#in other words i watched the first episode. i already know what happens i just want to see it animated | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gojonanami · 2 years ago

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FIVE TIMES NANAMI WANTED TO PROPOSE BUT DIDN'T - NANAMI KENTO

✴︎ summary: nanami wanted to propose to you so many times - but it was never the right time, and then, there was no time left. ✴︎ contents: 18+ only, swearing, ANGST (major spoilers for jjk 120 (probably next week's episode, character death, exploration of grief, if you wish to avoid the major angst: stop reading after part 5), SMUT (fingering (f! receiving), oral (f! + m! receiving), panty sniffing, semi public sex, nipple play, creampie, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms), pet names (love, sweetheart), happy ending (sort of?) ✴︎ wc: 10,121 (i have a problem) ✴︎ song: the archer - taylor swift (blame laney for this)

ONE.

The first time Kento Nanami wanted to propose to you shouldn’t count.

And it won’t because it was when he first met you — enrolled into Jujutsu Tech along with the other first years, he first laid his eyes on you at a welcome party that the soon to be menace to his sanity, Satoru Gojo, had organized. Well, he could thank Gojo for one thing it was introducing you to the room — because he may have had to find the words to ask you himself. And he didn’t know if that was possible with his tongue in knots.

But he managed to talk to you — mostly with Haibara leading the conversation. You were reserved, at first, but he saw the spark in your eyes whenever you spoke about something you were passionate about — reading was one, one thing you both shared a love for.

“Yeah hauling my books to Jujutsu Tech wasn’t an easy feat, I had to ask Geto-senpai to have some of his cursed spirits help me haul it up to my dorm,”

“By the way, you still owe me lunch for that,” Geto smirks as he slips past, and the flush that settles on your cheeks is one Nanami wanted to see — again and again.

“Aren’t the upperclassmen supposed to buy lunch?” You grumble, pouting as Gojo interjected himself, resting himself on your shoulder with his arm, making you jump.

“Not here, here the kouhais earn their keep,” he grins, tilting his glasses down, “can you?”

And Nanami opens his mouth to reply, irritation creeping over his senses, before you brush Gojo off, “I’ll buy you lunch, but next time, if that’s what it’s gonna cost me, I’m going to have you two haul my books by hand up those steps,” You stick out your tongue, before your arms curl around his and Haibara, “let’s have cake,” you smile at both of them, gaze lingering on Nanami, “and we can exchange book recommendations?”

That was the moment he wanted to propose — could see himself living in a home with you, filled with both of your books lining the walls of a personal library, but your living room as well. He could see himself falling asleep beside you as you read to him, your fingers carding through his hair.

But no, no, it was irrational, he chided himself, as he talked to you, his lips curled in a smile that had damned him from the moment he saw it. He just had met you — he had barely been ever moved by another person, much less fallen in love. And it shouldn’t happen this quickly — it only happened this quickly in books — not in real life.

But you — he watched you and Haibara chat and laugh — you were someone that might just be the thing of books.

~~~~

TWO.

The second time he wanted to propose, he didn’t care to remember.

And he barely did.

He remembers the facts of the mission. It was supposed to be simple — exorcise a grade 2 curse, simple enough for him and Haibara to handle by themselves. Not that they had a choice. Jujutsu Tech’s resources were already far too spread thin — Gojo himself being sent all over Japan and even overseas to handle things himself that no one should be able to. But their mission? It should have been simple — dangerous still, but simple.

But nothing was simple when it came to curses.

He remembers sensing the curse — the manifestation had frozen him and Haibara for a moment — their bodies taut with fear and adrenaline — but they couldn’t move. Even as the cursed spirit screeched before them, he couldn’t articulate what was happening — it was supposed to be a grade 2, it was supposed to be a grade 2, but no — this was a grade 1.

And then it struck — Kento barely had enough time to react, but he did, pushing Haibara out of the way when it did.

He didn’t remember much after that.

He remembered the squelch of Haibara’s flesh, the blood seeping through his clothes, the way his body crumpled on the ground, and he remembered the next moment was the first time he landed a black flash — stunning the curse enough for him to grab Haibara and escape.

But not enough to save him.

Haibara had made him promise if anything had ever happened to him — he would make sure his sister wasn’t recruited to Jujutsu Tech. And he had to make the call to his family — he couldn’t bear the thought of some higher up taking advantage of their grief to manipulate another into their clutches.

No, he couldn’t let that happen.

And now he sat in the morgue with his body, towel covering his eyes — Geto had come and went — and now he sat waiting for the body to be examined and taken away to be burned. Burned to ash with nothing left — that was the way all sorcerers bodies were disposed of. It was if they never existed in the first place - pawns in a never ending war that would have them piled like corpses on a sacrificial pyre.

What was the point?

Haibara had always told him — if there was something only he could do, he would do it. And for him it was jujutsu — but wasn’t there something else? Something else for him to do that didn’t let him up like this? A body on a metal slab waiting to be incinerated. What was the point?

Was there even a point? People lived and people died. He had lived and Haibara died, but he didn’t know why. Why or how do people live one day and disappear the next? He had seen death before but not of someone so close — someone so precious to him. And the chaos was too much for him. To be killed by another’s twisted feelings manifested into a monster — it was almost poetic if it wasn’t so fucking tragic.

“Nanami?” And he pulls the towel from his eyes, and sees you — your eyes glassy and red tinged — tear streaks you didn’t hide well left on your face, “Nanami—“ and you don’t know what to do with yourself — as you come to him, hesitating, “can I—“

But he’s the one pulling you into his arms, nearly into his lap as his fingers dig into the fabric of your jacket, “I’m sorry — I’m so sorry I wasn’t there—“ your voice breaks, and it’s enough to break him — he hadn’t really cried, not around another person, but tears well at your words, as your fingers card through his hair.

“You have nothing to be sorry for — I’m the one—“ and his voice breaks in turn, as the words stuck in his mind going round and round, until they were nearly had shattered his sanity and skull along with it, “I’m the one who couldn’t save him,”

And you pull back to look at him with tear stained cheeks, “that’s not your fault, Nanami—“

“How is it not?” His words are laced with more venom that he wishes them to be, a little more bite than he wished to chew, and the hurt in your eyes was enough to make him regret speaking altogether, “I’m so—“

“No, it’s not your fault, Kento,” and his eyes find yours, your lips twisted in a frown, and your gaze unwavering, “I know a part of you knows that — knows that…Haibara’s death is nothing but a function of this shitty system we’ve been funneled into. Nothing more. Nothing less. And you know,” your voice grows softer, “you know Haibara wouldn’t want you blaming yourself for this. You know what he’d say?” You almost chuckle, “he’d tell you not to sweat it. To keep going. That you got it, right?”

He gives a terse chuckle in return, shaking his head, as his head tilts into your chest again, “How do we—“

“I don’t know,” you murmur, you don’t need him to say more, “I don’t know how we do this without him, but we have to. We have to for him,” and your hand cups his face, tilting his chin up so he looks up at you, “together?”

And he wants to ask you then — ask you to marry him. He doesn’t know when he would get a chance. You were the only thing that made his life make sense — the only thing that made him feel okay, feel safe, for once. He was so tired of never feeling that way. And he had just lost the one other person who made him feel that way.

He knew you wouldn’t say yes. You couldn’t. You were both so young still, still reeling from Haibara, still stuck in this system that could kill either of you at any time. But still…wasn’t that all the more reason to do it?

But as you pulled him into another tight hug, he knew he wouldn’t last much longer in the Jujutsu world. He couldn’t — he couldn’t take another loss like this. He didn’t know if he could bear it. But as his tears wet your jacket, surrounded by you — your scent, your soft breath, your warm presence — he would try.

He would try for you. And his eyes slid to Haibara’s body covered by a sheet — and for him.

~~~

THREE.

“After graduation, I’m leaving,” it was a late night, a couple days before graduation that he told you. The soft pitter-patter of rain was the only thing heard from int the silence before he spoke. You laid on the foot of his bed, reading a book, while he sat cross legged at the head of it, his eyes fixed on you.

Your gaze lifts from your book, brow furrowed in confusion, “Leaving?”

“I can’t be a jujutsu sorcerer,” his words are as plain as always, “I can’t do it. I’m going to go to college and pursue some other line of study—“

And you sit up slowly, putting your book aside, and he expects protests, expects you to convince him otherwise, expects you to try and stop him, but all you ask is one question, “are you sure?”

It catches him by surprise — as you always seemed to. He could anticipate enemy attacks, analyze their next moves five steps ahead, plan three routes of escape, and even predict what garbage will come out of Satoru Gojo’s obscene mouth, but you — you always could surprise him.

“I am,” he finally answers softly, “this society is shit, you know that. And these past few years have shown me that the difference I make isn’t worth the toll it’s taking, especially when I’m not changing anything,”

“Kento, you do make a difference,” your fingers find his, intertwining with ease, such ease he can’t help but think that’s what it was meant for, “you do — even if you can’t see it, I just want you to know, you do. For the people you help, even if you don’t see them, for the other sorcerers you inspire, and for me,”

And he chuckles, “even you?” And you roll your eyes, pouting — the same pout that makes him want to lean over and kiss you until your lips are utterly ruined.

“Even me,” you toss a pillow at him, and he catches it with ease, and you scowl playfully, “y’know i’m gonna miss you, but I’m not gonna miss that,”

“What? My quick reflex—“ and you smack him with another pillow and giggle, the noise making his lips quirk into a smile even as you laughed at him, hands covering your lips.

“What was that, Mr. Ratio? Your quick—“ and he’s tossing a pillow right back smacking you in the face, making his lips curl in a rare grin (though not so rare when he was with you—“

And you pull the pillow off, your face grim, “Oh, it’s so on—“ you’re tossing a pillow, but it’s only a diversion as you lunge for him, assumedly to mess up his hair, but he’s caught you by the wrist, his other hand around your waist as he’s gotten you pinned to the bed.

Time stops.

He’s breathing heavily, and you are too — from the rise and fall of your chest, but he can hardly hear anything over the blood rushing in his ears. Your lips part as you look up at him — you’re dressed in your sleep clothes, a thin tank top and shorts — and it would be so easy to lean down, let his palm slide under his shirt. He sees your eyes flicker down his body the same — climbing back up before pausing at his lips.

It wasn’t a good idea. He was leaving. You both were graduating. Who knows when he would see you again — yet, he couldn’t bring himself to pull away. Not when this is what he wanted for so long, when he wanted you for so long. But maybe he should — maybe it would be easier, he couldn’t ask you to leave Jujutsu Tech. Just as you couldn’t ask him to stay. He knew you would stay to honor Haibara’s memory, to carry on his legacy — the one thing sorcerers could do for their fallen comrades.

Sometimes the only thing.

And sometimes it was the only thing they couldn’t do.

“Kento—“ your voice pulls him from his reverie, as your fingers brush against his cheek, “are you going to hover over me forever, let me go, or…” and your teeth graze your lip, “are you going to kiss me?”

And he’s blinking, cheeks most assuredly flushing, as your fingers graze the back of his neck, and his mouth is dry, as he looks down on you.

But he doesn’t need to asked twice, as he leans even closer, delighting in how your breath catches, looming over him, “do you want me to kiss you?” And the telltale quirk of his lips makes you gape at him, drawing a laugh from him.

“I hate you,” you murmur, as his lips finally brush yours, swallowing those playfully bitter words with them — and your lips are even softer than he imagined, your fingers settling themselves on the back of his neck, brushing the hair that rested there.

And when he pulls away; his heart squeezes at the sight of your kiss ruined lips parted as you pant slightly, eyes fluttering open to look up at him as if to ask why did you stop? And he can’t help but smile.

“It’s too bad because I love you—“ the words slip from his mouth — but he doesn’t regret it. How can he? When he might not get another chance.

And he thinks his heart will stop at your silence again, the pitter-patter of raindrops ringing in his ears again, before your lips finally curl.

“You love me, huh?” You’re leaning up and kissing him, lips finding his again and again — and how is it that he’s already addicted? You taste like honey, and sunshine, and something headier — sending heat warmer than liquor throughout his body that only made him crave more of you, and you finally pull away, and you’re smiling, “good thing I love you too,”

And he can’t believe his ears, he can’t believe you love him too — all these years he thought it was one-sided, that he was deluding himself with all the times your fingers found his, your eyes met across a classroom with a smile, and the times he found himself falling asleep next to you all those nights neither of you wanted to be asleep, your arm curled around his.

But you did. You loved him. And he loved you.

And as your lips met again, he knew, he knew he still couldn’t ask you. Couldn’t ask you because he knew you maybe wouldn’t say no — and he couldn’t ask that of you. Not when it wasn’t what you wanted. Not when he knew you could do the good he couldn’t bring himself to do. And you would — because you were the best person he knows.

He loves you. And therefore he had to let you go.

But — as he lingered over you on his bed, his body hovering over his as he dragged his thumb over your red, puffy lips, before leaning down for another kiss —

He didn’t have to let you go this second.

~~~~

FOUR.

It’s years before he sees you again.

It wasn’t purposeful. Not exactly anyway.

It was just easier. Easier not to have to think of you still at the place he once was. Still fighting the same curses he would have been fighting with you. Still risking your life day in and day out. While he…he only had money to worry about. To think about. To obsess about.

Money. Money. Money. Money.

How was this somehow shittier than what the jujutsu world? He had considered going into a more humanitarian profession, but when his goal was to retire early, why waste time? If he wanted to help people…he glances at his phone — the one vice he allowed himself, a picture of you that you had sent him when you got promoted to Grade 1 saved as his screensaver — he could have stayed by your side.

No, he wanted to retire. Find himself a nice place to retire to — he hadn’t decided the exact location yet. Somewhere peaceful. With nothing but beaches and sky and sand and books for him to read, to reclaim his life page by page. But to get there — he had to slop through this shit work — making the rich richer.

The same in the jujutsu world, and the same here as well.

And it was one day after he had exorcised a curse from his favorite bakery’s worker, he had felt anything good — anything remotely good — in far too long. Your words rang in his ears — you make a difference.

Was he making a difference by lining the pockets of the rich? Maybe his sorcery wouldn’t change the world, move minds or hearts, pivot the course of history — but maybe he could have his own impact. And not feel like complete shit when he woke up every morning.

And he wouldn’t — he knew he wouldn’t — if he could just see you smile again. Even if he could just see you again. He pulls out his phone, staring at your picture. And maybe…maybe even more.

“Hello, Gojo? I’d like to return to Jujutsu Tech,” and he hears laughter on the other end, “why are you laughing?”

“Kento?” You drop the pen you’re holding, as he steps into your office. And your lips are parted in surprise, your eyes fixed on his, “what are you—“

“I’m coming back, to Jujutsu Tech, I’m going to be a sorcerer again,” and he knows what you’ll ask, he knows you’re going to ask why — you’re going to ask him if he’s sure. And he doesn’t know how to tell you except by saying it’s because of you.

But you don’t say anything, your chair screeches back as you get up, clattering backwards and suddenly as you’re running into his arms. Your face is buried in his chest, and he can feel the tears against his shirt, and his arms curl around you, fingers running through your hair, “I missed you so much,” you murmur, and then you look up at him, fingers tracing his cheeks, gingerly moving his glasses away, “you look tired,”

“I am, but I’m better now,” he’s murmuring — and how is it that you send him right back to where he started, right back to where you always send him. It doesn’t even take a touch — only a glance, a whiff, a second — “I missed you too,” he adds, “a lot,”

And you push him playfully, pouting up at him, “Could have fooled me. You barely ever called or texted me all these years. You talked more to Gojo than you did me,”

“That’s only because that flippant idiot won’t stop calling until I pick up,” he grumbles — Gojo was the last thing he wanted to talk about in his moment — his fingers caress your cheek, tracing the line of your cheekbone, “I wanted to talk to you — I did, I just, I knew if I talked to you, I might say something I’d regret,”

“And what would you regret saying to me?” You raise an eyebrow, and his eyes are sliding away from him.

Asking you to come see him, asking you to leave Jujutsu Tech for him, asking you to be with him — every question that he wanted to ask, but never could.

“It’s not important—” and your hand cups his cheek guiding his eyes back to yours, and he knew you weren’t going to let this go, “If I talked to you, I knew it would end one of three ways — one, I’d ask you to leave Jujutsu Tech; two, I’d come back to Jujutsu Tech; or three, you’d ask me one of these yourself — but I knew I couldn’t do that,”

And your brows knit together, “Why not?”

“Because it had to be our own decision — I couldn’t leave and you couldn’t leave, just because the other asked,” he murmurs, his gaze softening, “it wouldn’t be fair to either of us — or the other — to feel like the only reason we’re together was because of guilt or want for the other, not for ourselves,”

You consider his words for a moment, “I would have left if you asked me,”

“I know, and I would have come back if you had,”

“But we didn’t,” and your fingers cup his face, “you remember what I said to you that night that we kissed?”

And he swallows the lump in his throat, his heart rattling against his chest, “You said, you didn’t want to go further because it would only hurt more when we had to go our separate ways,” and your hand slides up his chest slowly, the other already resting against his neck, and his find their way to you — one hand holding your waist and the other cupping your cheek, “but we’re not separate anymore, are we?”

“I hope the wait was worth it,” you smile, as both close the gap, lips meeting again and again — and you taste the same, but even better somehow — and he’s only pulling you closer, lips curled in a smile so wide that he hadn’t felt in so long, so long.

“Always, when it's you,” he murmurs against your lips, before his lips begin to trail kisses down your jaw and then your neck, his teeth brushing against your pulse, pulling a gasp from your lips, “good girl,” And he feels your knees buckle against his and he’s walking you backwards into the edge of your desk, “is anyone left on campus?” and you’re shaking your head, your eyes flitting to the door, as he makes you sit on your desk, thighs parted for him to settle between.

“The door—”

“Locked,” he replies, drawing back only a moment to take in the image before him — your lips red and ruined, chest rising and falling as you look disheveled at best, sexed at worst, and your eyes — your eyes swirled with lust, half lidded and desperate for his touch— “didn’t want any interruptions,”

Just as he was.

His fingers draw up a strand of your hair and kisses it, and your lips part, “Kento, please—”

“Please, what, my love?” his voice is low and teasing, as his fingers peel back your jacket, pulling it off your shoulders, “you’re going to have to be more specific,” his lips find your neck, soft, wet kisses that has your body leaning into his, “I’m not a mind reader,”

“But you are a tease,” you pout, and he only smiles, leaning down to do the thing he always wanted to — he kisses the pout off your lips, moaning lightly when your lips part for his tongue, his hands dragging down your sides, as your fingers loosen his tie, “I think you will be doing overtime with me today, Nanami-Sensei,”

And he grunts, as your fingers free him of his tie, joining your jacket on the floor, “I’m not going to be a teacher, just a sorcerer,” his teeth graze right under your chin, nibbling, “so you’re the only sensei here — are you going to teach me what you’ve learned the last few years?”

And you toy with the top button of his blue button-up, “Oh, I’ll teach you, Kento,” and you’re starting to undo his buttons, as he busies himself undoing yours, “the question is whether you can handle it,”

“Beautiful,” he murmurs in reverence, and his fingers finally undo the buttons, sliding your shirt off your shoulders, eyes raking over your chest — sharp blue gaze lingering on the erect nipples poking through the fabric for your bra, “You’ve always been the one thing I can’t handle,” his mouth leans down, closing around one clothed nipple, while he teased the other with his fingers, and he delights in your gasp, the noise sending heat right down to his already aching cock, “but I’m willing to try, my love,”

“You still love me?” You murmur, as he shrugs off his own shirt, perfect abs teasing into a v-line, all this muscle hidden under his business attire — and you knew he still must work out, and he did. He did in case he ever needed to come back — come back for you.

“Who says I ever stopped?” His nose buried in the nape of your neck now, as his fingers teasingly snap the strap of your bra, “you smell so good, so perfect,” and his fingers undo your bra and it joins the pile of clothes growing on the floor, “there wasn’t a day I didn’t think about you — a night that i didn’t dream of you, that I didn’t want you,”

“Kento—“ you whimper, as he tugs at your skirt, a quick glance for your nod, and he slides it down your legs, bunching at your ankles until you kick it off. Your cheeks burn as he’s kissing your way down your body, his mouth teasing the other nipple he had neglected, trailing hot kisses down your stomach, until he reaches the fabric of your panties, “I need—“

“Been wanting to taste this for so long,” and he’s kneeling between your parted thighs, still calloused fingers parting your plush flesh, tongue flicking over his dry lips at the sight of the dark wet patch at the crotch of your underwear. And you look down at him, eyes glazed over with unadulterated lust that is almost enough to have him cumming in his pants, “so sweet,” he’s murmuring as he noses your clothes cunt, and you jerk, as he pulls the crotch aside, “wonder if you taste as sweet as you smell,”

“Kento—“ and his tongue drags over the length of your dripping cunt, nose bumping against your clit, as your thighs curl around him, pulling him closer, closer — “fuck—“

“Such a filthy mouth,” he tuts, smiling against your cunt as his tongue teases your folds, “almost as filthy as you are down here,” and his finger begins to part your walls, making your thighs shake and quake, his lips close around your clit, sucking.

You’re a mess of moans and pants, hips grinding against his touch, as one hand tries to muffle your moans, the other is curled in his blonde locks, “taste even better than I imagined — just f’me, only for me,” You’re so close, as he parts your folds with another finger, sinking knuckle deep, as his fingers brush against that one spot that has you parting your lips in a silent moan, head thrown back — and the heat deep in your stomach is going to snap.

KNOCK KNOCK.

You both freeze, your cunt jerking around his fingers, as you bite your lip — maybe if you’re silent, they’ll go away— but Kento clicks his tongue, a smile on his glossy cum covered lips, mouthing, “Speak,” and you gape at him, chest still heaving, as you shake your head, before he’s curling his fingers just right.

Fucker.

You hear Gojo’s voice, calling your name, “You in there?”

You swallow thickly, meeting Kento’s gaze — he’s not backing down, “Yeah, sorry I’m in the middle of something — do you need something?”

“I was just wondering if you heard from a certain salaryman, or should I say, ex-salaryman?” the very one that was burying his face back in your still sensitive pussy, slurping and licking, despite Gojo being right outside.

You have to bite back your moans, swallowing them as you speak, “You mean Nana—ah—mi?” And you feel the very same sorcerer smirk against your abused cunt, a third finger finding its way inside you, “ha-haven’t heard from him, and what do mean ‘ex?’”

You do your best at acting, but it’s hard when his mouth closes around your clit, sucking hard, as your fingers curl in his hair, biting your lip so hard, as he fucks your pussy in earnest with his fingers — how can Gojo not hear the nasty squelch of your cunt?

“He left his job. He’s coming back to Jujutsu Tech,” and he takes a beat, “I’ll take my leave,” and he chuckles, “have fun you two, and Nanami?” You feel your face flush, “don’t be too rough with her — we need our best teacher available to teach tomorrow,”

You hear his laugh all the way down the hall, and you’re covering your face — those fucking six eyes — but Kento’s tugging your hands away, “Pay attention to the one who’s filling you, love,” and he’s burying his face in your cunt, fucking you even harder — hitting that spot over and over, until you cum, back arching, as he’s pulling his fingers out to lap up the slick dripping from you, “delicious,” he murmurs, kissing your still sensitive clit, before he’s looking up at you — all fucked out, your chest rising and falling with every pant, your lips kiss ruined red — “and so beautiful,”

His licks his lips clean of your cum, wiping the rest with the back of his hand, as he rises to your feet, “Kento, please,” you’re murmuring, his hands slide over your body, squeezing your hips, “I need you,”

“What do you need—“ and his words are cut off by your fingers reaching for his buckle, the clink of the metal as you undid it, along with the button, tugging his pants and boxers down.

He hisses as his too sensitive dick slaps his stomach, your lips parting, eyes in a trance, “So pretty, Kento,” your fingers traces one of his veins to his already leaking tip, “and so fucking big,” you murmur, teasing the bead of precum on his slit, making him groan, “can’t wait to have this inside me — been waiting ten years,”

And he’s sliding your hand away, pressing his hips flush to yours, as your legs wrap around his waist, “That long huh?” And his lips find yours again, letting you taste yourself, “and I thought I was the only one pining,”

“So you admit you were pining for me?” And he laughs, as you smile up at him — like all the times he had hoped you would — “I had a crush from almost the moment I met you,”

“You could have fooled me,” he presses kisses up and down your jaw, drawing a moan from both of you as he teases your puffy clit with his aching tip, “I thought you had a crush on Geto,” and you scoff.

“Geto? So you were jealous of him — that’s why you always had that sour look whenever I studied with him,” you grin even wider, “well you had nothing to worry about - I had a crush on very gloomy boy and no one else ever caught my eye,”

And he softly smiles, and it seems to ebb away the years — the trauma and the tiredness — and left only him, your Kento.

“Is that right?” He asks before kissing you again, his fingers finding the back of your neck to deepen the kiss, as you moaned, muffled by his mouth, “I want—“

“I know, me too, please — don’t keep me waiting any longer,” and how could he refuse a request like that?

He’s sinking into you, thick cock parting your dripping folds until he hilts himself fully in you, his fingers digging your hips — and you’re so full, too full. And you’re perfect — perfect walls wrapped around him, so warm and so tight — it’s enough for him to neatly blow his load then and there.

But he can’t, can’t when he’s waited this long to do this. You’re whimpering, “S’good, Kento, too good,” your walls flutter around him as his hips shift lightly, “please, please move—“ his hands find your legs, lifting them higher to find a better angle, fingers digging into your soft thighs.

And his hips slowly thrust into you, edging you with his shallow thrusts, and you’re whining, “Kento—“

“Look at the mess you’re making all over your desk,” he’s guiding your gaze with two fingers on your chin, making you watch where his cock is sunk into you, “taking me so well, practically swallowing me, good fuckin’ girl,” he grunts, “want it harder? Want me to fuck you?”

Your desk is already creaking under your weights and the movements, you’re nodding wordlessly, lips parted, “Kento, please, I need—“ and you watched his cock pull out only to slam back in. Your head falls back, moaning his name again and again.

The squelch of your cunt rang in his ears over and over, as he grunts, barely keeping himself from cumming, especially when you begin to roll your hips into him, “You’re so pretty, and all mine — just mine,” and his lips find yours again, just as your walls flutter at his words, “like that? Like it when I claim you, love with my cock fucking you?” And his vulgar words only makes you tighter, and he grunts, “‘m close, sweetheart,”

“Me too—g’nna cum—“ and his dick reaches that spot right as his thumb bears down on your clit, teasing it in circles, until you’re moaning his name as you cum. Your walls clamp down, soaking his cock, a white ring of cum around his base as he fucks you through your orgasm.

His eyes meet yours as you do, watching your high overcome you, twitching and moaning — and he doesn’t last much longer. His hips stutter against you in shallow thrusts until he’s notching himself deep inside, groaning as he cums, hot seed painting your walls white.

“So perfect,” he murmurs, as he kisses your sweat slicked forehead, “so good,” and he’s grunting as he pulls out, watching your mixed releases trickle out, leaking all over your desk and onto the floor. He drags his cock over your weeping cunt, watching it flutter around nothing.

“Kento,” you murmur, gazing up at him, utterly blissed out as your lips curl, your legs slipping off his waist as he settles down on your desk, “I love you,”

And his heart squeezes — is he dreaming? He must be dreaming — because nothing in his life has ever been so good. So wonderful. So perfect. It didn’t happen for him — it never happened for him.

“I love you too,” he murmurs reverently, his fingers trailing over your jaw, “so much — you don’t know how much, darling,”

“Think you can quantify it for me, Mr. Salaryman?” And he snorts, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

“Don’t call me that,” he kisses your neck — you smelled so good, were you real?

“Then what should I call you?”

And he wanted to ask you then — ask you to call him your husband, to marry you, to buy that ring he had looked at from time to time when he thought about marrying you. But you just found your way back to each other — hell, he had just slept with you in your office, not even a bed. It was too soon, but — his lips curled — he was closer than he had ever been before. And he wouldn’t wait, he wouldn’t hesitate, not when it was you. He wouldn’t let you slip through his fingers.

He smiles, “Just call me yours.”

~~~~

FIVE.

Today was the day.

He was finally going to ask. That’s what he thought when he looked at you, still in bed, bathed in the dappled sunlight let in by his parted curtains. You were still fast asleep beside him, body curled up so your body was pressed against him. He ran his fingers through your hair gently not to wake you, “I love you,” he murmurs, as opens his bedside drawer, pulling a ring box and notecard from it — and he stares at it.

He’d ask you. He would ask you to marry him — finally take you on that vacation to Malaysia you both had talked about for too long, read all the books you both had put off, and lounge on the beach — and do much more in your hotel room. And then maybe, maybe he could ask you to retire from jujutsu.

He had always promised himself, promised that he wouldn’t be a sorcerer when he got married. He couldn’t bear the thought of leaving a family behind to mourn him — but even more than that, he couldn’t bear the thought to lose you, to call you his wife, call you his soulmate — and have you fall away from him.

He would rather be the one to die.

But this way — he rises, grabbing his clothes for the day, and slipping the ring and the note into his coat pocket — neither of you would have to worry about losing the other. At least to a curse.

“Where are we going?” You giggle as he drags you along the street, packed with people, more than usual. He keeps you close, an arm wrapped around you, especially for a Wednesday evening. What date was it? He had seemingly lost track of everything he had planned.

“It’s Halloween,” you remind him without him asking the question, “explains all costumed people and the packed streets — we should definitely avoid Shibuya — the crowds there would be insane,”

“How’d you know—“ and you tap his forehead with a smile.

“I could see your gears grinding, Kento,” you smile, resting your head against his shoulder, “and it’s just like you to forget it’s Halloween,”

“Is it?” he chuckles, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “well good thing I have you to remind me,”

“Very good thing, and I have you to remind me about everything else,” and he nods, and you elbow him, “you don’t have to remind me of that much!”

“You were leaving the house yesterday and you forgot your wallet, keys, and purse — you almost forgot to put on shoes—“ and you’re covering his mouth his your hand.

“How about you remind me about where we’re going?” And he smiles against your hand, before kissing it gently, pulling it from his lips and kissing the back of your hand as well, making you flush.

“Why ruin the surprise—” and then both of your phones ring — the two of you share a dark look, glancing at your phones and seeing the same message — Emergency: veil has fallen over certain areas of Shibuya. All available sorcerers report.

“I guess we are going to Shibuya,” you sigh, running your fingers through your hair, “we should—”

“We should stop by the apartment — we both left all our equipment there and I need to change,” and you nod, as his fingers toy with the ring box in his pocket, a sigh stuck in his throat. When will he ever get the chance to do this right? Finally, he had worked up the nerve and this—this had to happen.

“Hey,” you cup his cheek, a soft smile on your face, “I’m sorry our plans are falling through, and just when I was going to make you give up this secret surprise,”

His lips curl, as his arm pulls you even closer, “I don’t recall agreeing to give up any secrets,” and you lean up and kiss him, soft and sweet quickly turning heady — neither of you were ones for public displays — but for some reason, it just felt right. And you part, breath warming his lips with a wide grin.

“Oh, you would have,” and he laughs, squeezing your hips, as he rests his forehead against yours, “We’ll pick this up right after we deal with this problem.”

He nodded, leaning down to kiss you again and again, his fingers still toying with the box in his pocket. And he wanted to ask right then, just drop to his knee in the middle of this packed street full of costumed weirdos and freaks, mission be damned, jujutsu be damned — but he didn’t want to do it like this.

He wanted it to be a time where both of you were safe, where you could celebrate without the fear of danger beating down your necks, where he could talk to you, hold you, kiss you — without fear it would be the last. Because he always wondered when it would be the last. But it wouldn’t be — he’d do anything to make it back, to finally take that step with you, the one he’d been waiting for over ten years to take. Take that vacation you both wanted with his ring on your finger, and retirement from Jujutsu around the corner.

And he squeezes your hand, “Promise?” and you lean into him, pulling him along the street back to your shared apartment.

“Promise.”

~~~

He wouldn’t be able to keep his promise.

That’s what kept repeating in his mind with every step he took. He couldn’t really feel much — not anymore. That special grade curse had burned him — burned half of his body to a crisp, he could barely smell the burning flesh anymore. All he could do was keep moving. Moving. Moving. Moving.

But he didn’t want to move anymore — he was tired. So tired. He couldn’t feel much, but he could feel the weight of having to keep going, even if he didn’t want to.

And now, he stands before a swarm of…curses? Transfigured humans? He didn’t know — he could barely see at this point out of his one remaining eye — he could barely keep it open, still drooping even as the monsters loomed before him.

“Malaysia…Yeah, Malaysia…Kuantan would have been nice,” the recommendation he had gotten from Mei Mei when trying to decide on a vacation for you and him to take — who better to ask than the woman with all the time and money in the world, a little brother who’d take her anywhere she wished. You both had settled on Malaysia, still panning out the details of when, but he had planned to surprise you with open ended tickets for the both of you — paid extra for them, in case something came up.

He almost chuckles. Something always came up.

Maybe if you both had liked it enough, he’d have a private home built for the two of you — with the little library nook you always dreamed of having, finally getting around to reading the countless books you both had bought and never read, go through page by page and take back the time you both have lost.

But right now each step felt like an eternity as he walked.

Where was he going again? Oh yes, to help Fushiguro. And what about Naobito and Maki? What had happened to them? There wasn’t much he could do about that.

Tired. He was so tired. I’ve done enough, haven’t I?

Hadn’t he done enough? He thought he had done enough when he left — left it all behind like a nightmare he didn’t care to revisit. Left the loss, the pain, the anger — the curses really — all behind him, in exchange for another set — greed, money, power. What was really the best option? Had he made the right choice?

But then he thought about you.

Your smiles, your touch, your kisses, your laughs — all the times he spent with you — slow mornings spent reading the paper together over coffee and toast from the bakery you always went out of your way to buy his favorites from; lazy evenings spent watching movies or reading, your legs intertwined as you did, his arm around your shoulders, until you plucked the book from his fingers made it so you were only thing his eyes were on; and sleepless but perfect nights spent in each other’s arms. The many times he wanted to ask you — the one question he never got to ask you still burned on the tip of his tongue like a curse unspoken, and he knew if he spoke it now, it would be one.

And so he did what he did best, he dispatched the curses, quick and easy. And his lips curled despite himself — at the thought of you. He could almost feel your lips on his still from earlier, the sweet scent of you instead of the smell of blood or burning flesh, he could almost see you too.

A hand rested on his chest, stopping him in his tracks.

Mahito stared back at him.

Oh. Oh.

It was over.

I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m sorry I can’t keep my promise. I’m sorry I can’t propose. I’m sorry I can’t marry you. I’m sorry I can’t have the life we wanted. I’m sorry I came back only to leave you with the worst curse of them all.

“I didn’t know you were here,” Nanami says, staring back at the curse — and it reminds of that time — that time Mahito had him in his domain, he truly had resigned himself to death. Resigned himself to die — and then Itadori had come crashing in, crashing in as he did his life, saving him. Saving him by not only by his very existence as Sukuna’s vessel, but by just his sheer strength.

That kid had really grown on him — he didn’t want him to. Not when he had the same positivity, the same smile, the same kindness…as Haibara. It was illogical. He wasn’t Haibara — he was Sukuna’s vessel, and he wouldn’t acknowledge him, he wouldn’t until he proved himself. But he’d protect him, and he would do what he could. Because being a child isn’t a sin — but perhaps, being a jujutsu sorcerer is one.

“Yup. The whole time,” Mahito replies, lips upturned in a slight smile, “Wanna chat? We go way back, after all,”

Nanami’s eyes shift to the floor, the muddied and bloodied tiles underneath his feet — he didn’t care to divulge his deepest feelings to a curse. There were only two people he could talk to about this — and one of them, he supposed, was now closer to his being than the other.

Haibara, what the hell was I trying to do? He asks in his mind, not even daring to say the words aloud, I ran. Even though I ran away, I came back with the vague reason of finding the work worthwhile.

And then he sees him. Haibara appears in front of him, patented smile on his lips, as he points south — points right at—

“Itadori,” Mahito says, his eyes narrowing.

“Nanamin!” his eyes wide as he takes in his state — oh, he had hoped no one would see him like this, much less Yuji. He had already been through so much, so young — hell, he had already died once. He didn’t deserve to see this. He didn’t deserve to grow up like this — to have his youth ripped away. But, did any of them deserve it?

It was a marathon, a marathon that they found themselves in that headed only towards a pile of corpses — but each time, they had to pass the baton before they stopped.

Could he finally stop?

He had dropped his baton so long ago, dropped and left the track, but he knew it would be picked up by another and another and another — but it was his baton, his baton that Haibara had handed him before he died in his arms.

No, Haibara. That’s not right. I can’t say that to him. It’ll just end up becoming a curse for him.

But it’s a curse every jujutsu sorcerer had to bear — made to bear until there were either no curses or no sorcerers left.

But he couldn’t regret it now.

“Itadori,” his lips curl, smiling for the last time, “you’ve got it from here.”

He couldn’t keep his promise to you — but he kept his one to Haibara.

And you’d pay the price.

~~~

This wasn’t real. Was it?

You stood outside your shared apartment with Kento. Finally a stop to the fighting for a month for everyone to train — enough time for you to retrieve some cursed weapons you had left behind — not knowing the fight would drag on for this long. You had considering sending someone — maybe not Ijichi but someone else to retrieve them, but right now, you couldn’t bear the thought of someone else rifling through Kento’s things. Moving the things that he had placed just so — the last remnants of his life, the marks he left that proved he was there, that he lived — that he had lived.

Lived. Past tense. And now you were still living — living in a world without him.

You inserted your key and turned the lock, opening the door. And it did, just like it had every day. Each day you’d open it — sometimes before Kento, other days after — but each time, there was always a meal Kento had prepped or bought waiting for you.

And this was the first time that there wasn’t.

Not only a meal — there was no one waiting for you. Not here.

You closed the door behind you — no longer a home, just an apartment. You needed to remember the things you needed, your mind was nowhere to be found, and fled the country when you had heard the news. You didn’t cry. Not at first.

Yuji was the one to tell you. He shouldn’t have been the one to see it. You knew it haunted his dreams, you knew he blamed himself, you knew — because Kento had done the same. So you hugged him, let him cry silently into your shirt, comforted him the best you could — because you knew that’s what Kento would have wanted.

He loved Yuji — he loved Ino too, and the other students all held a special place for him, but Yuji — Yuji was a special case. You knew that from the moment he had spoken about him.

“Gojo wants me to mentor Sukuna’s vessel,” he told you one night in bed, having returned from a mission and having a drink with Gojo — not a real drink, Kento had clarified, since it had no alcohol in it — but a drink nonetheless.

“He has a name, Kento. Itadori. He’s sweet,” you smile, you had met him and all the other first years from teaching, “he’s a good kid — very new to all of this, but he has a good heart and some good skills under his belt.”

“A vessel for the ticking time bomb has a good heart? Glad to hear it,” he sighs, running his hands through his hair, “I don’t know — he was a normal kid two minutes ago, and now he’s running around with Gojo feeding him Sukuna’s fingers every second,” he leans back against the headrest, “what am I supposed to make of this? I’m not even a teacher,”

“And what have you been doing with Ino?” you raise an eyebrow, “that kid is constantly after you, dogging your every step — he looks up to you. “And I know a lot of the other students do too, the ones that know you,”

“It’s—”

“You should do this. It would be good for you,” and he’s hesitating, “Yuji needs a sorcerer to guide him — teach him the basics that Gojo has neglected to do, and show him how a proper jujutsu sorcerer who isn’t…a special case like Gojo, operates.”

Kento’s lips curl, “You know you can call him a moron,”

“Why call him that when I have you to call him that for me?” you snort, “now what do you say?”

And he eventually agreed — and it was the best decision for him. It gave him more purpose, more drive — he seemed even more fulfilled — the most you had seen him professionally fulfilled in quite some time.

“You got it from here.”

His last words to Yuji. You almost have to scoff at the poeticness of it all — the same words Haibara had told him. The ones he hadn’t told you for nearly a decade, until one night he had told you what he said.

“And why didn’t you leave any words for me, Kento?” you ask the empty apartment before you, “for so long, we didn’t have each other — we couldn’t. And we finally find our way back, we finally do all the things we said we would — you’re gone, again,” your voice breaks, “I wish, I wish you were here. I wish I could see you. I wish—” and you break off.

There’s no point for wishing for things that can’t happen. You had things to do, and little time to waste. You needed to get stronger too. You needed to be useful. You needed to fight. You couldn’t tarnish Kento’s memory, or — you look at a picture that you had taken of him and Yuji a few days before outside a convenience store you had stopped by after a mission — his legacy.

You searched for the things you needed, placing them in cloth bags and then paper bags for easy and inconspicuous transport, but you needed to label them. You searched your apartment for a pen — but apparently you had misplaced every single one that you had — where the hell were all the pens? A question you’d usually ask Kento and he’d produce one from thin air. No matter what you lost or what you needed — he had it.

He always had it.

If he did always have what you needed, then maybe…you walk into the bedroom, over to his nightstand — he often kept a notebook for thoughts and notes in his bedside table so maybe—-

And there it was — a pen, but it wasn’t the pen that made you pause — it was the two things beside it.

A notecard and a ring box.

A ring box.

Your hands shake, and you almost want to close the drawer. Forget you say anything. Continue with the work you’re doing. It would hurt less.

But you can’t. You can’t.

You reach for the notecard first, fingers shaking as you gingerly pick it up — and you can tell this wasn’t the first he had written on. You could see the indentations from his pen, this card underneath the others as he had wrote. But his handwriting was neat, yet messy at the same time — his patented half print, half cursive scrawl that he hadn’t left.

Your legs buckle and you sit down on the edge of the bed — the side he used to sleep on, his arm wrapped around your waist, face buried in your back, his lips brushing against your skin when he finally stirred. And now it was empty.

My love, you don’t know how long I’ve wanted to ask you this. I’ve thought of ways to ask for years — I had to write it down just so I didn’t mince my words or ramble — you know I’m not one to drag out conversations. I love you. I’ve always loved you from the moment I met you — I know you’d tease me for pining for you, but I did pine for you and I’ve pined for you every second we’re apart. The other times I’ve wanted to ask you, the timing never worked out. But we have the time now, don’t we? Will you do me the honor of being your husband? I’ll spend every second making you happy, because that’s what you deserve, sweetheart. Only the best.

And your tears splatter against the corner of the card, before you put it down, as you let your sobs overcome you, screams you didn’t know you were capable of making— you didn’t even realize it was you, until your throat began to ache.

Why? Why? Why?

It wasn’t real, this wasn’t happening.

And your fingers reach for the ring box now, opening it only to feel more tears well — it was the ring you had showed him. One you had showed him one late night when it had showed up somewhere or another — you hadn’t even thought about the ring again. Until now.

You can’t bear to touch it. You can’t. Not when he wasn’t there to pull it from its box and slip it onto your finger. And he never would be. Not until you saw him again — one way or another.

You snap the box closed, tears slipping down your cheeks as you placed the box and card back into the drawer — noticing something else underneath — a printout? And you pull the papers out, scanning it.

You almost sob. A trip to Kuantan, Malaysia. The trip you two had talked about for months, but never had gone on. The trip was more for Kento than it was for you — and it was for you, in a way, because what you wanted the most was to just be with him. Time was all you wished for with him — all you wanted — but you knew you could have spent every moment with him for the last ten years and it wouldn’t have been enough.

It would never have been enough.

“I miss you,” you speak to the ghosts that fill your mind and haunt your dreams — Kento and Yu, “I hope you’re at peace. I hope you’re lying on a beach somewhere, reading the books you wanted to read, drinking an expensive drink, and eating the bread you love — I promise, I’ll find my way to you, someday,”

And you place the things back in the drawer, and shut it.

For now, you had other things to do. Other people to protect, other curses to exorcise. But — you stare at the picture of the two of you on your nightstand — his love was the one curse you could never give up.

Many months later.

You take that vacation he wanted. Packing the books he always wanted to read. Pocketing the ring he wanted to propose to you with. You’d pack a few shirts of his to wear on the beach, and maybe he would be lying beside you in spirit. You would find that beach he wanted to take you to — the one he had written down and had looked up several times while booking your trip.

You kept the seat beside you on the plane empty but you ordered a glass of wine and a sandwich for him regardless. You know you would have ended up ordering because he likely would have fallen asleep — old man he always was. And if you didn’t know better, you’d think he was sitting in the seat beside you.

He wasn’t dead. Not really, you think as you sit in the beach in one of his deep blue button ups thrown over your swimsuit, reading one of his books page by page, taking back the time that was stolen from him with your own — minutes and hours and days you’d wish you could take off your own and give to him.

He was alive, he was alive as long as you were, as long as the people who he was important to were alive. And he was alive — alive in your head and your heart and your very soul.

You read his proposal aloud as the sun sets, tears slipping down your face as you slip his ring onto your finger. And there it would stay.

Stayed all the seconds, minutes, hours, days, and years you lived -- lived in the house you built in Malaysia when all was said and done for you in the jujutsu world, just as Kento had wanted. Stayed until you finally saw him again. Saw him standing beside Haibara, softly smiling behind him, as your eyes fluttered open as he greeted you. Lips curled in that same smile that damned you from the moment you saw it.

“Don’t keep me waiting, love,” he smiles, the same words you had said to him, “we’ve both waited long enough, haven’t we?”

But neither of you had to wait anymore — as you run into his arms, warm and made of flesh and blood and real, so real — you had forever now.

✴︎ a/n: first, i'm so sorry lol. i don't know how the spirit of gege possessed me but i decided to inflict some pain. i have to thank @laneysmusings for proofing this for me and having to endure this pain. I also want to credit @/tempenensis for their post on haibara / jjk 120 that helped inspire/inform the third to last scene (but they don't like self-insert so i am not gonna tag them, but you should check out their tumblr!

✴︎ taglist: @your-local-simplol, @renawithane, @grooveandshit, @aemondseyesocket, @nitskilanara, @yunchans, @ackermanbby, @luminouslateralup, @multi-fandom3, @idktbhloley, @minteaful, @malleusmybelovedd, @lighttism, @lemonpoppy-seed, @nitskilanara, @wshwshi, @rreborn, @reyy-chanx, @kiradoki, @uroldall, @madam-milf, @elusivemoon

#sab [mlist]#nanami kento x reader #kento nanami x reader #nanami smut #kento nanami smut #kento nanami x you #jjk smut #jjk x reader #nanami fanfiction #kento nanami angst #jjk angst #nanami x you #nanami x reader

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imagine-you · 3 months ago

Text

If I Open the Door To Heaven Or Hell 2/? [Wally Clark/Reader]

Summary: Something Wally mentions in the meeting with Maddie's friends catches your attention. Word Count: 1.8k Author's Note: The new episode gave me ideas. I have no one to blame but myself. Spoiler alert...it's body shots.

Read on AO3 // Fic Masterlist

What you had with Wally was new and exhilarating and sometimes terrifying. You were learning new boundaries and territory, seeking places to step where you couldn't before. You hadn't told the others about your relationship, because you didn't want them to scrutinize it, but you knew it was only a matter of time before someone found out.

Secrets had a bad habit of coming to light when you were dead.

Now that the dam had broken, it was like you couldn't get enough of each other. You were both focused on helping Maddie, but whenever you got a spare moment, you found each other. Wally had taken to surprising you by pulling you into classrooms and making out on desks. You made use of janitor closets and locker rooms and on one memorable occasion, the rooftop of the school.

You felt breathless as you stared up at the night sky with Wally's fingers intertwined with yours. You hadn't bothered to put your shirt back on, sure no one would manage to find you up here.

You turned your head to see Wally already watching you. Besotted was the first word that came to mind and you felt like you were floating.

"We've got to go soon," Wally reminded you.

"I know," you sighed, turning towards him so you could hook a leg around his and wrap an arm around his waist. You let your head rest on his shoulder, your fingers tugging briefly on the drawstring of his sweatpants. "What do you think it'll be like? Trying to talk to Maddie's friends?"

"Weird," Wally responded with a laugh. "Worst game of telephone ever."

You had to concede he had a point. Telling Maddie to tell Simon to tell whoever what you said did sound a bit tedious. But it was the only connection to the living you had and figuring out how to get Janet back to the school so Maddie could get her old life back. You would do anything to help Maddie get the opportunity you would never have, even if it meant rolling away from Wally's warmth and touch to grab your shirt where he had thrown it earlier in his haste to get it off you.

You held Wally’s hand up until you were right outside the auditorium. You let his hand slip from yours, sending him an apologetic smile, before you opened the door. You walked into the auditorium to see chairs set up on the stage. There were four arranged off to the right that had pictures of Charley, Wally, Rhonda, and you taped to them. There were another three chairs set up and then two others off to the left that you assumed were for Simon and Maddie.

"Aw, come on," Wally groaned when he saw the layout of the chairs. "We're not even sitting next to each other."

"We'll survive a few minutes apart," you promised him before sneaking a quick kiss. "Let's just do this."

Wally nodded his head, already trying to get his head in the game, before he bounded up to the stage.

You sat beside Rhonda and enjoyed her sarcastic remarks at the expense of Maddie’s friends, even adding in some of your own just to get her to laugh. You knew she was having a hard time after visiting her scar and getting her to simply smile felt like a personal triumph.

You noticed Wally glancing over at you from time to time, but you were worried if you looked at him that you wouldn't be able to stop.

The group was trying to decide how to get Janet back to the school. You thought about it for a moment before leaning forward in your chair.

"What if we tell her Mr. Martin is gone? I mean, we're pretty sure that's what happened, right? If she knows he's out of the picture, at least for now, maybe she'll come back here."

"Oh, uh, Y/N is talking now," Maddie informed Simon, pointing helpfully at your chair.

Simon squinted, as if he was trying to see you, and nodded his head. You knew he couldn't see you, but his eyes were fixed right where your chest was, and it made you just the slightest bit self-conscious.

"Hey, dude," Wally interrupted, snapping his fingers at Simon. "Show some respect! Stop staring at her y'know," he said, gesturing towards his own chest.

Charley glanced over at Wally in surprise, but Rhonda turned and arched a brow at you.

"Interesting," she commented.

Maddie relayed your message to Simon before she changed the subject, leading to other ideas being presented. Xavier brought up salt as a way of creating a barrier to keep Janet contained.

"He's clearly the brains of the operation," Rhonda observed with an unimpressed roll of her eyes.

"Salt's not going to do anything," Charley added, looking like he wanted to laugh. "Unless you plan on doing body shots with Janet and hoping she cowers in fear."

"Damn, I miss body shots," you heard Wally chime in and you finally ended up glancing over at him in surprise.

Your surprise turned into contemplation and from there a plan hatched.

The next evening, you waited until Wally was distracted by the others before you left in search of what you needed. Typically, you would have grabbed a bottle of tequila, some salt, and limes. But you were stuck inside a high school, so you would just have to settle for the best you could find.

You started in the principal's office where all the best contraband was stashed. You didn't find tequila, but you did find an emptied water bottle that had been refilled with vodka. Next, you tried the cafeteria and found lemons and a knife. Salt evaded you, but when you tried the teacher's lounge, you did find sugar packets. It wasn't the best combination, but it would have to do.

Either way, you were sure Wally would love it.

You reconvened with the others and sidled up to Wally.

"Meet me in the auditorium in fifteen minutes," you whispered to him before making your exit again.

There was a booth at the back of the auditorium where the light and sound control boards were kept. It was half past six and the drama club had already vacated the premises, so you were guaranteed to be left alone. The whole reason you picked it was for its promise of seclusion, but also the couch that was tucked into the corner of the booth. You had stolen a blanket from a teacher's classroom and draped it over the floor. The vodka, sugar, and lemons were spread out on the blanket like an offering.

You waited on the couch until Wally found you twelve minutes later.

"Hey," he started, looking from you to the blanket and contraband on the floor. "What's all this?"

"Well," you said, standing up and approaching him. "You said you missed body shots, right? So, I thought..." you trailed off, letting him put the pieces together himself.

Even in the dim lighting of the booth, you could see Wally's eyes darken with want. Before you knew it, he was crowding into your space, cradling your jaw in his palm, and pulling you into a kiss. The kiss grew heated and Wally had your shirt rucked up under your arms, his hands holding you at the small of your back and between your shoulder blades, keeping you close to him.

"Wait," you gasped, breaking the kiss.

Wally groaned, letting his head fall to your shoulder. He pressed a light kiss to the crook of your neck.

"C'mon," you coaxed, trying to usher him over towards the couch.

"Right," Wally agreed, letting you push him down onto the cushions. "Just got distracted," he admitted with a grin up at you.

You felt yourself flush before you turned and grabbed the supplies. You handed him the lemons and knife. "Cut those for me," you instructed him while you grabbed the sugar packets and vodka.

You joined Wally on the couch, reaching out to grab the blanket and drape it over your laps in case you made a mess. Wally dropped the knife on the floor and then handed you a lemon wedge. You gave him a sugar packet in exchange. Before you could put the lemon wedge in your mouth, Wally was in your space again. He nosed along your jaw before finding your neck and licking up from your collarbone to just below your ear.

You shivered, feeling want surge through you, before he gently tipped your head to the side.

"Got to make sure it sticks," he murmured, before he opened one of the sugar packets and let it pour over your neck. You felt some of the granules tumble down and land on the blanket, but most of it stayed where Wally intended.

He was quick to fit his mouth to your neck again, eagerly lapping up the sugar and even taking a moment to suck a kiss into your skin.

"Wally," you breathed, knowing that you were on a tipping point. Either Wally would take a shot or you would abandon the plan and let him have you now.

"Sorry," he said, not sounding sorry at all, before he twisted the top off the bottle and took a swig. He hissed before letting out a delighted laugh when he noticed you put the lemon wedge in your mouth, the rind smooth and bumpy against your tongue. He fit his mouth to yours, pulling the lemon into his mouth and sucking on it, before he spit it out onto the blanket.

Before you knew it, your back was on the couch and Wally was over you. He kissed you, letting you taste the tang of lemon and sharp sweetness of the vodka and sugar as he licked into your mouth.

"So good," he groaned into the kiss. "You're so good to me," he whispered before trailing his kisses back to your neck. You could feel him trying to get all the sugar free, chasing the sweetness stuck to your skin. "Can't believe how lucky I am."

You grinned helplessly up at the ceiling of the tech booth and let your fingers run through Wally's hair. You tugged playfully at it and he nipped at your skin in retaliation, sending a shiver down your spine.

You let Wally continue until you knew you were going to have one hell of a mark high up enough on your neck that you would have to find a scarf somewhere to cover it up.

"Come on," you said, pushing lightly at his shoulders. You had let Wally have his fun and now it was time to have yours. "It's my turn," you told him when he refused to budge.

That was enough to get Wally up and reaching for a sugar packet. You couldn't help but laugh watching him so eager to let you reciprocate.

Wally might have felt like he was lucky, but you were the one who had truly lucked out with him. As you grabbed the lemon wedges where they had fallen to the floor, you hoped you would get to show him every day of your afterlife just how much you really loved him.

Author's Note: If you would like to see more, have something you would like me to write for this 'verse, or want to be tagged in future updates, please let me know!

#wally clark #wally clark x reader #school spirits #school spirits x reader #wally clark imagine #school spirits imagine #school spirits spoilers #reader #imagine #fic #ao3 #my fic #heaven or hell verse #my edit

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wcters · 1 year ago

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7 MINUTES OF MATT AND Y/N BEING CUTE

pairing: matthew sturniolo x fem!reader

word count: 2.5k

summary: a video that someone put together of moments where you and matt where being cute

warnings/contents: swearing

author’s note: i’m trying to be inclusive so please let me know what i can do that i haven’t done already

In the beginning, you could say you were kept a secret, but only because you didn’t want to be in the public that early in your relationship. Besides that, your and Matt’s relationship was never kept hidden. Matt loved you and liked to show you off, but you weren’t a social media person. You were fine with being in the background of things and posted on his social media, but you wanted your private life to stay private. You knew what you were getting into when you decided to date an influencer, and you had no problem with it as long as he respected your wishes, and he did.

You didn’t even know he was an influencer when you met, not being on TikTok a lot. You were working ━━ and still are ━━ at a clothing store in LA when you first bumped into each other ━━ quite literally. You were coming out of the back when he backed up into you. You both apologized and went back to what you were doing. You asked your co-worker if she knew who he was because you thought he was attractive. She told you he had been there a couple times before but didn’t know his name. When you were ringing him through, you gave him his receipt. He grabbed it, wrote something on it, and handed it back to you. Low and behold, it had his phone number and name on it.

Ever since then, you two had been . . . You. You immediately kicked it off, going on dates and hanging out, finding out about how he was a triplet ━━ you assumed after seeing the three of them in the store ━━ and finding out he was famous. You used that word, he denied and told you he wouldn’t call it that making you laugh. You had moved to LA for school, and told him that you wanted your private life to stay private if you got together . . . And it did.

You did end up being in the background of videos and livestreams, posted online, and you did feature in a podcast episode, but you never expected videos or compilations of you or matt, let alone just you, so you were surprised when you saw a video titled 7 minutes of Y/n and Matt being cute. You have to admit you smiled and took a screenshot, planning to show Matt when you next saw him. You would wait if you weren’t impatient . . . But you were. He could watch it later. You hadn’t really had a clue as to what would be in it. You didn’t really pay attention to clips of you or you Matt. You had Matt as your boyfriend to experience those moments.

The first series of clips to show up was the many times you had walked in to Matt’s room while he was streaming, and not realizing until you stopped looking at your phone and saw him looking at you. This was always followed by your voice off camera apologizing and him replying with ‘it’s alright babe. You need me to get off?’ He always asked you that when you walked in, not wanting to put the stream over you, and he never did. If you said no, you’d either lie down in his bed and go on your phone or head out to the couch to watch a movie. If you said yes ━━ which you rarely did unless you had a bad day ━━ he would immediately end his stream with a quick goodbye and his attention was on you in an instant.

There were multiple times where you had to help the boys with something for a video. Whether it was setting something up, figuring something out, etc. you were always there. Sometimes it was off camera, sometimes Nick would cut it out, but this time it wasn’t. You remembered them filming this video, being over there when it happened to help if needed and make sure nothing bad happened (them burning another house down).

The three of them had managed to get it out of the box and bag and get it into the right position, but not how to get some of the poles in. “Maybe we should ask Y/n?” Chris suggested as he held up the tent. “No, we don’t need to.” Matt shut down the question as he fiddled with the metal pole. The oldest and youngest were caught looking at each other before they both yelled ‘Y/n!’ You were seen running in, panic in your eyes before you realized nothing bad had happened. “You scared the shit out of me,” you told them, half scolding them, “either way, what’s up?”

“We need help.” Nick smiled, holding up the tent. “You don’t know how to set up a tent?” “We do, it’s just a bit more confusing inside.” Chris answered. “I had nothing to do with this.” Matt butted in, hands up in defense. “Alright. Back up.” You noticed why Nick maybe kept it in as you watched the clip. You were instructing Nick and Chris who were holding up the tent as Matt was gathering more poles. When you asked him to pass you one, you kissed him on the cheek as a thank you forgetting you were on camera. After that, Matt had looked at you like you hung the moon and the stars. To Nick and Chris, you did as you had help them set this whole thing up. To Matt . . . He was just admiring his girlfriend.

After you had gotten together, it became second nature for him to let you know if he was coming up behind you. His hands would grab your waist while he made his passed you. It was seen in the background of multiple TikToks. You didn’t really notice it happening after the first few times because it had become so normal for you, but clips of these motions had made it into the video. You didn’t think those were caught on camera . . . But you didn’t really mind. You thought maybe part of it was because of you how you met, but you really didn’t know, and you’ve never asked.

The next clip was one you’d never forget. When Nick and Chris asked you to help them prank Matt . . . How could you say no? You would never be involved if it was something bad, and this one wasn’t. You knew about Matt’s “crush” on Liam Neeson ━━ having had an idea before he ever admitted it by the amount of times you watched movies and Liam Neeson just happened to be in it ━━ and almost laughed when they told you the idea.

They had asked you to distract him for a long enough time that they could set up all of the pictures, blankets, etc. You wouldn’t say this to Matt’s face, but his room was a little boring - he had the same black pillows and comforter. Without any of your stuff that you had “left” in the room, you were worried about what it would look like. When it got closer to the time that you would be heading back to the house, you had started to get excited. Matt had noticed this and asked what was up, so you had to play it cool . . . You aren’t good at that and you ended up texted Nick and Chris saying something along the lines of ‘he knows somethings up, I don’t have a poker face.” Either way, he didn’t have a clue what was happening.

Your and Matt’s footsteps could be heard through the camera as you made your way toward the door. Matt had texted his brothers and when they didn’t answer, tried to FaceTime them. That’s what could be seen when Matt opened his bedroom door with you behind him smiling. “Oh . . . my god.” Matt spoke, shock on his face. Chris and Nick laughed in response. “This is the prank?” He asked them, “Liam Neeson all over my bedroom is the prank?” The boys nodded. “Wait - Were you in on this?” Matt asked as he turned to you walking toward him and into the room. “‘Maybe.” You shrugged. “I knew something was up,” he wrapped his arms around you as you walked, “you were acting weird.” “I don’t have a good poker face!”

Matt continued to look around the room before Chris turned his camera to face you. “How do you feel about this?” “Well, it’s just a little more Liam Neeson than normal, but it spices’s his room up a little bit more.” “Totally.” Nick agreed.

You had a habit of leaving your things with Matt. Most of the time, it was due to the lack of much needed pockets in women’s pants. When you didn’t ━━ or forgot to ━━ bring a purse, you’d ask him to throw a chapstick or a hair tie into his pocket or wallet. Other times, you were just too lazy to carry something and didn’t want to stick it in your bra.

You also tended to get Matt little keychains to hang on his backpack or car keys. Most of the keychains were from when you went back to Canada to visit your family and bought him something, but you also liked to thrift them too. He would always take them and immediately put them on something. It was his way of silently showing that your his girlfriend and that he loves you, and the things you do for him. Giving him things was your way of saying he’s yours too.

When they posted the TikTok of guess who’s is who, you expected them to only do their things because it was about them, but you were surprised when you saw little bits of you in there. A Canada keychain hanging on his car keys and backpack, a hair tie with his jewelry, and chapstick with his skincare. The comments were flooded with people talking and mentioning you, knowing which one was Matt’s stuff. You smiled when you saw this being featured, and your comment that said ‘girlfriend duties”.

When you had featured on the Cut the Camera Podcast, you had mentioned the Let’s Trip and Versus tour and how you and Matt had to do long distance for a bit. You went to a few of their shows ━━ being flied out per Matt’s request ━━ but because of your job, you couldn’t be with them the full time. When they were on tour, it felt like you and Matt never saw each other, but in reality you two spoke almost all the time. To some people, Matt could be described as clingy, but you were too . . . And you didn’t mind that about each other.

You never knew that your FaceTime’s were ever caught in camera, but they were in this video, so you guess they were. The boys had done vlogs on the bus, as well as TikTok’s, and this video showed Matt talking to his phone that showed a blurry you. You didn’t even spot that. You could hear you and Matt talking, but too quietly to make out what you were talking about. Long distance was always hard for you and Matt, but you made it work. You would be stupid not to.

When the boys travelled for videos, you usually didn’t go. Not that you didn’t want to, but you had a job in LA and couldn’t be travelling all the time. But when Matt, Nick and Chris asked you to come with them to Texas to shoot a video for Sam and Colby and tour the city, you said yes. You’ve been to a couple of states in the U.S. and thought ‘why not?’ to visiting Texas. Plus, Matt had talked about that amazing thrift store they went to while on your and you were a sucker for vintage.

You didn’t feature in the Sam and Colby video ━━ besides little bits of you in the background ━━ and offered to film if they needed someone to. Matt was scared, and wanted you there. Nick had gushed to you about him wanting to do the Estes method, and you and him wanted you to witness it. You did, however, feature in the Texas vlog the triplets put out on their channel - being seen in the background. But this clip was a specific one from the video.

You were used to the cold, having grown up in Canada, and handled it pretty well. But one night when you went out for Italian, you didn’t dress well enough for the weather. You didn’t think Texas would be that cold . . . But you assumed wrong. While Nick and Chris were talking to the camera, you were in the background shivering with Matt beside you. You were in a long sleeve, vest, and sweatpants. Your legs were warm, you upper body? Not so much.

“You alright?” Matt asked you, moving behind you to wrap his arms around you. “Yeah, a little cold. But it’s fine.” You replied, leaning into him. Matt was like a walking heater. “You sure? You want to switch jackets?” He leaned his chin on your head, swaying you back and fourth. “I’m alright, but thank you. You’re too sweet.” Your conversation wasn’t heard by the camera, but your movements were. Matt could be seen moving his hands up and down your arms and holding your hand as you walked into the place.

You and Matt had similar, but different music tastes. You would recommend each other songs and made playlists, as well as a playlist you both shared with music you both liked. You two would listen to this constantly; while hanging out, in the car, baking and cooking, just doing regular tasks. Matt had given you some guilty pleasure songs, and you had given him some . . . Though he would have never admitted it to anyone besides you. That was until the truth or eat video.

“What is your guiltiest pleasure song and when was the last time you listened to and got into the groove?” Nick asked Matt. He paused, a couple songs immediately popping into his head. “I got to check,” he said as he took out his phone and opened your shared playlist. “This is one that Y/n showed me one time and she loves it.” Matt clicked the song and it started to play. “That sounds like Y/n,” Chris nodded as Nick agreed. “Yeah, that would be my guilty pleasure song. It’s one of her favourite songs so it’s on a lot.”

You remembered seeing a lot of top comments on the video taking about it and seeing the clip a couple times on TikTok with the comments being the same. The next clip after that one was an Instagram story you posted of you two in the car, Matt driving and lip-syncing to the song. Everyone had freaked out over that.

People would also freak out when you would wear his clothes. You had a habit of doing that, you loved oversized and Matt has great style. TikTok’s and Instagram stories of you wearing a sweater or sweatpants that people recognized were Matt’s were also littered through the video as well. And moments of him slipping a sweater on you or turning you around to see if it was his.

A lot of the moments included in the compilation were just regular things that couples did . . . But you loved the video. You liked it, and sent it to Matt over text with the message ‘people must really like us’. Safe to say, the person who had made it freaked out.

#emma writes #matt sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo x reader #x fem!reader #x reader #imagine #youtuber #youtube

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watermelonlovershigh · 5 days ago

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Pregnant at 40🫄👶🧑‍🍼

AN: i randomly thought about this scenario and played the whole thing out in my head, which lead me to typing it out. i hope you enjoy this story. let me know if you possibly want a part 2 to this. remember to reblog or comment with your feedback. xoxo

This story contains: mentions of a vasectomy, puke, brief mentions of abortions, crying, comfort, unexpected pregnancy

{ dadrry - husband!harry - softrry - au!harry both you and harry are almost 40 }

word count- 2,071

Just one month away from Harry's scheduled vasectomy, you start showing signs of pregnancy (at the age of 40), which leads to a day full of anxiety and anticipation until later that night when you're finally able to take a pregnancy test.

This was not supposed to happen. You've just celebrated the fifth birthday of your youngest daughter, Daisy, who's the baby of your family. In addition to her, you and your husband Harry are parents to three other children: June, who's sixteen; River, who's twelve; and Willow, who's eight.

You and Harry were content with having just four children, as that number suited your family dynamic perfectly. After the birth of Daisy, you didn't envision expanding your family further. Both you and Harry are nearing forty, making the risks of pregnancy complications for either you or a new baby more high.

Your commitment to having just four children led Harry to schedule a vasectomy for next month. He'd contemplated this procedure right after Daisy was born, but both of you wanted to be certain that it was the right decision to stop having more children. Since Daisy's arrival, you've been using birth control, but after reaching the bittersweet decision to stop expanding your family, Harry chose to proceed with a vasectomy, stressing how he didn't want you to be on birth control for the rest of your life.

Over the past few mornings, after Harry has gone to work, you've gotten sick. On the first day, you thought you might've been coming down with a stomach bug that one of your kids had brought home from school. However, after getting sick twice more the following two days, your worrying intensified.

You intended to keep your recent vomiting episodes from Harry, but one morning, when you thought he'd already left for work, he quietly comes back into the bedroom to retrieve his Apple Watch. That's when he finds you not in the bed where you were minutes prior, but instead in the bathroom, throwing up. He hurries in to assist you, visibly worried about your health, and also thinking you might have caught a stomach virus. Yet, when you disclose that you've been sick for the past three mornings, his entire body stiffens, and his complexion becomes nearly as pale as yours.

"Baby," Harry whispers behind you as you brush your teeth at the bathroom sink, "do you um......think that maybe.........you should take a, you know, pregnancy test." Now it's your body that stiffening up. Oddly enough, the idea of being pregnant hasn't occurred to you yet, despite the fact that it seems it should have, as you consistently dealt with morning sickness during the early stages of your past pregnancies.

You glance up at Harry through the mirror with horror written across your face. "Harry," you meekly whisper with tears coming to your eyes, "I......., I...., I can't be *harsh swollow* pregnant. Oh my god, Harry, we turn forty next year. I..... I take my birth control everyday, and you're getting the vasectomy next month, but...., but what if? Oh my god."

Once you've placed your toothbrush down, Harry gently turns you around so you can become face to face with him without the mirror interfering. "Baby, calm down, everythin's gonna be alright. M' not sayin' you are pregnant. We don't know until you take a test. You may just have a lil tummy bug. But if you are pregnant, we'll go from there. You know you always have options."

"Harry, you know I could never." you say, regarding his last sentence. You fully support the right to abortion; however, on a personal level, you believe that unless it's medically necessary, you'd struggle to make that choice for yourself. In the event of an unplanned pregnancy, you'll be determined to find a way to manage life with a new baby. Having successfully navigated this situation four times previously, you're confident in your ability to do so again. Although, having a baby at the age of forty is not your preferred scenario.

Gazing at you with sincerity, Harry softly states, "I know sweetheart, but I want you to understand that if you ever came to that conclusion, the decision is entirely yours." He leans in to give you a gentle kiss on the lips, even though you've just recovered from being sick (you did at least brush your teeth), then withdraws and adds, "Would you prefer that I go to the store now to get a test, or should I wait 'til after work? I don’t mind being late this mornin'. This is much more important."

Standing there for a moment, you weigh your choices. You are eager to find out if you're pregnant, to put your mind at ease regarding the uncertainties. However, you realize that taking the test now might not give you the time you need to process the results, particularly if they're positive, and to have a proper conversation with Harry about it. You doubt you'd have the luxury of time if you took the test this morning.

"I can wait until you get home this evening."

"You sure?" Harry questions carefully. He knows how your brain works and knows your brain will be worked up all day if you wait.

You nod with conformation, "Yeah, I'm sure. If it is positive, I want us to be able to process the news afterwards and we'd only have time for that after the kids are in bed for the night. So I can wait."

Harry bends down slightly to wrap his arms around you, holding you securely. "Okay, but if you need anythin' today, please call me. I'll keep m'phone on me all day. And remember, no matter what the test results are tonight, everythin' will be alright. We've been together for almost twenty-two years and there's nothin' we can't handle together."

Harry leaves for work soon after the embrace and you exit the bathroom, ready to get your kids up for school, even though exhaustion is seeping into your bones and you've only been up for about an hour.

--------------------------------

Throughout his the day at work, Harry couldn't shake the thought of you from his mind, particularly regarding the situation that arose this morning. The possibility of you being pregnant fills him with both joy and apprehension. While many people have children later in life, the idea of becoming a father at forty worries him; he imagines being gray and elderly by the time the child finishes school. Nevertheless, he's confident that he would love a new baby unconditionally, just as he's done with his four existing children.

After Harry wrapped up his workday, he drove to the shops located near your house to buy a pregnancy test. Once he had it in hand, he made sure to hide it within his work briefcase, fully aware that if his eldest daughter, June, came across it, she would have a multitude of questions for them. He'd rather she not discover the possibility of her mother being pregnant in such a manner.

Harry gets home a little later than normal and hurriedly goes upstairs to put away the pregnancy test until you're ready to use it tonight. Afterward, he comes back down to enjoy some family time with the kids while you wrap up dinner.

--------------------------------

Once dinner has been ate, baths have been given, and the little ones are all snug in their beds, you and Harry finally enter the bathroom to do what you've been eagerly awaiting to do all day. While the kids were at school, you had to suppress the desire to go to the store and buy a test just to get it over with. However, you remembered that you and Harry had decided to do this together, tonight.

"Do you want me to step out or..." Harry goes to ask, but is cut off by you saying, "No, please stay." Though you've been married for many years, Harry still likes to ask if you want privacy for certain things; taking pregnancy tests, changing tampons, pooping, just out of respect, but you don't want to be alone right now.

"Okay baby, I'll stay. Everythin's gonna be alright." You take a seat on the toilet as Harry opens the box containing the pregnancy test. He walks over to you, hands you the test, and then quickly returns the box to the drawer to prevent any evidence from being found in the trash can. You take off the cap of the test and begin peeing on the stick, while Harry leans against the bathroom counter, patiently waiting.

Once you've finished, you secure the cap back on the pregnancy test and hand it to Harry while you wipe and flush the toilet. He places it on the counter and starts a timer on his phone. When you walk over to him, he leans down slightly and wraps his arms around you, offering a warm and comforting hug. "I’m really nervous," you whisper into his shoulder.

"It’s okay, m'love. If it turns out to be positive, think of it like this: we are healthy people with a comfortable income and a lovin' family. This means we're in a fortunate position to welcome a new life, somethin' that many families don't have the luxury of." This is one of the reasons you love Harry so much. He consistently focuses on the positives, even in less than ideal circumstances, because that's just the type of person he is.

You remain in his arms until the timer goes off, and then you request Harry to check the test, feeling too anxious to look yourself. Once he silences the alarm, Harry takes a deep breath to prepare for the results, then picks up the pregnancy test from the countertop and turns it over. A gasp escapes his lips, followed by a quiet sob that rises from his chest.

Finally finding the courage, you raise your head from his shoulder to see the digital screen displaying the word "positive." Harry, with shaky hands, swiftly sets the test down and pulls you into an even tighter embrace. You're caught in a blend of shock and emotional chaos; your body feels stiff, while your chest quakes with a sob. In the bathroom, you both stand together, wrapped in each other's arms, crying. It’s hard to tell if your tears are those of happiness or fear.

You allow yourselves to break down for a couple of minutes, before you decide to speak first. "Harry, we're having another baby."

At first, he's uncertain if you're feeling happy or upset, but a single look at your face indicates that happiness is the stronger emotion. Although the situation isn't perfect, what's done is done, and acceptance is important. "Fuck, Y/n. We're havin' another lil' baby."

With an emotional giggle, you look up and question Harry, needing to know where he stands on the matter. "Are you happy though?"

With tears glistening in his green eyes, he nods and responds, "M' so fuckin' happy, m'love." He gently places a hand on your cheek, cradling your jaw, and leans in to kiss you. You gasp momentarily, but quickly find comfort in his presence.

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Eventually, Harry proposed that you shower together, and you accepted the offer. He assisted you in taking off your clothing and led you into the steamy glass doors. His intentions weren't sexual; he just wanted to be near you, to hold you, and to kneel and kiss your belly, even though at this point it looked normal and nothing more than a small bloat, if that.

After holding each other under the cascading water for a few minutes, Harry helped you wash your hair and body before he washed himself. He then assisted you in stepping out of the shower, and the both of you dried off before standing at the sink to brush your teeth. That was pretty much the only part of tonight that he didn't help you with.

Because once you'd finished brushing your teeth, he helped you dress in a pair of panties and one of his oversized t-shirts. He then helped you settle into bed. Due to your mental and physical fatigue from the day, sleep came easily once you were both tucked under the covers. The only worry you have now is how you'll break the news to your children and families.

Pregnant at 40..... At least your family will know that even after all these years, the two of you still love each other and get intimate in that aspect. Many couples your age either don't last that long or their sex drive plumits. But obviously not with the two of you.

(PLEASE REBLOG BECAUSE WRITING IS NOT EASY AND IT'S FREE SO JUST DO IT)

(if you want to be apart of my new tag list, let me know right here !! some people who've requested to be added doesn't allow me to @ you. please check your settings first.)

taglist: @swiftmendeshoran // @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite // @hsonlyangelxo // @lunabai // @ppleasingg // @harryscherrysugar // @devilsqueen722 // @mema10 // @harryswifee // @jewelaponte // @fruity-harry // @triski73 // @chronicallybubbly // @prettygurl-2009 // @sincerely-yours-marsbar // @ilovezaynmalik08

My Masterlist Masterpost

#harry styles #harry styles fan fiction #fan fiction #dadrry #dad!harry #husbandrry #husband!harry #softrry #soft!harry #harry styles pregnancy #pregnancy #harry x reader #harry styles sickfic #harry styles fluff #harry styles blurb #harry styles one shot

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jjscrybaby · 3 months ago

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jj maybank x sweetheart!reader | hurt & comfort | (gun violence, anxious!reader, comforting!jj.)

this is based on season 1 episode 1 but i did get the idea to write it from @blueheron15 !! i’m gonna write more scenes from the show with this pairing i think but as always keep sending reqs!

i went back and changed some things to do with sarah and john b in the first thing i posted for sweetheart!reader because i want it all to make sense timeline wise so it wouldn’t add up for reader to meet jj through sarah!

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶︶

The entire day had felt like torture for you. The others had enjoyed themselves, a day of adventure and excitement which you hadn’t all felt for a while, you felt the opposite. All of it was too much, the gun, the money, the dead body showing up. It was too much, maybe that’s why you’d agreed to the kegger so easily. Getting drunk can do nothing but calm you down.

“Okay, baby?” JJ asked softly as you came and sat down on his lap halfway through the night.

“Mhm,” you hummed, sipping on your bitter beer; there weren’t any other options and you weren’t in a complaining mood.

“Yeah? Why you lookin’ at me all grumpy then, huh?” He teased, poking your cheek.

You pretended to bite his finger, causing him to let out a mock gasp which had you giggling in his arms. He smiled sweetly at you, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Just an overwhelming day.”

“Yeah, but it was fun,” JJ replied.

“For you.”

“Maybe, but you had fun earlier when we were on the boat. And I know you liked bein’ pressed up against me on the ledge,” he teased, making your cheeks heat up at the memory.

“Shut it, Jayj. Didn’t have a choice, you forced me to come along,” you pouted.

He ran his finger over your lip, mocking you with the same expression. “C’mon, cheer up baby. Nothin’ else out of the ordinary is gonna happen, okay? We’re just havin’ a drink with our friends, and people we hate.” He pointed to the group of Kooks on the far end of the beach.

“Sarah’s nice,” you murmured, resting your head on his shoulder.

“Is she?” He’d never really heard you talk about her, all he knew was what Kiara had told him about her so he assumed that meant that you weren’t a fan of the blonde also.

“She hangs out with me at school sometimes. Kie doesn’t mind, I already checked,” you explained. JJ smiled softly at you, of course you’d made sure Kiara was okay with you talking to Sarah. You were just too sweet.

“She hangs with you at school?” JJ knew you weren’t a huge fan of school. A lot of the Kook’s used to take advantage of your kindness, and that lead to him having some serious conversations with them. No one bothers you anymore, but most also don’t make an effort to even get to know you.

You nodded your head, sipping your drink again. You weren’t feeling the buzz that you wanted. “We eat lunch together sometimes, or, like, we partner up for projects.”

“That’s nice, sweetheart,” he said, kissing your temple.

It was nice, and that was probably why later that night, when he’d had enough drinks to last a lifetime, he offered Sarah his spare drink. He meant no harm, he was just happy that someone at school was making you happy. It only took a minute for things to go wrong.

John B had saved JJ from a fight with Topper, something that’s happened more times than he could count, but Topper just had to have the last word. “Dirty Pogues!” It had sent John B reeling, turning around to shove him.

From there, it just spiralled. One moment Topper was winning, the next John B was, and soon enough the Kook had one of your best friend’s heads held under water.

“He’s drowning him!” Pope exclaimed.

JJ saw red. You watched as the blonde rushed over, and then the click of the gun safety echoed through your ears. That damn gun. It was held to Topper’s head, everyone seemed to freeze as they realised what was going on.

“Yeah, you know what that is. Your move, broski,” you could hear JJ threaten.

You were frozen. On one hand, you weren’t sure he had much other choice? If he hadn’t stepped in then there’s a high likelihood Topper wouldn’t have stopped until John B was dead. On the other hand, he was holding a gun to someone’s head; that spoke for itself.

The crowd dispersed, terrified of the mad man with the gun, leaving just your group of friends and Sarah and Kelce to deal with the aftermath.

“JJ! Put the gun down,” Sarah pleaded.

“Did you say somethin’, Princess?” JJ asked, not even turning to look at her.

“We’re good, we’re good,” Topper exclaimed, holding his hands up in surrender as he slowly started to stand up.

“Kie! Can you check your psycho friend, please?” You didn’t necessarily like Sarah calling JJ a psycho, but he was sort of acting like one. You’d be the same if it was Topper holding a gun to JJ’s head; you’d probably be worse.

“Okay, everyone, listen up! Get the hell off our side of the island!” JJ yelled, holding the gun in the air as he shot it off twice.

That was what did it. The waterworks were set off and you started to panic. You weren’t scared of JJ, you were scared for him. He just fired a gun, he could go to jail! You couldn’t help but to start crying as the overwhelming situation took over.

“Are you crazy? You idiot!” Pope exclaimed as both him and Kiara shoved JJ. “Why would you do that?”

“It’s not worth it!” Kie added.

“I’m saying his life, okay?” JJ argued.

It took only a few seconds for him to look at you. He was expecting you to be angry, not crying.

“You’re gonna jeopardise everything!” Pope carried on, but JJ wasn’t listening to the lecture anymore.

“Hey, hey, baby.” JJ rushed to your side, cupping your face in his hands. “Are you hurt? What’s wrong? Talk to me.”

“You’re gonna get in trouble,” you whispered, afraid of Pope and Kiara’s reactions to what you were worried about.

JJ’s eyebrows furrowed, he grabbed your hand in his as Kie and Pope ran over to help John B. He dragged you — gently — down the beach and away from the still lingering party-goers. His hands found your waist, tugging you so you were chest to chest.

“You don’t gotta worry about me getting in trouble, okay?” He soothed, stroking your hair.

“I don’t want you to go to jail!” You argued, sobs still leaving your mouth just at the thought.

“Alright, alright.” He was trying his best to not let the amusement show on his face. He couldn’t help it, you were just so cute. “No one’s going to jail, okay? I promise. I’m fine. Now, do you want to stand here crying or do you want to go home?”

“With you?” You checked, wiping the tears from your face.

He smiled down at you, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Yeah, sweetheart. With me.”

#sweetheart!reader #jj maybank #outer banks #jj mayback x reader #jj maybank prompt #jj mayback imagine #obx

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wholoveseggs · 1 year ago

Note

Yo I’m back. Tbh half of your anon requests are me lol. Can you write something about Elijah and the reader having a family. Kids of any age maybe living in the compound with the rest of the mikaelsons? Still smut ofc but I love that episode where Elijah is with Cami at the safe house and he acts all family man fixing the fence n stuff that was hotttt

Family Man

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

Life at the compound can be chaotic with kids and family running around, but Elijah wouldn't have it any other way.

♡♡ Thanks for the request wonderful @elijahstwink (everyone go check out his fics!) & anon!I Love domestic Elijah sooo much, I truly believe this would be his dream life. ♡♡

4.5k words - Warnings: smut, oral sex, unfortunately I didn't make this as kinky as requested...its just very sappy and sweet, this is just a day in the life of Elijah as a devoted father and husband, pregnant!reader, uncle Klaus being precious, toddlers, hot cocoa, kittens & so much flufffffff

ps, this is pretty much a sequel to devotion...

In the early hours of the morning you were awoken by a loud snore from your husband. You rolled over to face him, chuckling a little as you watched his peaceful sleeping form. It was the first time in a long time he was finally getting the rest he deserved.

You slowly turned, carefully sliding out of bed. You tiptoed out the room and decided to go down to the kitchen to make some tea.

You loved this time of night, being in the stillness of the house, just enjoying the calmness and being able to take in the beauty of it all.

When you reached the bottom step, you heard some sniffling and cries coming from one of the rooms down the hall. You rushed to the door and opened it, and a small figure ran into your arms, clinging onto you.

"What's wrong, little one?" you asked, scooping her up.

"I had a nightmare. There were these people with sharp teeth and they were chasing me. And then you were there but you were gone. It was scary, mommy," she sobbed, her head buried in your chest.

"It's okay, sweetheart, it was just a dream. Nothing bad will happen to you. You are safe," you said, kissing her head and stroking her hair, soothing her. "Come on, let's go get something warm to drink,"

You carried her down to the kitchen and began to prepare the hot cocoa, which was her favorite. As you stood over the stove, waiting for the milk to boil, you felt her little hands rubbing your stomach.

"Mommy, when is the baby going to come out?" she asked.

"Not for a while, sweetie. It needs to grow inside my belly for a little longer," you chuckled.

"Okay," she said, looking sad. "I can't wait to meet them. Is it a girl or a boy?" she asked, looking up at you with her big, brown eyes.

"We don't know yet," you replied.

"Oh," she replied, disappointed. "I hope it's a girl. I already have a brother, I want a sister," she said.

"We'll just have to wait and see," you smiled, placing the mug of hot cocoa down on the counter. "Here, drink up, before it gets cold," you said.

She hopped off the chair and held the mug with both her hands, sipping away. You sipped on your tea as well, feeling relaxed. You loved these quiet moments with her, and you would cherish every one of them, since she was growing up so fast.

"So, what was this dream about, princess?" you asked, wanting to know more.

"T-there were people with sharp teeth and they were after me," she said.

"And why do you think that was?" you asked, not wanting her to feel afraid, but curious about what caused this dream.

"I think I saw it in a movie or something," she said, her eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "An-and uncle Nik showed me his sharp teeth, but he promised he would never bite me, only use them to protect me," she said.

"Oh, did he now?" you laughed.

"Yeah, but then he bit my teddy bear," she said, giggling. "he said my teddy was a threat!"

"That sounds like something uncle Nik would do," you chuckled.

"Can I sleep with you and daddy tonight?" she asked, her eyes wide and pleading.

"Of course, sweetheart," you replied.

"Thank you, mommy," she said, smiling and hugging your legs.

"Come on, let's go to bed," you said, picking her up. She wrapped her arms around your neck and laid her head on your shoulder as you walked back up to your bedroom.

You placed her in the middle of the bed, and she quickly snuggled up against Elijah, her head on his chest. She loved having his attention. She was a daddy's girl through and through.

You slid back into bed, lying down on your side and Elijah instantly pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you, holding you both.

"Is my little one alright?" he asked sleepily, his eyes still closed.

"I had a bad dream, daddy," she sniffled, curling up against him.

"It's alright, my love. Everything will be alright," he said, kissing her head and soothing her. "No bad dreams will get you while I'm here," he said, pulling the blanket up and tucking her in.

She smiled at him and kissed his cheek, cuddling him as she drifted off to sleep. He stroked her hair, and her eyes grew heavy. Soon she was sound asleep, and he placed his hand on your stomach, his precious family safe in his arms.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Exhausted. Our littlest one is keeping me up, constantly moving and kicking," you sighed, feeling drained.

"Let's hope it's not like this for the whole pregnancy," he chuckled.

"Don't even joke about that," you groaned.

He gave you a kiss on the head, your daughter snuggled in between the two of you, and you finally managed to get a few more hours of sleep.

Elijah was woken by the sunlight shining through the curtains, and he smiled at the sight of his beautiful family.

His daughter was still cuddled up to him, her head buried in his chest, she stirred slightly and yawned.

"Do you want breakfast?" he asked, his hand on her back.

"Yes," she mumbled.

"Hmmm what would you and your brother like? Gruel? Porridge?" he asked, teasing her.

"Eww no," she groaned, loudly.

"Alright, alright, pancakes it is, let's go wake your brother and the rest of the family," he said, chuckling.

"Can we get chocolate chips on the pancakes?" she asked as he carried her out the room.

"I don't know, maybe your brother wants blueberries, but we'll ask," he said, tickling her.

His son and his niece were both awake and running around, and Klaus was chasing him, laughing, the children giggling as they hid under the dining table.

"Oh, look who's here. Little Rebekah is up," Klaus teased.

"No! That's not my name!" she pouted, crossing her arms.

"Yes, it is," Elijah chuckled.

"Nooo," she whined. "It's just Bex," she said.

"Alright, alright, Bex it is," Klaus chuckled, patting his head.

"Pancakes for breakfast, anyone?" Elijah asked.

"Yes, yes, yes," the children yelled.

"Chocolate chips?" Klaus asked, grinning.

"Yes!!!" the kids screamed, all jumping up and down in excitement.

"Alright, I'll make them, the last one to the kitchen is a rotten egg," Klaus said, speeding off.

The kids squealed and ran after Klaus, and Elijah chuckled and went back upstairs to check on you.

You were sound asleep, your hair fanned across the pillow. He laid down next to you, placing his hand on the swell of your stomach, smiling and talking to the baby.

"How are you, littlest one? Have you been keeping mommy up all night?" he asked, his dimples on full display.

"Yes, they have," you sighed.

"That's my job," he smirked, leaning in and giving you a kiss. "Would you like some breakfast?" he asked.

"I'll go eat later. I just want to stay here for a little longer," you replied, holding his hand on your stomach.

Elijah hummed softly and pulled you close, kissing your head and rubbing your back. He loved the way you melted into his touch.

"How is Bex?" you asked.

"She's completely forgotten about her nightmare, Klaus is making breakfast for all the kids," he chuckled.

"They have him wrapped around their little fingers," you giggled.

"He has grown soft, it's true," Elijah said.

"Bex told me he bit her teddy bear," you laughed.

"Yes, well, that doesn't surprise me," he chuckled, his lips brushing against yours.

You sighed happily and wrapped your arms around him, feeling complete bliss in his embrace.

"What would you like to do today?" he asked.

"Stay right here with you," you replied, running your hand through his hair, making him hum in delight. You were feeling a bit needy this morning, the pregnancy hormones making you want him all the time.

"I think that can be arranged," he smirked.

You grinned and leaned in, kissing him slowly, deepening the kiss. He moaned, and rolled over, pressing you into the mattress, making sure not to put any weight on your stomach.

He loved your pregnant state, the way your skin glowed, your eyes sparkled and the way you moaned his name made him crazy. He couldn't keep his hands off you, he wanted to ravish you day and night.

He thought he knew all of his kinks, but this one took him by surprise. When you were first pregnant with Henry it was like something in his brain clicked. The possessiveness, the lust, the way his cock ached to be inside you, he was lost.

Henry was a miracle, he didn't quite know how the magic worked. You tried to explain it to him once, your witch ancestry, how the moon played a part, but all he could think about was fucking you senseless, filling you up, and breeding you.

You were the perfect partner, and an absolute warrior, but nothing turned him on more than seeing you in this submissive, almost docile state. You were his wife, his goddess, and his greatest treasure, and he wanted nothing more than to please you day and night.

His hands went to your soft, full breasts, squeezing and kneading them, making you whimper and moan. He captured your nipple between his lips, flicking his tongue over the sensitive bud, his other hand moving your nightdress up your thighs.

"Elijah," you sighed, his fingers brushing over your wet panties, making you gasp and moan.

"Is my beautiful wife needy this morning?" he smirked, his fingers slipping past the lace.

"Yes," you panted, the pad of his index finger teasing your clit, making your body tremble.

"Good," he hummed, his mouth on your neck, his fingers slowly pumping in and out of your wet heat.

You were both so lost in pleasure that neither of you heard the sound of Bex running up the stairs, Klaus not far behind her.

Luckily the door was locked, Elijah knew better than that with a house full of children.

"Daddy? Mommy?" she asked softly, knocking on the door.

"One minute, my love," Elijah called, his voice strained, trying to keep himself from ravishing you.

"Okay," she said, not leaving, but sitting down outside the door.

"Come back downstairs Bex, your mom and dad are a bit busy at the moment," Klaus chuckled, his voice low.

"Are they playing hide and seek?" she asked.

"Something like that," he replied.

"Can we play after?" she asked.

"Absolutely, sweetheart. Now come on, let's finish our pancakes, you don't want Henry to eat them all," he chuckled, lifting her up and taking her back downstairs.

Elijah looked down at your flushed face, laughing at the situation.

"You are so mean," you groaned, pushing him off you.

"Mean? I was just getting started," he chuckled.

"I think our daughter needs us, and Henry has probably eaten all the pancakes by now," you laughed, getting up and smoothing out your dress.

"I'll finish what I started tonight," he smirked.

"Don't get your hopes up," you chuckled, kissing his cheek and getting dressed.

Elijah watched your every move, the way you walked, the glow on your skin, and how the dress clung to the curve of your stomach. You looked ethereal. He was completely mesmerized, and completely smitten.

You were looking at yourself in the mirror, the dress a little too tight, the buttons straining against your swollen breasts.

"We are going to have to get you new dresses," he chuckled, walking up behind you and wrapping his arms around you.

"This was my favorite," you pouted.

"We'll find you something that fits, don't worry," he said, kissing your shoulder.

"My back is killing me," you groaned, feeling a bit overwhelmed.

"Let me try something," he said, his hands dipping under your belly and lifting the bump, and you immediately felt relief. "Better?" he whispered against your skin.

You let out a happy groan and leaned into him, letting him hold you. His hands were gentle, his touch making the tension and aches melt away.

"Thank you," you sighed.

"You are very welcome," he hummed.

"Let's go eat, I'm absolutely starving," you laughed, kissing him and taking his hand.

"Let's," he smiled.

When the two of you entered the dining room, Bex squealed and jumped out of her seat, running towards Elijah.

"Daddy I saved you a pancake, see, here it is," she said, holding it up.

"That's very sweet of you, darling," he said, bending down and picking her up.

She fed him the pancake, giggling and laughing, and Klaus was grinning from ear to ear, and he handed you a plate filled with an assortment of fruit, knowing it was your favorite.

"Thank you," you smiled, sitting down at the table, feeling your stomach rumble.

Hope was sitting with Henry, and they were coloring on their plates, syrup and chocolate spread everywhere, their laughter filling the room.

Bex was still cuddled up to Elijah, and his hand was on your stomach, and he was feeding you pieces of fruit, smiling at you.

"Your birthday is coming up little Bekah, what do you want as a present?" Klaus asked, ruffling her hair.

"Hmmm I don't know," she replied, deep in thought.

"Anything you want, sweetheart," Elijah smiled.

"Can we get a puppy?" Henry asked, excitedly.

"Not until you're old enough to take care of it," Elijah replied, ruffling his hair.

"What about a kitten?" Klaus asked, raising his eyebrow.

"I love kitties!" Hope squealed.

"Yes, yes, yes!" the children yelled.

"I'll have to think about it," Elijah chuckled.

"Please dad! It's all I want for my birthday," Bex begged, her big brown eyes looking at him, her little lip pouting.

"Don't let her pull that face, Elijah, it's not fair," Klaus laughed.

"Alright, alright, you can have a kitten," he replied, smiling at his little girl.

She squealed and threw her arms around him, giving him a sloppy kiss on the cheek.

"I promise I'll take care of it, daddy," she smiled.

"I'm sure you will," he replied, smiling and looking at you.

Klaus could see the exhaustion on your face, and the way you rubbed your stomach. You were tired and he could sense it, he knew you needed a break and some alone time with Elijah.

"Why don't we go out and play, little ones," he said, scooping up the children. "Let's all go to the park, we can even invite uncle Kol and aunt Rebekah," he suggested.

"Yay, yay, yay," the kids cheered.

"That sounds like a good idea," you replied, yawning and stretching your arms.

"Let's go, let's go," he said, wrangling the kids out of the compound.

Once they were gone, Elijah got up and started cleaning up the mess everyone had made. The compound was bursting at the seams with his family, and it was never quiet, but he enjoyed it, seeing the children run around and play, their laughter and their love filling the rooms.

You leaned back in your chair, admiring the sight of your husband working, his sleeves rolled up, and his hair falling over his forehead.

"You are gorgeous," you sighed, making him look up from the sink.

"As are you," he smirked.

"I can't believe you agreed to get Bex a kitten," you laughed.

"She can be very persuasive," he chuckled, drying his hands and coming to sit next to you.

"She has you wrapped around her finger," you smiled, cupping his cheek.

"Like I am not the same with her mother," he laughed.

"You have a point there," you grinned, kissing him.

He smiled against your lips, his hand moving down your body, resting on your stomach, letting out a contented sigh.

You mind wandered to all the things that needed to be done for the kids and around the house, you also hadn't even started preparing the nursery. You felt overwhelmed and the hormones weren't helping. On top of all that you had a party coming up.

"Stop thinking out loud," Elijah chuckled, pulling you closer.

"I can't help it, there is just so much to do," you groaned, burying your head in the crook of his neck. "I'm already behind, the baby will be here soon and I still haven't gotten anything ready."

"We still have a few months, everything will be fine, love. We will get the nursery ready, and the party will be wonderful, I'm sure of it," he replied, kissing your forehead.

His reassurances didn't help your worries, and you knew you were being unreasonable, but the stress was starting to take its toll.

"And now we have to go find a kitten, I don't even know where to start," you sighed, shaking your head.

"We can look online, we can go to a shelter, there's plenty of options," he replied, stroking your hair.

He was always so patient, so understanding, and you had no idea how he stayed so calm. You felt like you were going crazy.

"Do you even want a kitten?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I prefer them over dogs, although their hair does get everywhere," he chuckled, cupping your cheek. "They are excellent little predators, great for catching the mice that are running around this old place," he smirked.

"You're not wrong, the mice are awful," you laughed, remembering the time you were down in the wine cellar and one of them ran across your foot.

"Why don't you go rest, my love? I will clean up here and join you upstairs," he suggested.

You nodded and yawned, standing up and heading towards the stairs, Elijah's eyes on you the entire time.

The moment you got to the bed and laid down, your eyes closed and you were fast asleep.

When you woke up you heard soft hammering coming from the other room, and you went to investigate, finding Elijah, shirtless and sweaty, fixing the nursery.

"I told you not to start without me," you sighed, crossing your arms and leaning against the door.

He looked over his shoulder, smiling at the sight of you, the sunlight coming in through the window and making you glow.

"It needed to be done. I'm almost finished," he replied, standing up and putting the crib together.

"You've been busy," you laughed, walking over and running your hands over the white, wooden furniture. He hand painted the walls and assembled everything, and you felt tears prickle at your eyes.

"It's beautiful," you sighed, looking around.

"Are you crying? Don't cry, darling," he said, pulling you close, your face pressed against his chest.

"I can't help it, these stupid hormones," you sniffled.

"It's alright," he laughed, stroking your hair.

You sighed and pulled away, taking in the nursery. There was a rocking chair and a bookshelf, filled with all the children's books the two of you had collected over the years.

"It looks wonderful," you said, smiling and wiping away your tears.

"Now, what would my lovely wife like to do for the rest of the afternoon? We have the place to ourselves, so I was thinking we could make good use of that large tub in our bathroom," he smirked, wiggling his eyebrows.

"You read my mind," you grinned.

You followed him back into your room, watching him fill up the tub with warm water, pouring in some bubble bath.

"Get undressed, darling," he smiled, taking his pants off and getting in the tub, moaning at the sensation of the water against his skin.

You slowly peeled off your dress, feeling a little self-conscious about your changing body. Here was your husband, eternally chiseled, and there you were, round and swollen.

"Come, let me take care of you," he whispered, seeing your hesitation.

You slipped in next to him, the water and bubbles a nice contrast to the heat of the day.

He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you against his chest, placing his hands on the swell of your stomach.

"There, doesn't that feel nice?" he hummed.

"Very nice," you sighed, resting your head on his shoulder, closing your eyes and relaxing.

His hands roamed over your skin, his lips brushing over the curve of your neck.

"I've missed having you all to myself," he whispered, his voice low and seductive.

"Mmm," was all you could say, too relaxed and content to form words.

He gently cupped your breasts, the pads of his thumbs brushing over your nipples, making you whimper and moan.

"Eli," you sighed, his touch sending shivers through your body.

"You're so beautiful," he said, his voice breathy.

You turned your head and looked at him, his gaze filled with lust and desire.

"Do you want to continue this on our bed?" You asked, your voice sultry.

"I'd love to," he replied, the corners of his mouth turning up into a smirk.

He helped you out of the tub, wrapping a towel around your body. Before suddenly scooping you up in his arms, carrying you to the bedroom and laying you down.

"I can't wait until I'm not this enormous," you sighed, looking down at your swollen belly.

"You're not enormous, you're beautiful, and absolutely radiant," he replied, hovering over you, his hand gently resting on your stomach.

You couldn't help but smile, and the tears started rolling down your cheeks.

"Don't cry again, my love," he chuckled.

"I can't help it! Just ignore me," you said, wiping the tears away.

"As if that is possible," he laughed.

He kissed your forehead, moving his way down your body, placing his hands on your hips, his lips pressing soft kisses against the curve of your stomach.

"Elijah, you don't have to do that," you whispered, feeling a little shy.

"But I want to," he replied, kissing his way down, spreading your legs.

"Oh," was all you could say, his tongue swirling over your clit, one hand on your inner thigh, the other resting on your stomach.

He hummed and moaned, the vibrations making you gasp, and arch your back. He could tell you were sensitive, and he was gentle, taking his time.

You ran your fingers through his hair, tugging a little, making him moan and pick up the pace.

" 'lijah," you panted, feeling the pleasure coil in your core.

You couldn't even see him over the swell of your stomach, but you could feel him, and the noises he was making were sending you into overdrive.

"Fuck, don't stop," you gasped, the orgasm hitting you like a ton of bricks, leaving you dizzy and lightheaded.

Elijah was enjoying himself, the taste of you on his tongue, the noises you were making, and the sight of you coming apart, was driving him crazy.

You tugged on his hair, pulling his face away, the sensations becoming too much, and he crawled up your body, kissing your stomach as he moved.

"Did you enjoy that, darling?" He asked, kissing you and tasting yourself on his tongue.

"Mmm yes, very much," you hummed, pushing on his chest so he laid back.

He watched you move, a smirk on his face, his pupils blown. You sat on his thighs, stroking him, seeing his abs tense and relax, and he let out a long, deep moan.

"You are such a good father and husband, always going above and beyond for us," you said, leaning down and licking his length. "Let me show you how much I appreciate you,"

You leaned down and teased his head with your tongue, enjoying the string of curses that came tumbling from his mouth.

A soft hum escaped you as you slowly, and carefully, sucked on the head, teasing and tasting.

"Love, you are exquisite," he groaned, burying his fingers in your hair.

You took him deeper, hollowing your cheeks, letting him move at the pace he desired. All you wanted to do was please him, you loved when his voice would crack from pleasure and the way his fingers would tug on your hair.

"Come here," he said, cupping your cheek.

You pulled off of him with a pop, moving to sit on top of him, kissing him and grinding against his length.

"Mmm, I could do this forever," you hummed, biting his bottom lip and tugging.

He ran his hands up and down your back, nibbling at your shoulder, suckling marks into your skin.

Your swell was pressed against his abs, and he could feel every slight movement, enjoying the sight of you rolling your hips.

He guided you down onto his cock, the sheets bunched up around the two of you, and he rolled his hips, his hands gripping your ass.

"You are stunning," he murmured, kissing the valley between your breasts.

His lips brushed over your nipples, sucking, his teeth grazing them, his groans vibrating through your body.

"Eli- stop, they are too sensitive," you panted, running your nails over his skin, leaving bright red scratches.

"Sorry, love," he replied, grinning at the sting of your nails.

He did most of the work, gently rocking you in a steady rhythm, and the two of you moaned, the pleasure coursing through your bodies, his lips brushing your neck.

It was a slow, hot and steamy fuck, you felt like your body was on fire, the sweat and heat radiating off the two of you.

You leaned forward a little, allowing Elijah to get a little more friction, his hips moving faster, the both of you panting and moaning.

"Ah- Elijah, I'm-," you panted against his lips.

You buried your head in the crook of his neck as you came undone, clenching around him.

Elijah followed suit, the sensation of your orgasm bringing him to the edge.

He cupped the back of your neck, bringing you down for a kiss, and the two of you hummed, content and sated, basking in the afterglow.

"I wish we could stay like this," you sighed, nuzzling against him.

He laughed, and gently rolled you onto your side, pulling out of you and tucking you against his chest, both of you smiling like idiots.

"I love you," he said, stroking your hair.

"I love you too," you whispered, resting your head on his arm, letting the world melt away for just a few minutes.

Elijah watched you drift off to sleep, a small smile on his face. He kissed your forehead and closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling of being next to you.

It was days like these that made him wonder what he did to deserve it. That perhaps there was some sort of higher power that had guided him to you, that brought him such profound peace and happiness after centuries of darkness.

You mumbled and cuddled up against him, he placed his hand on your belly, rubbing it with his thumb, thinking about how lucky he was.

He was living a life he never thought he would have, a family of his own, one he created. He didn't know what was waiting for him after he was done with this life, but he hoped you would be there with him.

In the next life, and all the ones after that.

♡♡ Tag-List ♡♡

♡ @gorgeouslydangerous ♡ @starkleila ♡ @lydia1369sworld ♡ @notleylaaa ♡ @vampiresluv ♡ @myanmy ♡ @xflowerbombxo ♡ @maryvibess ♡ @always-and-forever-daydreaming ♡ @criminallminds ♡ @theesexystallion ♡ @rosemarypotion ♡ @spnaquakindgdom ♡ @amournoir ♡ @loving-and-dreaming ♡

♡ @meeom ♡ @damienmorton ♡ @wickedmuse ♡ @sunkissedebony97 ♡ @idk00sblog ♡ @savannaounana♡ @cs-please ♡ complicatedandconfusing-25 ♡ @hamiltimes ♡ @akala6670229 ♡ @yeaiamme2 ♡ @itsjulzandmydiamonds ♡ @spideysbabe ♡ @witch-of-letters ♡ @elijahstwink ♡ @rosecentury ♡ @sekaishell ♡ @ziayamikaelson ♡ @amanda08319 ♡ @starshipcookie

I've gotten a few dm's about my tags not working (yay) so let me know if its still a problem, I just re-tagged all of you so hopefully that solved it ♡

Also! If you wish to be removed from the tag list just send me a dm, you won't hurt my feelings (it's okay if you got sick of me ~lol) I don't wish to hold you hostage ♡

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tonfairy · 30 days ago

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Molded Love

pairing : fine arts student bf! anton x fem! reader

genre : fluff, established relationship

wc : 1k

💌 : hello ! this is my first ever fic ❤️‍🩹 this fic was inspired by the pottery episode of surpriize and i really liked it 🙆🏻‍♀️ i also wrote this out of boredom : ) ps .. proofread but there still might be grammatical errors. enjoy <3 !

The bell rings at exactly 4:00 p.m., meaning, your laboratory class is finally over. You start packing up your things and ready to go home — when a text message pops-up, it's Anton.

Are you still coming?

You curse in your head. How can you forget about your plan with your boyfriend? He's probably been waiting for a while now. You rushed to his ceramics studio and as you arrived, you heard a whirring sound of a potter’s wheel — Anton is working already.

You knocked hesitantly, guilt still weighing from the almost-forgotten plan. “Come in,” he said calmly. When you opened the door, you saw your boyfriend seated, working on the pottery. “Oh, you're here!” He greeted you with a soft smile. “Hi baby,” you replied. “I’m sorry, the lab practical had been so long that I went off track. . . I didn't notice the time,” you added. Anton did not respond; he then turned off the potter's wheel and put the greenware on the table along with his other works.

There’s a deafening silence around the studio; neither you nor Anton dares to speak. The awkward silence made you overthink. Is he upset? What should I do?, you wondered, trying to figure out a way forward. The tension on your body is obvious — Anton probably noticed. Your boyfriend went to you after washing his hands. He hugged you and gently planted a kiss on the top of your head before speaking. “How’s your day, love?” he asked. “Kinda stressful and tiring. . ,” you replied. Anton hummed in response. “I had a hard time performing for the lab practical, it’s harder than what I expected,” you added followed by a deep sigh. You felt the hug getting a bit tighter. He stepped back from the hug, gently cupping your face as he looked into your eyes. “I know you did well — I’m always proud of you, baby,” Anton responded before giving you a peck on your lips. You smiled at your boyfriend, overwhelmed by his fondness for you.

“So. . do you still want to learn pottery?or. ..?""Of Course! That’s why I am here, you silly!,” you quickly respond, cutting off your boyfriend’s words. Anton just smiled at how adorable you are. “Wear this,” he said while giving you the apron.

You've always wanted to take up pottery as a new hobby, but you’re not an artistic person, you don’t have a potter’s wheel, and video tutorials just aren’t helping at all. Luckily, your boyfriend is a Fine Arts student—artistic and has actual knowledge of pottery. You and your boyfriend had been planning this session for a while, however, your schedules never aligned, and you both barely had any leisure time during school days. Now that it’s already happening, you waste no time knowing about the hobby you’ve always wanted to learn — even if you almost forget about it.

As Anton prepares the clay, you can’t do anything but worry that you might have messed up — again, it’s noticeable. “Y/N!” your boyfriend called, cueing that the clay was ready to use. You went right away to the wedging table where your boyfriend is. Anton holds your hand before kneading the clay, “I know you're worried, you’ll learn it soon— just enjoy, love,” he reassured you. You smiled as your boyfriend’s words eased your worries.

“You have to knead the clay first so the air bubbles would be released and it will get smoother,” Anton instructed. You follow and start wedging the clay. However, since it's your first time and the clay is dense, it's tough. Of course, Anton helped you until the clay softened. After that, he turned on the potter's wheel. “I’ll go first, baby. Watch me carefully so you’ll have an idea of how to do it, okay?” Anton said as he sat at the potter's wheel. You nodded. Since Anton is already a pro in pottery, he finished shaping the clay in 15 minutes. “What the hell! You're so quick!” you protested on how fast your boyfriend is. “Well… skills you know,” Anton smirks playfully. “I’m not ready yet, Toni..,” you pouted. “Come on baby, you can do it!” he assures you. “Fine,” you responded while positioning yourself at the potter's wheel. Anton is in front of you, his hands are above yours, guiding you as you shape the clay on the potter's wheel. You’re nervous at first, but as you go with the flow, the feeling slowly fades, replaced by excitement. You soon realize that Anton’s hands are no longer above yours — you’re shaping the clay on your own. Anton looks at you, smiling, full of adoration.

“Baby, I did it!!” you squealed in excitement, proud of yourself for getting the pottery right and smoothly. It took you a bit longer to finish your work but for you, it's still an accomplishment. Anton then helped you put the greenware on the wedging table for it to dry. “Toni, it's so cute!!” you proudly said while looking at the bowl you made. “I can’t wait for it to fully finish!” you added and looked at your boyfriend smiling.

“See? I told you. .you could do it,” Anton said as you both washed your hands. “Forty-five minutes for a first-timer — that's pretty fast!” he added, gently patting your head. You responded with a swift peck on his lips barely giving him time to react. “What was that for?” he replied, still in shock. You hugged Anton, and he hugged you back. When you looked up at him, your eyes met. “Thank you, baby. . really for helping me learn about pottery,” you said, as tears suddenly began to pour. “You have no idea how happy I am right now,” you added, your voice filled with appreciation for your lover, who had patiently helped you learn about the hobby you had longed to do. Anton gently cupped your face and wiped the tears with his thumb. “Anything for my princess,” Anton replied, smiling softly. “I’m proud of you, love,” he added, gently planting a kiss on your lips. You smiled in response.

No words can express how happy you are right now. Yes, you're happy to have learned pottery—but what makes you even happier is that it’s more than just a hobby. You and your boyfriend discovered a new depth of affection through this moment together, one that you believe will become a symbol of an even stronger relationship.

-end-

tysm for reading ! 🫂

#riize anton #anton lee #anton fanfic #anton fluff #riize x reader #riize imagines #lee chanyoung #anton x reader #tonfairy 🧚🏼‍♀️#yubi's library 📚#tonfairy's writings ✍🏼🧚🏼‍♀️

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ofstarsandvibranium · 1 month ago

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Only Want Your Kiss

Fandom: Marvel (Actor AU)

Pairing: Joaquin Torres x F!Reader

Summary: Joaquin is head over heels in love with you. You know this and he knows you know this, BUT he still feels bad whenever he has to kiss and be intimate with another actor. Which always leads to you receiving some extra love from him.

A/N: Inspired by this TikTok.

You Joaquin was an actor when he asked you out. You've seen some of his work, hell, you became a fan of his work! When he told you he got cast in an indie romance film, you were happy for him, of course!

But then he sat you down.

"So I was reading through the script."

"Yeah, and?"

"There's some kissing and slightly steamy scenes involved in this film."

You slowly nod, "Alright."

"I just, you know, I wanted to make sure you're okay with that. I auditioned for this role before we got together and now we're together and plan on moving in and everything, I wanted to check in to make sure this kind of stuff is okay with you."

You softly smile at him, "Of course it is, Joaquin. It's your job, I know you don't mean anything by it."

"You sure? Because if anything, I could get a body double for the steamy scenes-"

"Will there an intimacy coordinator available?"

He nods, "Yeah."

"Then we're good."

"Okay...you sure?"

You can't help but let out a laugh of disbelief, "I am! Honestly, babe, I really appreciate you telling me and checking in with me about this."

"Of course. When we first started talking, you said communication is one of your biggest things in a relationship. I want to make sure I never unintentionally hate you or ruin what we have," he reaches out and interlaces his fingers with yours.

You lean in and peck his lips, "I love you." It'd been a few months since you two exchange those words to each other, and it still brings a smile to Joaquin's face when he hears them.

"I love you too."

____________________________

Joaquin told you he'd be coming over after work with some food and to spend time with you. You expected him.

However, what you didn't expect was for him to immediately push you up against the door, lips pressing against yours.

You giggle into the kiss and push him back a bit, "This is a nice welcome, but what for?"

"Missed you is all," he mumbles and pecks your lips again. He takes a step back, "Go ahead and sit on the couch. I'll plate the food."

"I can help-"

"No, no, baby. Go on. I got it." he welcomes himself into your kitchen and begins to pull out plates and bowls for the takeout he brought.

It takes a few minutes, but eventually he's coming out with two plates in hand. He hands you yours and then sets his on the coffee table. He rushes back to the kitchen and comes back with a glass of your favorite drink.

You look at him confused, "What's going on? You're acting weird."

"I promise, baby, nothing's wrong," he kisses your head and sits beside you on the couch.

He then puts on your favorite show, and eats in silence beside you. Throughout the episode, you side-eye him. He watches the show intently, while shoveling food into his mouth. Every once in a while, he'll make a comment on what's happening on the show, but nothing out of the ordinary.

Once you two are full, he places your feet onto his lap and begins massaging them.

You try to think what might've happened at work for him to behave oddly. Then you remembered: he was filming the kissing scene today.

You giggle and Joaquin's attention is pulled from the tv show to you, "What's up?"

"Are you doing this because you kissed someone else?" you ask with a smirk.

He looks away from you sheepishly, "Maybe..."

You giggle, pulling your feet away and moving closer to him, "Joaquin, I told you it's fine. I know it's just work to you."

"I still feel bad. I just-I don't wanna fuck things up with you. You told me how poorly your exes treated you and I don't wanna end up like them."

You practically melt at his reasoning. You already know that Joaquin will never be like your exes. Even from the first day of meeting him, you knew he was different from the rest of them. He made sure you were comfortable, never pressed too hard on things. He took his time and went at a slow pace because you wanted to.

You cup his face in your hands, "I love you. And I can tell you with one hundred percent confidence, that you will never be like my exes. Because of how considerate and communicative you are, you've already surpassed all of them."

He leans in, resting his forehead against yours, "I just wanna remind you that I care about you. That you're loved and I always wanna make sure you're okay."

You feel tears welling up in your eyes, "See? My exes would never." And that has you both chuckling.

Joaquin wipes away a rogue tear that runs down your cheek, "I hope the only tears I make you shed are ones of happiness and love."

You giggle, "Didn't you say that in one of your movies?"

He pauses for a moment and then nods, "Yeah...I think I did. Damn, I thought I was original for that one."

You full on laugh this time, "You're such a dork," and you kiss his lips, which he happily kisses back.

#joaquin torres x reader #joaquin torres #joaquin torres imagine #marvel fic #marvel au #actor au

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daxisyzz · 29 days ago

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⁺‧˚ ⋆ 𝐁𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐥 | 𝒃𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒚 𝒃𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒔 ⋆ ˚‧⁺

𝑬𝒑𝒊𝒔𝒐𝒅𝒆 4: 𝑭𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝒅𝒂𝒕𝒆... 𝑶𝒓 𝒃𝒐𝒂𝒓𝒅𝒓𝒐𝒐𝒎 𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒈𝒚

Pairings: ceo!boss!bucky barnes × fem!reader

Other characters: bestfriend!Natasha romanoff

Contents: fake dating, chaotic relationship dynamic, workplace romance, contract relationship.

Summary: To maintain appearances, Bucky takes you on a real date. But instead of romance, you’re drilled on your “favorite things,” relationship history, and how to properly hold his hand for the cameras (he claims you’re doing it wrong). Despite the cold approach, your heart skips a beat when he gently tucks your hair behind your ear.

Word count: 2.6k+

Series masterlist

Previous episode Next episode

Inspired by the kdrama "Business Proposal"

Previously on Business Proposal...

You: “He’s possessed. He’s like boyfriend of the year now. I need answers.”

You waited, and it didn’t take long before Natasha’s reply lit up your screen.

Natasha: “So what I’m hearing is: red dress.”

Despite everything, you couldn’t help but laugh. Shaking off the unease Bucky left behind, one thing was clear: things were getting way more complicated than they should be.

__________________•

It was a day off from work, which meant it was your mandatory self-care day. You were lounging on the couch in your softest hoodie, which swallowed you whole, and your favorite pair of fuzzy socks, complete with an old throw blanket you didn’t know where you’d gotten from.

Your laptop was on the table in front of you, playing a show you’d been dying to watch for a long time. It had been five minutes or so when you started zoning out from all the drama—work, fake boyfriend, and life in general. It was bliss.

No work. No Bucky. No pretending.

You turned your attention back to the show when something interesting started happening, and right then you got a notification. You hovered your hand over the mouse, already suspecting some work email. But when you saw the name, your heart dropped:

James B. Barnes.

An email.

You stared at it for a moment, unsure whether to open it or ignore it and blissfully enjoy your day off. But then you reluctantly tapped the email open.

SUBJECT: Confirmed Appointment - Tonight, 7 PM

To: You

From: James B. Barnes

Time: 7:00 PM

Location: Baccarat Hotel

Attire: Evening formal (mandatory)

Purpose: Public outing, media coverage

Reminder: You’re supposed to be my girlfriend. Try to act like it.

—J.B.B

You blinked once. Twice. And then you read it again, just in case your eyes were playing tricks on you.

A formal dinner invitation, in your inbox, from Bucky. At 7 PM. With a specific dress code. The use of the word “girlfriend” seemed to leap off the screen.

This was absurd. He was absurd.

You threw your head back on the couch and groaned loudly, your peaceful self-care day absolutely ruined by a man who thought sending emails about what to wear was somehow romantic.

A formal dinner invitation? On your day off? From Bucky Barnes, of all people? You should’ve ignored it, turned your phone off, gone back to your show and fuzzy socks. But no. You were bound by a contract. And you couldn’t risk anything.

You groaned, collapsing face-first into the couch cushion. After a good thirty seconds of dramatic internal screaming, you lifted your phone and fired off a text to Natasha.

You: SOS. Emergency dinner with CEO demon. Fancy dress required.

Natasha: Be at your place in 20 mins. It’s my time to shine.

Your brows pulled together.

You: Why?

Natasha: Because I know you and you’re probably about to wear a panic hoodie to a five-star hotel. Also, I may or may not have a new collection of dresses that needs a gorgeous model. See you soon.

You didn’t even have time to process that before she was ringing your doorbell twenty minutes later, standing there with a garment bag slung over one shoulder and a smirk that said, “I told you so.”

“I should’ve blocked you,” you mumbled, letting her in.

Natasha ignored you, kicking off her boots as she made her way into your apartment with the energy of a woman on a mission. “Let me see the dress code again.”

You handed her your phone, watching her eyebrows rise as she read the email.

“Evening formal? Damn. He’s not playing around.”

“Whatever,” you mumbled, not too enthusiastic about it.

She grinned, already unzipping the garment bag and laying dresses across your bed like precious artifacts. “Well, if you’re going to be dating a billionaire, you better look the part. Try this one first.”

An hour later, after a blur of fabric swishing, makeup brushes flying, and Natasha yanking your hair into an updo with terrifying precision, you stood in front of the mirror and barely recognized yourself. The red dress she’d picked hugged your body like it was made for you sleek, elegant, daring. Your hair was swept up in soft curls, a few tendrils framing your face. Gloss shimmered on your lips, just enough to catch the light.

“I look like a Bond girl,” you whispered.

Natasha smirked. “Damn right you do.”

At exactly 7:00 PM, your phone buzzed again.

Bucky: Come down. I’m outside.

You blinked at the text.

“He’s here?” you said aloud.

“What, did you think he’d send a car and not show up himself?” Natasha asked. “The man is so obviously going to fall for you again,” she said, gushing, not noticing your pained expression.

You took one last glance in the mirror before heading downstairs, Natasha’s voice echoing in your head “You look like a damn movie star. Now go knock him dead.” She’d even dabbed perfume on your wrists before practically shoving you toward the elevator, claiming, “First dates need real effort.”

The heels clicked steadily against the marble of the lobby, your heart thudding in sync with every step as you smoothed your hands over the front of your dress. There was something oddly vulnerable about being this dressed up like shedding your usual armor and walking out into the world in skin made of satin and red lipstick.

When the doors opened to the street, you paused in the doorway, scanning for him.

And there he was.

Bucky stood near the curb, casually leaning against a sleek black car that looked far too expensive to exist outside of movies. His phone was in one hand, but he wasn’t looking at it. No, his eyes were already on you, blue and unreadable, flickering just slightly when they landed on your figure.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

He stood upright slowly, sliding the phone into his jacket pocket, expression unreadable. The way his gaze moved over you was careful. Not possessive. Not leering. Just… curious. Assessing. Like he wasn’t quite sure how to respond to the version of you in front of him.

Finally, he said, “You clean up okay.”

You raised your brows. “You really know how to flatter a girl.”

He opened the car door for you with a slight smirk. “I’m saving my A-game for when the press shows up.”

“Lucky me.”

You ducked into the car, the leather seat cool against your skin. As Bucky rounded the front of the vehicle and slipped into the driver’s side, you couldn’t help but glance at him sideways. The suit he wore was navy, almost black in the low light and cut to fit him like it had been sewn onto his frame. Everything about him looked crisp, controlled, smooth and next to him, you felt like the chaos you always were, bundled into a red dress and nerves.

The ride was… surprisingly quiet.Not awkward exactly, but full of unspoken thoughts hovering between you like smoke. The soft hum of the car filled the silence as the city blurred past the windows, streetlights casting gold and silver shapes across Bucky’s face. You caught him glancing at you once or twice, but he didn’t say much and neither did you. Maybe you were both trying to figure out how to pretend to be something you weren’t. Maybe it was easier to save the performance for the public eye.

By the time the car pulled up to the Baccarat Hotel, your stomach had settled into a tight knot of anticipation.

The valet opened your door, and Bucky was there again, offering his hand as you stepped out. His touch was brief, steady, warm but it lingered in your skin longer than it should’ve.

The hotel’s entrance glowed like something out of a dream: all chandeliers and soft jazz and air that smelled like money. Bucky led the way, a respectful hand at your lower back as he murmured his name to the hostess. You didn’t miss the way she blinked a little too much when he looked at her.

Of course she did.

You were seated at a corner table near the center of the room, beneath a chandelier that scattered light like falling stars. Crystal glasses. Fresh-cut flowers. A waiter who addressed Bucky as “Mr. Barnes” and you as “Miss” before slinking off like he’d been trained to vanish.

You picked up your menu just to have something to look at, but Bucky didn’t seem interested in the food. His eyes were still on you.

“You’re nervous,” he said quietly.

You looked up. “I’m annoyed.”

“Same thing.”

You gave him a flat look. “Is this how you normally start dates? By diagnosing women like some underpaid therapist?”

His lips twitched. “Only the fake ones.”

You exhaled a soft laugh despite yourself and returned to your menu. “You should know I’m ordering the most expensive thing just out of spite.”

“Good,” he said smoothly, “because if you order a salad, I’ll assume you’re incapable of making real decisions.”

You lifted your water glass in a mock toast. “Cheers to mutually assured irritation.”

The conversation settled into a strange rhythm after that, still sharp, but laced with something lighter.

“What’s my favorite fruit?”

You blinked. “Are we quizzing each other now?”

“We’re dating. You should know.”

“Plums.”

“Wrong.”

You put the menu down. “Okay then. What’s mine?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Strawberries.”

“Wrong.”

He looked genuinely surprised. “Seriously?”

“Mangoes.”

He leaned back, nodding once. “Good to know. We’ll work on that.”

“Work on what?” you asked incredulously.

“Our relationship. Or the appearance of one.”

Before you could reply, he tossed out another: “Dogs or cats?”

“For you or me?”

“Start with you.”

“Both,” you said.

“Same.”

“I guessed you’d be a cat person,” you teased. “Quiet. Judgey. Moody.”

He smirked. “Fair. I like cats more.”

You sipped your water and tried not to notice how easily this weird fake date had become… almost natural.

Then came a softer question.

“What’s your favorite flower?”

Your eyes flicked up to him. He wasn’t looking at you like a CEO; he was looking at you like he actually wanted to know.

“Peonies,” you said softly.

He didn’t speak, just nodded like he was filing that information away under something important.

Halfway through the meal, as you dabbed your lips with a napkin, a camera flash flickered somewhere beyond the hotel’s tall windows. Bucky noticed it too, his jaw ticking the slightest bit as he glanced toward the source.

“They’re here,” he said under his breath, almost like an afterthought. “Time to look convincing.”

You raised an eyebrow and leaned back slightly in your chair. “Is this the part where you pretend to be wildly in love with me?”

“No,” he said, his voice low and steady as he reached across the whitelinen tablecloth, “this is the part where I teach you how not to hold my hand like I’m your dentist.”

You blinked as he took your hand in his, his fingers wrapping around yours with gentle insistence. The contact startled you not because it was sudden, but because it wasn’t cold or stiff like you’d expected. It was warm. Grounding. Intentionally slow.

“You’re gripping like you’re bracing for a storm,” he murmured, his thumb brushing lightly over the back of your hand. “Relax.”

“I am relaxed,” you said a little too defensively, your heart betraying you by thumping faster under his gaze.

He gave you a look, tilted head, a soft smile tugging at one corner of his mouth like he didn’t believe you for a second.

Then he adjusted your hand, gently repositioning your fingers until they rested naturally against his. His touch wasn't clinical, and it wasn’t showy either, it was deliberate. Careful. Like he knew exactly how this would look to anyone watching, but also maybe… maybe like he didn’t hate how it felt either.

“Better,” he said, still looking down at your joined hands. “That looks less like business partners about to sign a contract.”

“You’re lucky I didn’t just stab you with my fork.”

“You’re lucky I didn’t replace you with someone who knows how to fake chemistry.”

You shot him a withering look, but the corners of your mouth twitched before you could help it. “Wow. That’s romantic. Is this how you charm all your fake girlfriends?”

He didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he leaned in a little, his expression softer than before. The glint of amusement in his eyes gave way to something more thoughtful, almost contemplative. His free hand reached up, slowly, deliberately, and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers gliding across your cheek softly. The world around you blurred just a little.

You could still hear the clinking of glass and silverware from the other tables, the soft croon of jazz from the speakers, the occasional click of cameras outside but it all sounded distant. Muted. Like you were underwater.

His fingers lingered just a second too long at your temple, the pad of his thumb brushing skin before retreating.

“There,” he said quietly, as if he hadn’t just tilted the world on its axis with a single gesture. “Now you look the part.”

You swallowed. “Of your doting girlfriend?”

“Of someone who might actually like me,” he said, voice almost too low to catch.

The moment you stepped out of the hotel’s grand revolving doors, chaos greeted you.

A wall of flashing lights, camera shutters snapping like rapid fire, voices calling out names and questions and theories. It was blinding. Disorienting. You barely had time to react before Bucky’s arm was around your waist, firm and steady, guiding you forward like he’d done this a hundred times before.

It wasn’t rough. It was instinctive, protective, like your safety was muscle memory to him.His touch was warm even through the fabric of your dress, anchoring. His stride matched yours effortlessly, as though you’d rehearsed this dance.

“Smile,” he murmured, lips barely moving. He didn’t look at you, eyes locked ahead like a soldier marching through gunfire.

You plastered on your most radiant, camera-ready smile, the kind that felt like a lie but looked like a magazine cover.

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” you muttered back, still flashing that smile.

Bucky leaned in, lips near your ear, voice low enough to send a chill down your spine. “You passed. Barely.”

You dug your elbow into his side, not too hard but just enough. “If this dress had pockets, I’d be reaching for my pepper spray.”

He didn’t even flinch. “Thank God it doesn’t. You look like you’d actually use it.”

You couldn’t help it, you laughed. A real one, soft and under your breath. You weren’t sure if it was the absurdity of the evening or the fact that Bucky Barnes, CEO and professional stoic, had just made a joke. About your dress, no less.

The cameras didn’t stop until the car door clicked shut behind you. The world outside was a blur of lights as he pulled the car away, but inside the car was quiet. Not awkward, not tense, just… quiet. Easy.

And that might’ve been the strangest part of all.

Later that night, after the makeup was wiped off and the pins in your hair were undone, you finally made it back to your bed. You dropped face-first into the mattress with a dramatic sigh, still in your dress, heels somewhere near the door like casualties of war.

Your feet ached. Your head buzzed from the forced conversation and endless smiling. But your heart, that was the real traitor. Because it wouldn’t stop replaying one stupid, small moment:

The way his fingers had brushed your cheek. The look in his eyes right after.

You groaned into your blanket.

Get a grip.

Then your phone buzzed. A message. From Bucky.

Mr.Barnes: Plums are my favorite. I just said wrong to mess with you.

You blinked at the screen. Then read it again. A laugh bubbled out of your throat, unexpected and warm. You sank deeper into the bed, smiling against your pillow.

Maybe he wasn’t a complete machine after all. Maybe just maybe there was something under all that armor.

And maybe that was the real danger.

Taglist: @calwitch, @scott-loki-barnes, @baw1066, @awesompawsum, @bucky-baby-barnes, @marianastudiesart, @pattiemac1, @maryevm, @borkybawnes, @mcira, @otterlycanadian, @mrsnikstan, @sebastians-love

#bucky barnes x reader #⁺‧˚⋆Business proposal⋆ ˚‧⁺#james bucky barnes #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes fluff #ceo!bucky barnes #marvel fanfiction #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #fanfiction series

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gallavichsreddie1128 · 7 months ago

Text

Enemies (Rafe Cameron)

Description: Y/N managed to avoid Rafe all this time but suddenly at a party they end up in the same room.

Word Count:1,533

Author’s note: I will be posting parts of this throughout the season. I’ve watched the first 3 episodes. Send in Requests

This entire time Y/N managed to avoid Rafe Cameron. Even at all the parties and fights, she had never spoken a word to him. Sarah had nothing good to say about her brother. Why would she? He tried to kill her and take everything from her.

Y/N never missed the way Sarah would glare at the back of his head anytime she saw him. The stories she had heard about Rafe from anyone else were just as bad. Not all Kooks were bad but it was enough to make Y/N stay by the pogues side.

But she knew that eventually she would come face to face with him and that there would be blood. Bad blood. Y/N stared at him as he walked into the room that she had planted herself in. Why was she at this party, anyway? She hated them but even though she was a pogue, she had kook cousins that would invite her to the parties and she would just drink the awful liquor and sit in her thoughts.

He noticed her right away and she had her scantily clad clothes to thank for that and the way she stared at him. He knew her but not by name. He recognized her to be a pogue and to hang out with Sarah, Kie and all the others. What was she doing here? And why was she staring at him like that? He could see the fear in her eyes and hatred. A tiny smirk made its way onto his face.

The glare in her eyes didn’t go away as he sat in front of her. “I know you.” He stated and she took a sip of her drink. “Most likely.” She said and realized that those were the first words she had ever spoken to him. Most likely. “You’re friends with my sister.” That made her smirk and she realized that he knew exactly who she was. “I know all about you, Rafe.” “I can tell by the fear in your eyes.” The ego that this man had amazed her. “Why are you here anyway?” “I have cousins that are kooks and I like to drink so.” He watched as she down the rest of her drink.

Some of it was left on her lips and he almost dared himself to lean forward and lick it off. Sarah would be pissed if she found out that her brother fucked her best friend. Sarah would expect that from Rafe, not from Y/N. She got up from her spot and went to leave. “What’s your name?” He asked her and she turned towards him. “You know me but don’t know my name?” She asked, no playfulness in her voice. “You were the one that managed to avoid me all these years.” He stated a fact and Y/N looked down and then back up at him. “There’s a reason for that, Rafe.” She said and walked out of the door and out of the party while he stared at her, wondering.

Y/N didn’t tell Sarah about what had happened. But it didn’t leave her mind. Why the hell was Rafe Cameron wanting to know anything about her? Her cousins were throwing another party and there she stood pouring her second drink.

She looked around the party and noticed so many drunk kooks laughing or dancing. She only ever felt that way when she was with the pogues. With Sarah. Rafe watched her as she drank from the cup and yet again had liquor wet on her lips.

Topper was saying something to him but he wasn’t paying any attention as he stared at Y/N. Topper stopped talking and followed Rafe’s eyes and saw Y/N. Why was Rafe staring at Y/N? “Why are you staring at Y/N?” That question caught him by surprise. So that was her name. “Why is she here?” Rafe asked his friend, not taking his eyes off her. “Her cousins are kooks and they invite her. She never talks to them or anything. She just drinks.” She looked around and spotted Rafe, who’s eyes were already on her.

She gave him a weird look and turned away from him. Rafe almost didn’t care about the others at the party and went up to her but waited until she was leaving to do so. She had enough of the kook scene and went to leave not realizing Rafe was following her. “Y/N.” She heard as she was walking outside the party. She turned towards the voice and saw that it was Rafe. She fought to roll her eyes at the man. “So how’d you find that out?” She asked. “Topper.” He asked Topper what her name was? What was going on?

She turned away and kept walking. He followed her. “Do you need a ride?” He asked and her eyes widened at his question. She turned towards him waiting for the laugh and the walk away but it never came. He waited for her answer. “You wanna give me a ride?” She asked, this time amusement laced in her voice. “You must really think I’m a monster.” She wanted to laugh at him.

He said that like he hasn’t done messed up things for her to think so. “You want the pogues and your sister to see that?” “I would drop you off close by, not right up to the house.” She chuckled and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I think i’ll pass.” She said and turned and continued walking. “Okay well I’m gonna follow you to make sure you make it back.” She turned towards him, fast. “Ok what’s with you? Why are you trying to be nice to me? What do you want?” She asked him. He didn’t know what to say.

He wanted to tell her the truth that he couldn’t stop thinking about her and he wanted to be near her. “We are on two different sides, Rafe.” She states and begins walking again. Rafe got on his motorcycle and followed her. She sighed as he rode slowly to match her walking.

He watched as she looked down at the ground, refusing to look at him. She let out a sigh of relief as they got closer to her home and he drove away. She tried to forget what happened but couldn’t as she tossed and turned in her bed. Sleep did not come easy for her as the enemy was on her mind.

Y/N had to walk away from JJ as she found out that he bet on himself to win extra money but he lost and was mad at John B for also not winning. She thought it was crazy of him to use the last piece of gold they had on that.

Rafe saw her walk away from the group and followed her when it wouldn’t be evident that he was following her to the pogues. “He had no chance.” Rafe said and she turned towards him and raised her eyebrows. She ignored him and kept walking. They walked a long way before she finally spoke up.

“You come to rub your winning in my face?” “Topper won. Not me.” She chuckled, “What’s the difference?” “You really like walking.” He said, ignoring her question. She nodded, She really did. It was her way to escape from reality and all the bad things going on in her life. And how pissed off at JJ she was. “How’s that little store of yours going?” He asked. “Like you care.” “I asked, didn’t I?” She sighed, “Good. How’s being a rich asshole going for ya?” He laughed at her question. “Good.” He said and he saw a faint smile on her lips. “Did I just see you smile?” He asked, teasing her.

She looked over at him with a straight face. “Shouldn’t you get back to your friends?” He shrugged. “You don’t want to be seen with a pogue. It might ruin your reputation.” She said. “Seems like you being seen with me might ruin your reputation even more. And are you worried about my reputation?” He asked. She rolled her eyes. “No but I’m worried for mine.” Was that a joke? He smiled at her as she shook her head.

He walked with her until she stopped. They were at a restaurant now and her stomach was growling. “Alright Rafe. Bye.” She said and walked into the restaurant. “Hey, what if I’m hungry too?” She rolled her eyes at him. “This is pogue food. You wouldn’t like it.” She said and got a table for one.

He stared at her as she sat at the table and opened the menu. Being angry at JJ really made her hungry. Rafe looked around the place and noticed that it wasn’t a classy place but definitely one for a pogue. He watched as a Y/N smiled at the waitress as she ordered. “Excuse me, Sir?” He turned towards the voice. “Would you like a table?” He looked back at Y/N who was drinking her drink and waiting for her food. “No.” He said and walked out of the restaurant. He would find a way to get her to break her walls down. It would just take time.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron fanfiction #obx #outer banks #obx season 4 #drew starkey #jj maybank #john b routledge #sarah cameron #pope heyward #outer banks x reader #rudy pankow #chase stokes #rafe obx

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fluentmoviequoter · 3 months ago

Text

Someone I Care About

Requested Here!

Pairing: Lev 'Oz' Ozdil x fem!detective!reader

Summary: When Karadec pairs you and Oz on an unusual case, you get more than one confession.

Warnings: fluff, angst, typical show warnings, brief depiction of dead animal and animal autopsy, love confessions, PROTECTIVE OZ!!

Word Count: 4.0k+ words

A/N: I don't think I'll ever get over this scene. Someone please tell me I'm not the only one who didn't realize they changed his name despite watching the previous episodes over and over.

“Good morning!” you greet as you enter the bullpen with two donut boxes.

“Now it is,” Daphne replies with a smile. “Thank you!”

“Of course. Any leads on the parking lot case?”

“Morgan’s reviewing the security logs now, but nothing yet,” Karadec answers. You open a box and pass him a paper bag with an apple fritter as he tells you more about what Morgan is looking for.

“Thanks,” Oz says softly, taking his favorite from the open box.

Daphne shakes her head and looks at Karadec as you approach your desk. They can see that Oz is different with you, but she knows you don’t see it.

“I can check with tech to see if they recovered the camera footage from the gas station across the street,” you offer as your computer turns on.

“Yes, but check for other cameras while you’re at it. Most of the stores were closed last night when we went to the scene, so see if they’re willing to help out now,” Karadec requests.

“Will do.”

Oz watches you momentarily, then averts his gaze to the crime scene report on his desk. He knows he has a growing crush on you – though he wishes there was a better word for his feelings – but you’re partners first, and your work and safety are more important.

“I know who killed the man in the 1987 BMW M3 E30 coupe,” Morgan announces as she arrives.

“The couple in the orange tracksuits?” you ask.

Oz laughs, but when Morgan turns toward you with her brows raised, he stops.

“Did you get a confession?” Morgan inquires.

You shake your head and turn your monitor toward the rest of your team, and the gas station surveillance footage just emailed by the tech team shows the couple carrying pistols in high resolution.

“Morning,” Soto calls, stepping out of her office. “We’ve got a 10-54 and a 10-91d at Silver Lake Reservoir. First responders requested assistance from Major Crimes about 5 minutes ago.”

“We’ve got two suspects in last night’s murder,” Karadec responds.

“Then divide and conquer.”

Karadec nods, then turns to you. “You and Oz head to the reservoir. Keep us updated.”

“Yes, sir,” you reply. “I emailed the manager of the hotel beside the scene and they’re sending all of last night’s recordings over.”

Karadec, Daphne, and Morgan leave, and Oz offers to drive. While you gather your things, Daphne punches Karadec’s arm as he shifts into drive.

“What?” he demands.

“I know what you’re doing, and while I appreciate it, what if it doesn’t work?” she questions.

“Something has to happen. Everyone else can see how he feels,” Karadec grumbles. “Besides, it wasn’t my idea.”

“Selena?!” she exclaims.

“Force him close to her and something has to happen, right?” Morgan says. “I’m surprised you haven’t forced them into a closet or something already.”

“We’re professionals,” Karadec reminds her. “But if this doesn’t work, we might need a Plan B.”

“I know where the keys to the supply closet are,” Morgan offers.

“Let’s make imprisonment plan Z,” Daphne suggests.

“10-54 and 10-91d is a weird combination,” you muse as Oz drives toward the reservoir.

“What are the odds it’s a man beats the gun, gun beats gorilla, gorilla beats the man type thing?” he jokes.

“In Los Angeles? Slim to none.”

“Does dispatch have anything that could help?”

“All that’s in the prelim report is the presence of the bodies and a note that there was a suspicious vehicle nearby that left as soon as patrol arrived. Odd, but not inherently helpful.”

“Hey, thanks for the donuts,” Oz says, glancing at you from the corner of his eye.

You smile and close the report as you reply, “No problem. It’s been a long week, it’s the least I could do.”

“Right,” Oz murmurs. As he hits the blinker to pull into the reservoir’s lot, he asks, “So, uh, are you doing anything this weekend?”

“No. Are you?” Before Oz can answer, he hits the brakes, you lean toward the dash, and you both whisper, “Whoa.”

“Is that…” Oz begins after he parks.

“A crocodile?” you finish. “Yeah.”

“I was going to say alligator.”

You exit the car together before you explain, “I babysat for Morgan while she was working a case - Ludo was busy - and Elliot showed me a documentary. Crocodiles are gray-ish green and have narrow, triangular snouts.” As you reach the crime scene, you squat and say, “Like this guy.”

“It’s a weird one, huh?” a nearby police officer asks.

“That’s an understatement,” Oz replies. “Were you first on scene?”

“Yes, sir, my partner and I were. When we arrived, the bodies were on the bank here. There was a .357 magnum in the vic’s hand.”

“The human vic?” you clarify with a smile.

“It would make a much cooler story if it was in croc’s,” Oz says.

You grin at him, and Oz momentarily forgets to focus on the case.

“The report mentioned a suspicious vehicle?” you say, standing.

“Right. It was still pretty dark, but it was a van of some kind parked over there,” the officer states, pointing toward a taped-off section of Armstrong Avenue.

“Like a moving van?” Oz inquires.

“More like an ice cream truck,” another officer answers. “It pulled away with the lights off right after we arrived.”

“Someone could have moved the croc here in an ice cream truck,” you muse. “Human, too, I suppose.”

“You don’t think it died here?” an officer asks.

“Don’t think it lived here,” you correct. “American crocodiles are eastern animals. Most of them live in Florida. There’s close to no chance that this thing came from anywhere in LA.”

“But it looks like the vic killed it,” Oz adds. “We need to get the ME.”

“Croc is not going to be easy to move,” you murmur.

“You watched the documentary; how much do they weigh?” Oz asks.

“Females are about 400. Males can get up over 1,000, I think. This guy looks pretty big, so I’m guessing he’s a male.”

“Can you not just flip it over like a kitten?” one of the officers suggests.

“Not if it’s 1,000 pounds,” Oz points out.

“And not without sticking my finger in its cloaca,” you state. You furrow your brows and mutter, “I can’t hang out with those kids anymore.”

Oz pulls a pair of gloves on and retrieves the victim’s wallet. “No ID in here. I’ll call the ME, if you want to brainstorm what to do about croc.”

“Sounds good,” you reply. “And we’re going to need the evidence you collected,” you tell the officers.

“I’ll move it to your car.”

“This is weird,” Oz whispers as he raises his phone to his ear.

“You mean this isn’t going to be open-and-shut?” you ask incredulously. “Karadec will be so disappointed in us.”

“I’ll take the blame.”

“Gentlemanly, but no need.” You bump your elbow against Oz’s and add, “We’re going to solve this.”

“Yeah,” he agrees softly.

An hour after you return to the station, you spin in your seat while your phone’s speaker plays monotonous hold music.

“ME texted,” Oz alerts. “Cause of death appears to be blood loss from a traumatic injury to the abdomen. She can’t confirm whether that injury is a croc bite until she finishes the autopsy.”

“I’m betting it’s not that simple,” you say. “Even if it were, someone has to find out who dumped a crocodile in a reservoir.”

“I’ve got camera footage!” he cheers, beginning to type.

“I’ve got-” you glance at your watch before concluding – “another 45 minutes on hold.”

Oz nods, and your computer chimes before he wheels his chair beside yours. He knocks into your chair and grabs your hand to steady both of you. Your eyes lock, and you laugh before you open his email.

Oz curls his fingers into his palm, fighting the urge to reach for your hand again. The video from the traffic camera begins, and as you fast-forward through it, Oz takes the chance to watch you rather than the screen.

“Leo Sherman,” someone greets on your phone.

You reach across Oz and pull the receiver to your ear before you introduce yourself.

“Yes, I’m working a case involving an American crocodile… I took some measurements at the scene, one second…”

Oz sees your notebook before you do and passes it to you. You smile, mouth thank you,and tilt the phone where he can hear, too.

“Okay, it was 14 feet and 7 inches from the tip of its nose to the tip of its tail, the tail base was broad, and it was a male,” you read off.

“Good measurements,” Leo muses. “You confirmed it was a male?”

“I did.”

“Didn’t think LAPD had it in ‘em. Alright, so how’d this crocodylus acutus die?”

“.357 magnum shot to the head.”

“Ouch. Let me ask – how do I phrase this – did the body seem bloated?”

You look at Oz, who shrugs before he says, “I thought so. It’s legs looked too small, if that makes sense.”

“Perfect sense,” Leo replies. “Unfortunately, there’s not much I can tell you without seeing the body. If you have a lab that can work with it, I can review the findings.”

“But it’s not from here, right?” you clarify.

“Most certainly not. I’d guess it’s from the Southeastern US and was either heavily sedated or killed before it was moved.”

“Could it have survived here for any length of time? Specifically in a reservoir?”

Leo hums. “Hypothetically, it could have. These animals prefer salinity, and while I’ve seen them in river systems in Florida, I can’t imagine prolonged survival – let alone thriving – in a reservoir.”

You hesitate, then ask, “Any chance you’d like an all-expenses paid trip to Los Angeles to solve the mysterious death of this guy?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

After you end the call, you contact the morgue to ask them to store the crocodile however they can. With their confused assurance, you return your attention to the computer.

“It does look like an ice cream truck,” Oz says as the suspicious vehicle arrives at the reservoir just after midnight.

“Ice cream? You two planning a date?” Morgan asks as she returns.

You turn quickly, your eyes wide as you look at Daphne. She shakes her head, and you exhale in relief that your secret is safe.

“How’s the 10-91d/10-54 case?” Karadec asks.

“I have the same question,” Soto interjects.

“You first,” you insist.

“Daphne got the confession,” Karadec says. “Budget Bonnie and Clyde didn’t want to talk to me, so she told them about a high school boyfriend who became a petty thief.”

“They ate that up,” Daphne adds. “Maybe I should have been an actress.”

“Let me guess,” Morgan says, pointing at Oz. “Drowning victim and a carcass scavenged by a mountain lion.”

“Oh, you’re not even close,” Oz brags, smiling as he crosses his arms.

“For once, Morgan, I don’t think you’re going to guess this,” you comment. “By the way, Lieutenant Soto, I spent $1,500 of department resources to bring in an expert.”

Morgan scoffs and points at herself while Soto raises her brows in a silent challenge.

“We need his help,” Oz defends.

“And I’m asking for forgiveness,” you add with a smile. “Did I mention your hair looks really nice today?”

“I’m about to ask what you need an expert for, and if it’s something-“

“A dead crocodile,” you and Oz interrupt together.

The bullpen falls silent, and Soto says, “You’re forgiven.”

“Do you know what a group of crocodiles is called?” Morgan asks.

“Bask on land, float in water,” you answer as you turn back to your computer.

“Wait, go back,” Oz requests as you resume the video. “Look, something’s reflecting in the windshield.”

You lean closer and play the moment when the van enters the neighborhood beside the reservoirs.

“It’s an operator permit,” Morgan interjects. “State regulations require all operators to have one.”

“Aren’t they usually in windows?” you argue.

“Some places state that operators have to wear them while operating. Sec 250.1103(j)(2) of the Jacksonville Municipal Code, for example.”

“How do you know that?” Karadec asks.

“Documentary on how sex offenders utilize tourism and sales in Florida to choose targets,” she answers with a shrug.

“An ice cream truck from Florida could transport a crocodile from Florida,” you tell Oz.

Your phone buzzes, and you read the message before you stand. “We’re going to see the ME,” you announce. “Congratulations on the confession, Daphne.”

“Thanks! And good luck with the crocodile,” she replies.

“We don’t need luck,” Oz scoffs. He lowers his voice to add, “Thank you.”

“Dr. Sherman left Orlando about an hour ago,” you tell Oz as you enter the station the following morning. “He has several layovers, so he won’t be here until tonight. Morgue has the croc on ice until he can start the autopsy tomorrow.”

“A crocodile autopsy,” he repeats. “Florida’s a different place.”

“And Los Angeles is so normal,” you agree facetiously.

“I was looking at the ME’s autopsy report and the toxicology, and I don’t think John Doe died near that reservoir,” Oz explains.

“Okay,” you murmur, pulling your chair to his side. “Why?”

He spreads the files across his desk, then points to the diagram of the deadly wound on the unidentified victim.

“Silver Lake Reservoir is concrete lined, but the ME said the wound had sand embedded in it.”

“Sand as in beach sand or dirt?” you specify.

“Sand from a salt-water source. ME supports our idea that croc wasn’t from here but also thinks the vic wasn’t either.”

“I mean, yeah, that makes sense. Did you contact CDFA? If they drove the ice cream truck into the state, they would’ve gone through a border protection station.”

“Would you believe me if I said CDFA has no record of a Florida ice cream truck? The man on the phone said they’ve gotten pretty lax, and if It went through an auto lane, they probably waved them through.”

“That’s helpful. Great for the people who don’t want to stop, but not as great for us. Granted, I guess pre-packaged ice cream isn’t a plant and pest concern.”

“Pretty much what he told me.”

“Have you been here all night?” Karadec asks.

You jump slightly, moving back from Oz as Karadec walks to his desk.

“No, we just needed an early start,” you answer.

“I bet you did,” Morgan teases as she arrives. “So, catch me up, maybe I can help. Unless you want to keep looking at those reports sitting closer than professional work friends, in which case, continue.”

“Morgan,” Karadec sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“It’s fine,” you say. “Our crocodile expert won’t be here until tonight, so we’ve got a day to work without any information on where it came from. We think our vic probably came from the same place, so unless we can find the ice cream truck today, we have nothing to go on.”

“We requested a list of Florida’s registered ice cream trucks, but they told us it would take a while,” Oz adds.

“Put out a BOLO?” Karadec asks.

“Yeah, nothing so far.”

“We could go out and look,” you suggest. “Not like we have anything urgent here.”

Oz tilts his head, then nods. As you gather your things, Daphne enters the bullpen and asks to talk to you.

“Are you going to do something?” she asks after leading you into an empty office.

“About?” you respond softly.

She smiles and shakes her head. “You have feelings for him, and ignoring them won’t make them go away.”

“Do Karadec and Morgan know?”

“I don’t think so, I think they’re pointing it out for the same reason I do.”

“Pointing what out?”

“That you and Oz work well together, and you’d be great together in other ways, too.”

“He’s my partner, Daph, I’m not going to jeopardize that because I have feelings for him.”

“But you’ll jeopardize your happiness,” she argues. “That’s not better.”

“You don’t get it. I… I can’t lose him.”

“Then don’t let him get away.”

You nod, hear Oz call your name, and exit the office. As you follow him to the car, you wonder if Daphne’s right. What if ignoring your feelings leads to a worse outcome than telling Oz how you feel?

“Good morning,” Leo Sherman greets brightly. “I have some answers for you.”

“Can I take a picture for my son?” Morgan asks, her eyes wide at the crocodile on the oversized metal table.

“Please,” he encourages. “I love to see kids interested in science. The ones that aren’t exhibiting sociopathic tendencies, I mean.”

“We understand,” Soto assures him. “Now, what did you find that can help us?”

“This crocodile is from Florida. The body was nearly frozen after death but hadn’t thawed all the way when you found it at the crime scene.”

“How can you tell that?” you ask.

“Essentially, the body decomposed at different rates. Some of the organs are more preserved than the tissues. But, the body didn’t freeze entirely, so there is very uneven decomp. I understand your victim showed similar signs of offset decomp?”

“Yes, sir,” Oz answers. “ME couldn’t pinpoint time of death.”

“Then I’d wager the bodies were kept in the same place for similar lengths of time.”

“So we’re working a secondary scene and these, uh, victims were killed in Florida?” Karadec clarifies.

“That’s my best guess,” Leo says. “There’s nothing remarkable about this creature. It wasn’t a pet, cause of death was a gunshot to the head from a relatively close range, and it’s jaw was broken after death.”

“To frame him for the murder of our victim,” you connect. “We need to find the person or people driving that ice cream truck.”

As if on command, your phone rings with an incoming call from a Florida number. You excuse yourself to answer it in the hallway, then return with a bright smile.

“Ramone Sears,” you say. “He didn’t renew his ice cream truck registration, and you’ll never guess who just attempted to register one in Los Angeles.”

“Do you know where he is?” Oz asks.

“No, but I know which DMV he was at this morning, and he can’t be staying far from there.”

“Get out there,” Soto says. “Call in reinforcements.”

“Yes, ma’am,” you and Oz answer.

“Thank you, Dr. Sherman!” you call.

“Are you kidding? This is the best vacation I’ve been on since my honeymoon.”

“Ramone Sears,” you call as you approach the open ice cream truck.

“Buenos dias,” he replies.

“I know you speak English,” you say, flashing your badge. “We’re with the LAPD and have a few questions for you if you don’t mind.”

“Of course not.” He sits in the open refrigerated back and spreads his arms. “How can I help?”

“How long have you been in Los Angeles?” you ask as Oz moves around the truck. He shakes his head as he returns to your side.

“About a week,” Ramone answers. “Looking for a new start, you know.”

“Right. Out of curiosity, did you go through a border patrol station when you came in?”

“Sure. Very nice woman waved as we went through. It was busy and hot, poor thing.”

Nodding, you prepare yourself to ask, “Did the dead crocodile smell linger or did the constant AC help with that?”

“I don’t understand,” he murmurs, looking between you and Oz.

“We know that your truck was parked by the Silver Lake Reservoir three nights ago. The same night a murdered man and a dead crocodile were dumped in the reservoir,” Oz explains.

“I parked by the reservoir because I didn’t have money for a hotel,” he explains, laughing. “I pawned a few things the next day and got a room at the Motel 6.”

“And now you have the money to reopen your ice cream truck,” you muse. “How much stuff did you pawn?”

“Do you even hear your questions?” he challenges, defensive. “I couldn’t move a crocodile by myself. I’m from Florida, I’ve seen them.” He looks at you and lips his licks before he says, “I’m strong in other ways.”

You grow uncomfortable with the unwelcome flirting, but Ramone has the answers you need, and if you stay on his good side, you might get a confession or something else you can use.

“I bet,” you answer quickly before changing the subject. “If you were parked out here, maybe you saw something that could help us.”

“Can’t see much from inside an ice cream truck. Care to come in and see?”

“No,” you answer firmly.

You get a text and smile as you ask, “So, you’re from Florida. Do you know Trey Peters?”

Ramone’s eyes shift quickly, and you know he recognizes the name.

“I can’t say I do. Most of my contacts in Florida are women.”

“I bet,” Oz mumbles, crossing his arms tightly over his chest.

“Give me something I can work with,” you request.

“Oh, I can give you more than that,” Ramone flirts, pulling himself to stand.

He takes a step toward you, and Oz immediately moves between you. “Sit down,” he demands. “One more comment like that and you'll be in the back of a different vehicle. Clear?”

Ramone clenches his jaw but sits, and Oz moves to your side.

“If something happened, just tell us,” you encourage him.

“The crocodile didn’t do anything,” Ramone mumbles.

“Trey killed the croc?” Oz clarifies.

“For no reason.”

“And that made you angry,” you deduce. “So you…”

“Just wanted to give him a taste of his own medicine. He- he wasn’t supposed to die,” Ramone says quietly.

“Alright, stand up, arms to the side,” Oz instructs. “You’re under arrest.”

You call for backup, then notify Soto so she can contact the Florida police. After Ramone receives his Miranda rights and is placed in the back of a patrol car, you fall into Oz’s passenger seat and sigh.

“Thank you,” you say. “I wanted him to talk, but not like that.”

“It’s no problem,” Oz assures. He lays his hands on the wheel but doesn’t start driving. “I could tell you were uncomfortable. It made me angry, too.”

You turn to look at him, and Oz sighs.

“He overstepped,” he continues. “Which is enough on its own, of course, he was way out of line, and you’re my partner. But you’re also… You’re also someone that I care about, someone I have feelings for.”

You don’t speak, letting the confession hang between you as you consider Oz’s words. Consideration meaning you repeat them in your head with pure joy rushing through you.

“You’re someone I have feelings for too,” you confess softly. Oz looks at you, his smile growing when he sees the kindness in your gaze.

“Everyone else already knew,” Oz muses, taking your hand over the console.

“Except me, because I was too busy trying to make sure I didn’t lose you,” you add. “I’m sorry.”

“You should be,” he jokes. “You owe me so many donuts.”

“I think I can handle that.”

“Welcome back,” Soto greets when you return to the station. “Marshals are escorting Sears to LAX to be tried in Florida as we speak. They’ve added unlawful transportation of a dead body to the lengthy list of charges.”

“If we didn’t have the whole double jeopardy thing, I’d be writing up an affidavit for harassment,” Oz says under his breath.

“And what exactly does that mean, Detective?” Daphne questions far too brightly.

She looks pointedly at you, so you conceal your smile and say, “I think I have an idea.”

Morgan’s jaw drops, and she stands. “This belongs to your janitorial staff,” she tells Soto as she drops a key on Daphne’s desk.

“Morgan,” Karadec scolds. He looks at Oz and murmurs, “Finally.”

“Hey, you’re not the only one that had to wait,” Oz defends.

“But you didn’t have to see all the pining,” Daphne argues.

“Careful,” Oz warns.

Your friends don’t heed his warning, but their celebration and teasing seem to quiet when Oz smiles at you.

Later, your phone buzzes with a text reading: Still free this weekend?

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