and tears his eyes away from the woman he loves. He should have known he couldn’t wallow at a party in peace. “It’s Krampus, sir.”

“Looks about as cheerful as you do,” Skinner retorts.

Mulder pushes his defiled plate aside. “If I hear one more song about old Saint Nick, I might stuff my ears with marshmallows.”

“As much as you may deserve it after blowing the quarterly budget; again, a party isn’t a punishment, Mulder. Even when you’re off the files.”

The increasing ache in Mulder’s chest disagrees.

“You sound like Scully.”

“Then maybe you should listen.” Skinner nods toward Scully at the opposite side of the room. She’s smiling brightly as the same good-looking agent with dark skin and a gleaming grin hands her a glass of wine. “Agent Scully seems to be enjoying herself.”

“She deserves it,” Mulder mumbles moodily, doing a piss-poor job of ignoring the green-eyed Grinch gnawing a hole in his gut. And it doesn’t make it any less true, his closest, most cherished friend deserves the best.

“She’s said the same thing about you, you know,” Skinner huffs and shakes his head. The twinkling lights decorating the reception hall reflect off his boss’s scalp like a skin-colored disco ball. “Go on, show your tux a good time. Drink some eggnog, make some bullpen buddies. You know, live a little.”

“Dunno, Skinman. Sounds like a bad idea to me.”

“Jesus, Mulder.” Skinner reaches over and snags one of the bundles of mistletoe taped to the hall’s wall and shoves it into Mulder's palm. “Here, consider it my gift to you.”

“Uh,” Mulder blinks. “You shouldn’t have, sir.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” Skinner rolls his eyes and pokes at the plastic flower. “For your partner. You know, the woman who — by some miracle, insists on defending you at every turn over the last six years. The same woman I overheard decline multiple dance offers already because of you.”

“How much punch have you had, sir? Because I saw Tom Colton pour a bottle of Jim Beam in there earlier.” Still, his hopeful eyes scan the crowd in search of Scully’s beckoning ones. But her back is turned, her date brazenly tucking a loose tendril of hair behind her ear. Mulder’s heart sinks to his shoes. “She couldn’t have said that about me.”

“Does she really have to?” Skinner asks incredulously.

Mulder tsks and flicks a stray chocolate chip across the table. “Considering she’s here with someone else and has ignored me since I walked in, I’d say so.”

“Well, even I know when your partner’s annoyed with you. More than usual, anyway.” Mulder can only shrug at the big man’s statement. He’s not wrong. “You didn’t tell her you were coming, did you?”

“No, I wasn’t planning to show up at all. Not until-” Mulder stops and groans, his last vestige of hope fading faster than his will to be here.

“Until you were you and jumped to conclusions without supporting evidence? Can’t say I’m surprised.”

“The supporting evidence is currently palming my partner’s back,” Mulder grumbles under his breath as dark thoughts invade his brain. “You heard her in your office,” he says loud enough for Skinner to hear this time. “She’d planned to bring a date before I even knew she was coming.”

Skinner side eyes him. “How do you know she wasn’t talking about you?”

Mulder ponders that prospect as the festive music makes his head pound. He and Scully are in an emotional stalemate as of late. Both treading lightly, trying not to hurt each other, and he fears he's doing a shit job of it. It’s been a domino of disasters between Antarctica and his heated hallway confession, being booted from the files, the Diana debacle, and with Kersh breathing down their necks more and more has undoubtedly tugged hard on their tethered partnership. Mulder would be lying if he said he isn’t worried about losing her more than ever.

“Look, Scully and I are friends,” he responds solemnly. “Best friends. And yeah, I… well, you seem to already know,” he admits in defeat. Somehow, Mulder isn’t embarrassed to confess the unplatonic pull toward his partner to Skinner. His endless love for Scully is practically screaming at this point. “But I’m me. And she…”

“You’re too smart to be this stupid,” Skinner mutters, exasperated.

“Hey,” Mulder scoffs. “She has a date who looks to be the exact kind of man her family would love to see sweep her off her feet. Anyway, I don’t ever want to be the reason she can’t have what makes her happy.”

“For Christ’s sake, Mulder,” Skinner leans down close. “Last month Agent Scully put her ass — and mine — on the line without a second thought to rescue yours from the Bermuda Triangle for a reason. And that’s just one of the recent stunts she's pulled that could’ve cost her her job, and her life. The crazy thing is, I don’t think she cares as long as you’re by her side in the end.”

Mulder clears his rapidly thickening throat to speak, but Skinner shoots him his Shut The Hell Up And Listen look.

“And you’re sulking?” Skinner continues, chuckling to himself. “I know you’re angry about your reassignment. Rightfully so, but now is not the time to show it. You’ve gone head to head with Cancer Man, jumped off a bridge and onto a moving train — and whatever other insane things you’ve done behind my back, let alone Kersh’s, so I know you’re brave enough to haul your ass across this room and enjoy yourself.”

Mulder can’t help but smirk. “Now that’s a pep talk.”

Skinner loosens his candy cane striped tie as his eyes search the crowded room.

“I’ve never known two people so irritatingly stubborn in my life. Consider this my gift to you. Go ask Agent Scully to dance, and apologize for… well, everything, and use that mistletoe for God’s sake.” He slaps a heavy hand on Mulder’s shoulder and gives it a squeeze. “She’s waiting for you to pull your head out of your ass. Don’t blow it.”

Mulder’s mouth hangs open as the A.D. saunters off through the crowd with an unusual pep in his step. If Mulder didn’t know better, he’d think his boss just offered him fatherly advice. He scrubs his hands over his eyes and catches a familiar flash of red hair across the room, feeling a rush of renewed bravery take hold. The big man is right. What the hell is he doing torturing himself instead of seeking out the reason he’s come here?

He wipes the crumbs from his lap and weaves his way through the throng of buzzed and festive Feds. It looks like Kris Kringle threw up Christmas itself here. There are decorations everywhere. As Mulder rounds a corner to follow Scully out into the hallway, an upbeat song blares through the speaker near his ear.

Jingle bell, jingle bell, jingle bell rock

Jingle bells chime in jingle bell time

A group of women in red velvet and green lace bump into him and ask him to dance, tell him how good he looks in a tux, but Mulder doesn’t care. Not when Scully is fifteen feet in front of him, talking awfully close with the man Mulder now recognizes as another new agent in the lab. Her handsome, science nerd date with his hands gently cupping Scully’s arms, smiling sweetly at her as she nods up at him. Mulder freezes. With breath caught in his chest, he watches by the wayside in horror as the man seemingly leans down and presses a lingering kiss to Scully’s upturned lips.

What a bright time, it's the right time

To rock the night away

Mulder’s heart nearly stops.

An explosion of emotion flares in his gut. Frustration, sadness, disappointment… Anger. Anger at himself, at the lucky bastard kissing his one in five billion. He grits his teeth, swallows hard against the molten burn of it all, and turns around before Scully sees the misery on his face.

Mix and a-mingle in the jingling feet

That's the jingle bell

Maybe this is what was supposed to happen tonight: fate telling him he deserves whatever shitty cards he’s dealt. But fuck, he loves her. He loves her fiercely and wants her to be happy. Whether it’s with him, or someone else, it shouldn’t matter as long as she’s living a life she chooses. A life she deserves.

It shouldn’t matter, but goddammit, it does.

So Mulder tamps down tears, and walks away.

That’s the jingle bell

He stalks out of the hall and bursts his way through the double doors, relieved to escape into the snow covered streets. He frantically searches his pockets for his car keys when his fingers get caught on the mistletoe’s hard plastic petals. Instantly, his nose stings and eyes water. He’s not sure if it’s from the pain of his heart shattering or the icy December air. He doubts it matters.

He doubts anything does, anymore.

That’s the jingle bell rooock

#msr fanfic #romance #angst #christmas #multi chap fic

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