#suppose i should've tagged that huh
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Hold up are these leaked from s2?!!?
oh buddy. yeah. i've been unwell for more than a year since the teaser from Star Wars Celebration leaked
#talk to me on my main about it lksadfjlskad#asks#transpidergwen#suppose i should've tagged that huh#not too late#andor spoilers#andor season 2 spoilers#velcinta
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TW: Irrational jealousy
"Here. You left this at my apartment"
Stealing your gaze from the book, you look at your boyfriend who's holding a wine red lacy bra in his hands, stretching it toward you. Unlike his usual attitude, GOJO doesn't look much lively at the moment. In fact, he looks somewhat... meticulous, like he's operating a very dangerous experience and is about to witness the outcome of his efforts.
Having your eyebrows knotted together, you wordlessly take the bra in your hands, the base of your fingers gently but painfully rubbing against the soft fabric. Gojo tries his best not to let his smirk break out when you give him a quizzical look and squeeze the lingerie in your hands.
"This isn't mine"
There it is. Victory. The awaitened result of his brilliant plan to give you a taste of your medicine.
Gojo cups his mouth while expanding his fingers to give you a better look of his fake gasp through the gap between them, humming abruptly. He carefully takes a second look at the bra, then begins to mutter in a not so low voice.
"Ah— well, this is awkward" He looks at your bewildered expression from the corner of his eye and continues. "I didn't want you to find out. Not this way"
The logic behind this clever act was easy to understand. You chose to spend your day offs with your stupid, lame old friend from college instead of your incredible, handsome, mind blowingly gorgeous boyfriend, and this is your punishment. Your reasoning was too dumb and made up. Huh, how could you even look him in the eye and say you're doing this because he's just gotten back from Austria and needs you to show him around town and introduce him to your colleagues? You should've just shoved a dagger in his aching heart and told him that you dont love him anymore. So yes, you deserve this; and as they all say, revenge is a dish best served cold.
"But you see, I'm not the only one to blame in this. You are too. You were the one who left me in the dark hanging to go on a romantic getaway with that good for nothing punk"
"Satoru—"
"Let me finish. I know that it was just for three days and you did nothing but work together, but I'm a man y/n! A proud, strong grown man who has his own needs"
"Satoru—"
"I'm not an animal y/n, but how do you expect me to close my eyes and pretend like nothing's wrong? Because it is, and since I'm also an honest man, I couldn't bare with the feeling of getting abandoned by my own woman. You and I were supposed to rule the world, but you never wanted what we were—"
"Satoru!!"
Gojo grits his teeth and looks at you with slight irritation, wondering what's so important that has to interrupt his dramatic show; but his liveliness and acting power vanishes in a glance when his eyes land on the part of the bra you're pointing at while holding it up.
"There's a price tag on this"
Oh.
The small, round label is linked to the inside of the bra, which is probably why Gojo had forgotten to remove it. Yes, it was totally that; not because he was too focused on his dialogues that he forgot to even check the bra out.
Gojo stares at your jumped up eyebrows and annoyed expression, flashing you one of his most charming smiles; Only this time he can't make it as shameless as it usually is.
"Eh, I guess this shows how much I actually love you and care about you"
"You bought this two sizes bigger than mine you asshole"
"My bad, I kinda got carried away"
#jjk x reader#jjk imagines#jjk scenarios#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk x you#jjk x y/n#jjk fluff#gojo x you#gojo x y/n#gojo x reader#gojo imagines#gojo scenarios#gojo fluff#gojo satoru x reader#saturo gojo x reader#ashthemadwriter
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a/n: I won't be writing a oneshot about this since I already have a yan!capitano fic series I'm committing to, but I might randomly post about this idea more every now and then lol. tagging this AU as #the captain and his duchess
Yandere noble!Capitano who couldn't stop asking Fem Tutor!Darling to spar with him. With the weight of his inheritance, █████ must strive to be as great— if not greater— of a Captain like his father, the Duke.
But before he gained his infamous strength, you were his beloved mentor. You were a prodigy in swordsmanship with high confidence to boot. Hence, you gleefully accepted the Duke's request to tutor his eldest son. Coming from a minor noble household with only a title to uphold and not much else to boast, it's only natural to grasp unto that opportunity. It just so happened you've been clearing off competitions, and the duke has a good eye. Your parents, bless their souls, wouldn't dissuade you from your decision. Pride meant nothing when there's not even food scraps on the table. With a heart that still bleeds for the misfortune of those around you, you set off on horseback alone.
Whoever it was you were expecting to teach, it certainly wasn't a terrified noble hiding behind a helmet. Young █████ was not to blame. He carries the same dignified moral compass as his house, but he was ill-prepared to talk to people other than his family and servants. In fact, you couldn't get a word out of him as soon as you're done assessing his skill level with a first match.
Much to be desired, but the foundation is there.
... Perhaps you were too harsh with your phrasing.
"Young master," you shook your head, knocking on his door. "I couldn't teach you if you scamper about- hiding like meek prey in the closest room you'd burrow yourself in."
█████ didn't made a sound. You sighed. Truthfully, you wondered if you had done something to offend. It couldn't possibly be due to fear of authority. You're 21 and he's 19, not to mention that he is to be future sovereign Duke of Snezhnaya while you're not even reserved a seat in the council.
"F-Forgive him, Lady (Y/n)!" Elena squeaked. "He's not usually like this. I believe this is because..."
You raised an eyebrow. "Because...?"
The maid hurriedly shook her head, heat crawling up her neck. "N-No, I mustn't say. As a servant, I would step out of line."
"I'm pretty good at keeping secrets, you know?" You grinned. Skillfully, you placed a hand on the wall, leaning closer as if cornering her. You tucked the few stray strands of her hair behind her ear. "I'm not from this House, I wouldn't scold you for a little bit of sin."
She looked extremely offended. Suppose you should've expected that much from the most honorable Harbinger House's staff.
"I'm inclined to believe that this young maid's hypothesis requires no detective to solve."
You both looked to the direction of the voice. It was Prince Zandik, cousin to █████ and heir to the throne. Though to both of you, you are his most favorite gladiator and he is your best sponsor.
"Greetings, Zandik. You appear just about anywhere, huh? Are you sure you're not pulling my leg about the secret twin rumors?"
"Not one for tact, as always. But that's just how I like you, Lady (Y/n)."
Elena looked at you incredulously, wondering just where on earth did you find the audacity to refer to the Prince without proper decorum. Zandik doesn't seem sensitive to your lack of sensibility. You and Zandik have been friends since childhood was never a secret, but those who would recently find this resurfacing fact never fail to act surprised.
"I'd ask you why you're here, but the answer would be dull and overly verbose." You feigned a yawn, which made Zandik chuckle. "So, instead, why don't you tell me what you know about this █████ situation? Does he fear women?"
Zandik schooled his expression, but you can almost just about hear him say that's your best guess?
"█████ has never been one for sublime subtlety." Zandik rolled his eyes. "He admires you greatly, couldn't you tell?"
"Me? And greatly?" You scoffed. "Please, he'd outpace me with just a few lessons.
Zandik laughed. You both knew that to be true, but the future isn't quite as close to that prediction.
"Since the day I discreetly snatched him from his quarters to observe one of your sparring sessions, he has maintained a keen interest in tracking your career." The Prince remarked. "Do you recall the first bouquet of roses you've received?"
"I wasn't meant to be the recipient, do not reopen old wounds." You cringed. It was an unfortunate mistake from the messenger.
"Forgive me, I meant the second bouquet you received." He crossed his arms. "One from a secret admirer who curtly explained how he couldn't bear to see the sadness from your face and made it his honorable responsibility to buy you a larger bouquet."
You blinked.
"N-No way. I'm pretty sure that's from, um, my father."
"Buy you the most expensive bouquet in Snezhnaya? With what money?"
... A cruel but fair point.
"He even dons the same headwear as you do— the helmet he would rarely take off, did you not find it identical to your own?"
You paused.
... Wait a second.
"Well, I shall remove myself from this conversation. I have dull and overly verbose matters to attend to."
"Zandik, halt!"
#█████ = Capitanoʼs real name#the captain and his duchess#i like to imagine this is also ruffiana!reader- this is just them in another au lol#yandere capitano#capitano#yandere capitano x reader#capitano x reader#genshin capitano#genshin x reader#yandere genshin impact x reader#yandere genshin#yandere genshin imagines
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*heavy sigh* possessive frat boy Dick Grayson getting increasingly more deranged about how he lays his claim on you as the semester wears on, finals week breaking point where he loses it on you like you're a stress ball, etc.
even though he'd never cave and make you his gf, nope no sir
tags: fem reader, toxic relationship, yanderish, misogyny, mentions of rough sex, penetrative sex, choking, manipulation, fucked up frat boy dick
dick fucked a different girl every weekend, y'know, before his drunk self stumbled to your door. but who cares about the smell of perfume that's clung to his half-buttoned top? the top that has buttons in places they aren't supposed to be. who cares? because he's still going to come home to you, and you'll be his last fuck of every weekend.
but you? the first load he spilled on your stomach should've said enough, no? dick doesn't just fuck everybody, at least that's what he thinks. you're his and his only.
the first time he smelt another guy's cologne on you, saw a shirt that was surely not yours, a product of your own one-night stand, dick grayson lost his shit. fucked you like you were a sleeve for his cock rather than a person.
"then... are we dating?" the condescending laugh that left dick's lips was your answer. dating? the word made him gag, why would he lock himself down when he was at his prime? are you stupid? do you know who he is?
no, you weren't dating. you were fucking, but you obviously had a problem understanding your place, didn't you?
it started with hickies. an embarrassing amount that no number of necklaces or turtleneck tops could cover in their entirety. hickies that started at your jaw, dark splotches moving down your body. did you want to wear a crop top? dick's taking note to leave one on either side of your hips. where there's skin, there are remnants of the man to whom you belonged.
it wasn't hard to stake his claim on you, but he also knew you were hot. do you think dick grayson, the commodity that he was, would fuck somebody ugly? he's not that low. he has priorities for himself.
hickies weren't enough, though. did you think you were slick when he saw a video of you at another frat house, one outside of his own, grinding on a man who was plenty of social levels below dick? you thought he wouldn't find out that you're even more of a slut than he thought?
rather than a hand wrapped around your throat, he used manipulation to his advantage. with a sickeningly sweet voice, he bought you a necklace with his initials since you needed a tag like a puppy; now you know not to run away, right?
"marking your territory, huh?" his brother, wally laughs when he sees you sporting the chain with a prideful chest, gold falling between your tits. don't look too hard, that's dick's property now!
"had to," dick replies, unfazed. "nothing too serious, though." he reminds his brother from his seat in their shared house. but it's still not enough.
he wants you all to himself and it eats away at him. hickies continuing, sucking your face in public, it's not enough because you're still giving guys attention. 'just friends' his ass.
that's why, overtop of the gold chain, his hand covers your throat and pushes down hard. between hickey-covered thighs, his cock is stuffing you full with painfully slow movements.
"i gotta remind you?" he asks, long past acknowledging the fact that you can't speak from the force his hand holds around your windpipe. "whose cunt is this?" a strangled whine, and dick squeezes harder, a satisfied smile pulling his lips when he finally feels your pussy squeeze around his length.
he doesn't care about words; he cares about your cunt being carved into the shape of his cock. he cares about sculpting you like clay 'till any guy you wanna talk to can only smell dick on you. can only smell the expensive cologne he wears, can only smell the scent of his musk. 'till you're limping to all your finals, and there's not a second thought from your classmates who put you in that state; the infamous "DG" that's still hanging between your tits, that's who!
#this feels kinda rush sowwy#yes maria you freak i will create the worst version of dick grayson EVER#surprise post because bingo maria fills my brain with the WORST SHIT EVER (lovingly)#dick grayson x you#dick grayson x reader#dick grayson smut#dick grayson#dick grayson x y/n#dick grayson x female!reader
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Cool for the Summer 2
No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.
Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power dynamics, cheating, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: After finishing your degree, you return home only to find things aren’t as you left them.
Characters: Bucky Barnes
Note: Humping it up on hump day.
As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.
Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.
I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖
You taste the cocktail and make a face. As sweet as it is, the alcohol is stringent in your throat. You set the glass down as Bucky’s fingers tap on his pint. You glance up, surprised to find him watching you.
"Don't like it?" He asks.
"Mm, no, I mean yes. No." You stutter out. "It's good, I just... don't drink much."
"She's a good girl." Your mom teases. "I always had to push her out the door. Oh, don't even ask about prom." She grabs his forearm and cackles. "You would think buying a dress would be fun. Nope. I think she'd have rather gone to the dentist."
Your cheeks turn hot. Four years past and you still cringe at the fitting room torture. You look down and fiddle with the cutlery wrapped in a red napkin. You really wish she wouldn't treat you like a child. You suppose at times you might act like one.
"Those things can be tough. I barely remember mine. Only went so my buddy didn't feel like such a loser," Bucky shrugs. "But look at how far you've come. I'm sure high school is like a blip on the radar. Now the real fun begins, huh?"
You know he's trying to help and you appreciate. But it only makes your chest tighten. The dread throbs in your temples. Life, it's all ahead of you but you have no idea where to start.
"Yeah, I... I barely remember." You talk to the table.
"She's a smart one," your mom praises. "I really lucked out. No teenage angst, no rebellion."
You chew your lip and pick at the trim of the table. You sound lame. You are and you never minded the safety of that trait. Still, you'd like to be known as more than a boring little bookworm.
"Okay, here we are." The server rescues you from further humiliation. "Chicken caesar."
She puts your salad in front of you, "cheese steak sammy and macaroni salad." She lays a plate in front of Bucky, "and the sizzling fajitas."
Another server appears with a wooden plank, set with a cast iron pan atop it and fixings; tortillas, salsa, guac. It smells delicious but you know it's too early for all that. You'd be even sleepier and you still have to get unpacked.
"Enjoy," the waitress smiles and struts away.
You unwrap your cutlery and use the knife and fork to shred the lettuce. You should've known better than to order salad. It's always so awkward to eat with others around to see.
"Mm, pretty good," Bucky says. "Lauren, how's that extravaganza? Really went all out."
"Wasn't expecting all this." Your mother scoops grilled peppers into a tortilla, daintily with her fork as her nails shine in the light. You remember when you asked to get a manicure and she said they were impractical...
She's changed but you don’t feel all that different than when you left for college. Maybe you should have tried harder. Well, it's not like your life is over. Far from.
"How about you?" Bucky prompts and once more you meet his gaze with a startled blink. You nod and swallow.
"Good. Just boring old salad." You say.
"Always chicken caesar," your mother chirps. "Creature of habit. Don't worry. You'll hardly be surprised. By tonight, she'll have one of her books and you won't hear another peep."
You bite down on your tongue. You're not sure anymore if she's bragging or she's chiding you. Her life is so exciting now. Her hair is highlighted, her nails are filled, and her makeup... she's actually wearing makeup.
"Didn't think you could work with those." You say as she catches her nail on her napkin.
"Oh, yeah, I'm not in the ward anymore. Sweetie, didn't I tell you? I do clinicals now. I just show the new ones what to do. Not much hands-on stuff."
"Uh, I remember. Sorry."
"Too sharp," Bucky chuckles. "Can't even hold her hand without getting clawed."
She jabs him with her shaped tip and he grunts. They laugh together and you look around. You're the sore thumb sticking out. Ever the third wheel. Even when you had 'friends', you sat on the sidelines, confused by their inside jokes.
"It's very good. Thank you." You sit forward and focus on the salad. The sooner this is over, the sooner you can do exactly what your mom expects. Hide with a book. Alone.
🩵
Home is always a comforting sight but not as much as you expect. A flicker of guilt sparks in your chest. Bucky just bought you lunch, you shouldn’t be so negative. Still, you just want to unwind after a long day of traveling.
As much as you want him to just go, you would never say as much. Your mom seems happy with him. She even seems healthier. It’s nice to see her taking care of herself, she’s done enough of that for others for too long.
You get out of the car but Bucky’s too fast. He has you bag in his hand before you can react to the trunk opening. He smiles and insists, “I got it. You lead the way.”
“Mm, I could nap about now,” your mother calls over the car roof.
You agree internally. The whole train ride, you looked forward to burying yourself in blankets and leaving the world behind. It would be rude to do so with company around, even if they aren’t yours.
You follow your mom to the front door and she unlocks it with a yawn. You enter and slip your shoes off on the mat. Things are different. Not too different, you can’t quite place everything. Yet you notice that the coat rack has been replaced with mounted hooks across the wall and the rug at the bottom of the stairs is new.
“Oh!” Your mom spins, surprising you before you can sneak past her. “I forgot about your surprise!”
You look at her then over your shoulder at Bucky as he plunks down your bag. You wait for him to respond. He just offers a small curve of his lips. You turn back.
“You,” your mom taps your nose. “Come on. Ah,” she waves around you at Bucky, “bring her bag with you.”
Your mom grabs your arm and ushers you upstairs. You can’t resist, too swept up in fatigue and confusion. He follows behind you. What’s happening?
“Okay. I hope you like it,” she goes to your door and your stomach flips. Oh no, what did they do? She swings the door open and backs up, waving inside, “tada!”
You hesitate but make yourself step into the doorway. You glance around and your mouth slowly falls open. You blink at the room. Wow.
It’s not awful, just another change you’re not ready for. Instead of your old rectangle bookcases, new circle ones have been built into the walls; white instead of brown. Your bed is the same but the wood is newly re-stained and the bedding is shade of pink you wouldn’t necessarily choose. A heart shaped rug is spread across the floor and your previous desk has been replaced with one that folds into the wall.
There is an entirely new piece that stands out. A vanity in the corner. The mirror is the same shape as the carpet and the stool has a fluffy seat.
“Oh, wow...” you utter as you step further inside.
“Bucky is so handy! I always wanted to do this but I didn’t know where to start. Oh, just wait until you see his place,” she rambles as she trails you. “He built the whole thing himself.”
“I had help,” he tuts and sets your bag down. “Tried not to do too much but just added a fresh coat to everything.”
You’re silent.
“Sweetie?” Your mom touches your arm.
“I’m... surprised. That’s all.”
“She’s speechless, Bucky!” She squeals and claps her hands. “I knew she’d love it.”
“Heh, yeah. Well, I hope it isn’t too much.” He rubs his neck as he looks around. “You can let me know. I can change whatever you need.”
“No, no, it’s really nice. Like really. I...” you wring a finger in your other hand. “Thank you.”
“Lauren,” he sidles past you and nudges your mother gently. “Why don’t we let her get settled in? I’m sure she’s beat from the road.”
“Right, right,” she beams around the room before she faces him. “Of course.” She glances over at you, “sweetie, let us know if you need anything, okay?”
“Mom, I’m fine.” You show your teeth sheepishly and hover around the wall.
Bucky leaves first, your mom following as she cranes to stare at the room. She leaves you with an excited wiggle and you go to close the door behind her. Once it’s shut, you sigh. You weren’t ready for any of this. Somehow coming home has proven even more disjointing than going away to college.
You plod to the bed and flop onto it. You roll onto your back and let your eyes rove. It is so cute. You would have killed for a room like this in high school, even on campus. Yet it does seem a lot. You’re sure once you get a job, your mom doesn’t expect you to stay too long.
Maybe this is a good thing. A little less pressure on you to get out but not exactly. With Bucky hanging around, you can’t help but be in the way. You’re not the only one who needs to adjust to your return.
You can worry about it all later. For now, you need to close your eyes and stop thinking.
🩵
The afternoon wears on as you dawdle away on your phone. You can barely keep your eyes open as the screen glares back at you. It’s almost six when you make yourself stop the addictive word game.
You lay listless, trying to urge yourself to get up and do something. You lose the battles as your eyes close and you drift off without realising it. In your subconscious, you’re just as you are in reality. Just lying there, motionless and mindless.
You wake slowly as pressure squeezes in your pelvis. Your bladder forces you to action. Even with the painful weight throbbing inside, you move without urgency. You sit up slowly, dizzy from the unexpected doze. You stand and shuffle to the door.
You leave it open as you go into the hall and let your feet guide you. Habit takes down to the bathroom door and you reach for the handle. It turns from the other side and you recoil in surprise. Bucky stops short as he emerges and apologises.
You stammer as you gape back at him. Somehow after the whirlwind morning, you forgot all that change. In your grogginess, you didn’t see the new walls or the white bookcases or think.
“S...Sorry...” you murmur.
You’re consumed in radiating heat as you stare at the stubble along his neck. Any lower and he might be embarrassed. He is shirtless after all. You’ve never been the best at looking people in the face but you have no choice. You examine his silver-streaked hair, slightly tussled, and his grizzly beard with its dusting of white along his chin.
You step back as he raises a palm and dips his head. “No problem. Gotta get used to each other, I guess. Bad timing, is all.”
“Right,” you agree dully.
He looks back at you and his forehead creases. “You okay?”
You wince. “Yeah, why?”
“Nothing, nothing. Just... you look... a little out of it.”
“I fell asleep,” you run your fingers along your throat nervously. The motion catches his eyes. Their startling blue hue gleam in the light.
“Right. I figured you needed it. Long ride...home.” His gaze flicks up to meet yours. “Sorry you’re stuck here with us boring old people. You probably miss it already.”
You shrug, “not really.”
“Not really? What about your friends?” He rests his hand on the door frame and leans.
“Didn’t... just study buddies. Classmates.” You look away and shift as your bladder aches.
He clears his throat and stands straight. He steps out of the frame and you jump at his sudden movement. He touches your hip to keep from colliding with you and sidles by.
“I’ll just get out of your way, baby girl,” He squeezes, his hand lingering for a moment. “Welcome home.”
He lets go and turns, strutting down the hall as you stand frozen. You hurry forward and shut yourself in the bathroom as you scramble with the sudden agonizing pang. You don’t have time to think, you have to go!
#bucky barnes#dark bucky barnes#dark!bucky barnes#bucky barnes x reader#series#fic#dark fic#dark!fic#au#winter soldier#captain america#mcu#marvel#avengers#cool for the summer
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Ready, pretty?
Pairing: Minchan
Word Count: 2564
Summary: One night, after sharing a few drinks, Minho feels safe enough to overshare a little, thinking Chan is too drunk to remember the next day. He doesn't know that Chan remembers every word and is more than willing to help him with his little issue.
Warnings/Tags: fluff, late-night confessions, drunk confessions, friends to lovers (sort of), virgin!min, first time
A/N: Oh well, another audio that rotted azzy's and my brain😂 Based on this audio by my dear miu, hope you like it love @slutforchanlix 🖤
do not repost, translate, or plagiarize my works in any way here or on other platforms. ©writingforstraykids 2024-
Minho and Chan found a quiet spot away from the bustling crowd at the party, nestled under the comforting canopy of a sprawling tree. A soft blanket spread beneath them provided a makeshift sanctuary from the noise and distractions. The night sky above them was a tapestry of stars, twinkling faintly amidst the velvet darkness.
They sat side by side, shoulders brushing occasionally as they sipped from their drinks, the clinking of glasses a gentle background to their conversation. Minho, already feeling a bit lightheaded from the alcohol, couldn't help but notice Chan's relaxed demeanor and chuckled inwardly, convinced his friend was also a few drinks past sobriety.
"You look like you're in another world, Channie hyung," Minho teased lightly, nudging him playfully. "What's on your mind?"
Chan chuckled, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. "Just enjoying the peace, I guess. It's rare to have moments like this."
"Yeah," Minho agreed, taking another sip. "Life's been hectic lately, huh?"
Chan nodded, his gaze drifting upwards towards the stars. "Tell me about it. Sometimes I just need to escape from all the noise and expectations."
Minho nodded sympathetically, feeling a wave of empathy wash over him. "I get that. So, how do you relax best, then?"
“There's only been one thing that actually helped lately,” Chan grinned mischievously, a glint in his eyes as he glanced at Minho. "By relieving some tension…you know?"
Minho snorted, caught off guard by the unexpected response. He leaned his head on Chan's shoulder, his own laughter bubbling up. "I should've guessed."
Chan chuckled, patting Minho's knee affectionately. "You're not too bad at it yourself, Minho."
“What's that supposed to mean?” he asked with a snort.
“Your room's right below mine, I'm insomniac, so no, not everyone's asleep when you touch yourself,” he told him, taking another sip. “You're not exactly quiet sometimes and the vent carries it all the way up.”
“Oh,” he whispered, making Chan laugh. “Can't help it sometimes,” he said.
“Yeah, I get that,” Chan agreed, smirking to himself. There hasn't only been one time when Minho's soft moans and quiet whimpers kept him up, too sweet of a symphony to ignore.
Feeling emboldened by the alcohol and the already happening oversharing, Minho decided to share a bit more than he probably should have. "Yeah, well, I tried my fingers once, but it didn't feel nice. I didn't really know what I was doing, so I gave that up again."
Chan burst into laughter, the sound echoing softly in the quiet night. "Noted," he managed between laughs, shaking his head fondly at Minho's confession. Yeah, he'd remember that.
Realizing what he had just admitted, Minho blushed furiously, hoping the darkness hid his embarrassment. "Just don't tell anyone."
Chan sobered slightly, a warm smile on his face as he nudged Minho gently. "Hey, I'll keep your secrets safe, don't worry."
Minho hummed softly before glancing at Chan. “Did you ever try it?”
“Yeah, a few times,” Chan nodded, seemingly unfazed.
“Any…any advice?” he asked, ears burning up.
“Well, you should be able to relax, give yourself time and don't get too eager too fast. Also use enough lube and be careful so you don't hurt yourself,” he told him.
Grateful for Chan's understanding, Minho shifted the topic to something less potentially embarrassing. "Speaking of secrets, what do you think of our new album? You excited about it?"
Chan's eyes lit up with enthusiasm, his earlier humor returning. "Definitely. Also, you've been working so hard on those English lines, Minho. I'm impressed."
Minho pouted playfully, leaning back against the tree trunk. "I get tired of them sometimes, you know?"
Chan nodded sympathetically. "I can imagine. But seriously, you sound amazing singing them. Fans are gonna love it."
A small smile tugged at Minho's lips, grateful for Chan's praise. "Thanks, Channie. Means a lot coming from you."
They fell into a comfortable silence, content to simply be in each other's company, enjoying the tranquility of the moment. The night breeze rustled the leaves above them, a gentle reminder of the world beyond their secluded spot. For Minho and Chan, this brief respite from the demands of their careers was a precious gift—a chance to unwind, to share laughter and confessions under the starlit sky.
As the party's noise gradually seeped back into their awareness, they exchanged a knowing glance, both silently agreeing to cherish this memory. With a final clink of their glasses, they toasted to friendship, to music, and to the simple joy of finding peace beneath the stars.
-
After a tiring and long day at the company, Chan and Minho finally collapsed onto Chan's bed, the soft mattress providing a welcomed respite from their demanding schedules. They had stayed longer than the others, Chan meticulously fine-tuning tracks for their upcoming album and Minho patiently walking him through the new choreography after.
Chan couldn't help but notice Minho's restlessness as they settled in. The room was bathed in a gentle lilac hue, casting a serene glow that accentuated Minho's features. He looked almost ethereal in that light, but Chan sensed a tension in him that hadn't dissipated since earlier.
"You alright, Minho?" Chan asked softly, his concern evident as he propped himself up on one elbow to look at his friend.
Minho sighed, running a hand through his hair before meeting Chan's gaze. "Yeah, just... I don't know. Can't seem to relax tonight…Long day."
Chan nodded understandingly, his eyes scanning Minho's face with a mixture of affection and curiosity. "Ever wish someone could help you with that? Release some tension after a long day?"
Minho's breath caught slightly at Chan's question, his heart beating a little faster as he processed the implication behind those words. He searched Chan's eyes for a long moment, finding sincerity and a hint of something more—something he had quietly wondered about but never dared to voice.
"Yeah," Minho admitted quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "I do."
Chan's expression softened, a gentle smile playing on his lips as he remembered their conversation from a few nights ago—the one where Minho had confessed his clumsy attempt at doing just that. "Remember when you told me about trying with your fingers? Didn't quite like it?"
Minho blushed deeply, embarrassed that Chan remembered and seemed unfazed by his earlier awkwardness. "Yeah," he murmured, unable to meet Chan's gaze directly. “I took your advice but it doesn't feel as good as Felix and Jisung said it would.”
Chan chuckled softly, reaching out to gently tuck a strand of hair behind Minho's ear. "It's okay, Minho. You can tell me what you need. That's what I'm here for, yeah?”
Minho swallowed nervously, his heart racing as he leaned closer to Chan, their faces now only inches apart. "I... I need..." He hesitated, unsure if he could voice his desires aloud.
Chan's hand found Minho's, fingers intertwining in a silent gesture of reassurance. "You can trust me, Min. Whatever it is."
With a shaky breath, Minho closed the gap between them, pressing his lips tentatively against Chan's. The kiss was hesitant at first, a mixture of nerves and longing, but soon it deepened, fueled by months of unspoken attraction and the intimacy of their shared moments.
Chan responded eagerly, pulling Minho closer until their bodies were flush against each other. The room seemed to fade away, leaving only the soft sound of their breaths mingling and the gentle rustling of sheets beneath them.
As they broke apart for air, Chan brushed his thumb over Minho's cheek, his eyes filled with tenderness. "I've wanted this, Minho," he confessed softly. "More than I've let myself admit."
Minho smiled shyly, a weight lifted off his shoulders now that his feelings were out in the open. "Me too," he admitted, his voice filled with a mix of relief and joy.
“Can I take care of you?” Chan asked softly and Minho's breath hitched.
“Please,” he nodded gently, rolling onto his back and glancing up at Chan as he sat up. Minho watched him as he gently pushed his legs apart and got seated between them, gently rubbing up his thighs.
“Want me show you how good it can feel?” he asked and Minho bit his lower lip, nodding quickly. Chan reached into the drawer of his bedside table and pulled out a bottle of lube.
As Chan settled back between Minho's legs, he held up the bottle of lube with a reassuring smile. Minho's heart raced with anticipation, his body tingling in anticipation of Chan's touch. The soft lilac light cast a gentle glow over them, adding to the intimate atmosphere.
Chan leaned down to kiss Minho softly, their lips meeting in a tender exchange that conveyed both desire and tenderness. Breaking the kiss, Chan whispered against Minho's lips, "Relax, Min. I've got you." Minho hummed softly in response. “May I?” he asked gently, waiting for a nod before removing his pants and boxers.
Minho blushed softly at Chan's admiring expression, feeling a little exposed. “Channie,” he whined softly.
Chan giggled softly. “Ready, pretty?”
Minho nodded, his breath coming in shallow gasps as Chan squeezed a generous amount of lube onto his fingers. He gently trailed his fingertips down Minho's thighs, causing him to shiver at the sensation. Chan's touch was gentle and deliberate, each movement aimed at building trust and pleasure.
"Let me know if anything feels uncomfortable," Chan murmured, his voice a soothing presence in the quiet room.
Minho nodded again, his eyes locked on Chan's as he slowly began to circle his fingers around Minho's entrance. He applied light pressure, testing Minho's response before gradually easing a finger inside. Minho gasped at the initial intrusion, but Chan didn't move further until he felt Minho relax around him.
"That's it," Chan encouraged softly, his other hand stroking Minho's thigh in a comforting gesture. He continued to move his finger in and out slowly, allowing Minho to adjust to the sensation.
As Minho relaxed further, Chan added a second finger, stretching him carefully and watching closely for any signs of discomfort. Minho's breath hitched, but he didn't flinch away. Instead, he arched his back slightly, silently asking for more.
Minho was a little overwhelmed by how good it felt, panting softly at the feeling. A shaky moan escaped him and he quickly bit his lip, not wanting to fall apart right there during the first time someone touched him.
"You're doing great, Min," Chan praised, his voice filled with admiration and desire. He curled his fingers inside, searching for that spot that would make Minho gasp and moan.
The pleasure began to build, Minho's body responding eagerly to Chan's touch. Chan moved his fingers in a rhythm that was both tender and insistent, coaxing soft sounds of pleasure from Minho's lips. Each movement sent waves of pleasure through Minho's body, heightening his arousal with every stroke.
"Chan..." Minho whispered, his voice strained with need. He reached for Chan's hand, urging him to go deeper, to give him more.
Chan complied, adding a third finger carefully and gauging Minho's reaction. Minho tensed briefly, but as Chan massaged that sensitive spot inside him, pleasure quickly replaced any discomfort. Chan's fingers moved with practiced skill, pushing Minho closer to the edge of ecstasy. Minho's head fell back, jaw growing slack as Chan lovingly worked his prostate. “Oh shit,” he whispered.
Feeling Minho's body respond eagerly, Chan leaned down to kiss him again, their mouths melding in a desperate, passionate kiss. Minho whimpered into Chan's mouth, his hips lifting off the bed to meet Chan's movements.
"Channie hyung," Minho gasped when they finally parted for air, his voice raw with desire.
“I'm here,” Chan whispered gently. “What do you need, baby?”
Minho moaned softly. “Need more, please. Can you - I'm…I never did that before,” he admitted, ears burning up fiercely.
Chan soothingly rubbed his thigh. “Are you sure you want it to be me?” he asked gently, searching his eyes observantly.
“Please,” Minho nodded, vulnerability lacing his features. “I trust you.”
Chan nodded, his own arousal evident as he reached for a condom and quickly prepared himself. He positioned himself between Minho's legs, gazing down at him with a mix of tenderness and hunger.
"You're sure?" Chan asked softly, seeking Minho's consent.
Minho nodded eagerly, his eyes locked with Chan's as he guided himself into Minho's heat. Chan took his time, making sure to give Minho enough room to adjust to the feeling. They both groaned at the sensation of being joined so intimately, their bodies moving together in a rhythm that spoke of longing and mutual need.
With each careful thrust, Chan focused on Minho's reactions, ensuring he moved at a pace that allowed Minho to adjust and enjoy every moment. Minho's soft moans and gasps filled the room, driving Chan further into a state of controlled desire. He kept one hand firmly planted beside Minho's head for support while the other stroked gently at Minho's cheek.
Minho's body responded eagerly, meeting Chan's movements with an increasing urgency that mirrored Chan's own rising desire. Their eyes locked in a silent conversation of trust and need, each moment deepening their connection beyond physical intimacy.
As Chan moved inside him, Minho's fingers clawed at Chan's back, his breath hitching with each deep thrust. Pleasure coiled tightly within him, building to a crescendo that threatened to overwhelm his senses. Chan's movements grew more insistent, driven by the raw need to bring Minho to the peak of ecstasy.
"Chan," Minho gasped, his voice a desperate plea mingled with pleasure.
Chan's heart swelled with affection and desire as he pressed his forehead against Minho's, their breaths mingling in a heated exchange. "I'm here, Minho," he murmured, his voice husky with longing. "Let go. I've got you."
With a final, deep thrust, Chan sent Minho spiraling into euphoria. Minho's body trembled beneath him as waves of pleasure washed over him, his moans filling the room with unrestrained ecstasy. Chan held him close, his own release imminent as he buried his face in Minho's neck, his breath hot against Minho's skin.
Moments later, they lay tangled together, their bodies slick with sweat, hearts racing in the aftermath of their shared passion. Chan pressed gentle kisses against Minho's temple, his touch reverent and tender.
"You okay?" Chan asked softly, his fingers tracing soothing patterns along Minho's back.
Minho nodded, a blissful smile spreading across his face. "More than okay," he whispered, his voice filled with contentment.
Chan smiled back, his heart overflowing with love and tenderness for the man in his arms. He gently withdrew from Minho, disposing of the condom, cleaning Minho up and then pulling him close again, cradling him against his chest. They lay together in the quiet of Chan's room, their breathing slowly synchronizing as they savored the intimacy of their shared moment.
"Thank you, Channie," Minho murmured after a while, breaking the peaceful silence. “For being so gentle and always looking out for me.”
Chan kissed the top of Minho's head, his voice a soft murmur against Minho's hair. "Always, Min. I'm always here for you."
They drifted off to sleep in each other's arms, the soft lilac light still casting a gentle glow over their entwined bodies. For Minho and Chan, this night marked not only a physical union but also a deeper understanding of their feelings and a bond strengthened by trust and love.
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Author looking for readers
I'm not sure of the best way of getting people interested in the work of an unknown writer...
Plopped down in the middle of a tropical, Latin American setting, Lullaby for Bishop is set to be a hard-boiled detective series with four main characters: a veteran private investigator in the twilight of his career; a muscle-bound professional wrestler fulfilling one of his pivotal, childhood ambitions of solving strange and wild mysterious; as well as a pair of rumbunctious, teenage, high school girls constantly causing a scene and tagging along for the thrills.
You can preview the first half of chapter one further down below and catch up on the remainder, along with the totality of chapters two and three, all completely for free if you visit my Patreon. It's going to be a little while before this first book in the series is actually finished and officially published, but I feel the smarter move would be to try and elevate as much of a buzz for the featured world and characters before then as possible. I also plan to put out additional pre-release chapters in the near future (likely three at a time). If I have somehow managed not to bore you and you're still eagerly reading, then I do hope you enjoy the launching meta in this tender work in progress and stick around for future updates. Thank you for your interest!
---
Chapter One
Nervously, Donny Boy had begun rubbing his fingers on the back of his neck, seated patiently a narrow foot away from the front of the desk while waiting for our bastard detective to stumble back into his office, suddenly realizing that the price tag had not yet been plucked away or removed from the fanciful hat he was wearing and was still dangling off the rounded edge of the brim.
Looking around the room for a trash bin he could use, Donny Boy's eyes gradually panned across the office, taking note of a few of the usual mosquitoes left splattered on the frosted, scarlet-lettered glass on the door. Dizzying groves of zigzagged patterns tying in the décor on the wallpaper, he spotted an old, unused desk tucked-away in the far, opposite corner of the room, heavy with dust and weighed down by sprawling stacks of postcards and unrecycled newspapers.
His wandering eyes glancing up the rearing rays of shattered sunlight filling in through the narrow, broken blinds on the window, Donny Boy had noticed the row of fancy kettlebells neatly arranged across a flat and sturdy, iron bench scooted against the wall, a dirty, rolled-up yoga mat, along with this stationary, exercise bike for the purposes of one's daily, cardio workout.
Looking up at the rougher dust build up over the years along the edges of the blades on the ceiling fan, Donny Boy was suddenly lured back from his current distractions after Detective Howl Bishop slid back into his office, tossing a used washrag onto his desk after wiping his face and smelling of minty, nicotine gum and aftershave.
“So, what do I call you, kid?” Howl had asked while taking a seat in his chair behind his desk.
“Don should be perfect. Growing up, my next-door neighbor used to call me Donny Boy.”
“Donny Boy, huh?” Howl fought against his urges to fidget with a stack of papers in his drawer. “Sounds good to me, kid. So… are you some sort of circus performer or something?”
“I'm not sure I know what you mean…”
“Your arms… They're freaking huge!”
“Oh… Yeah… I do struggle at times finding clothes that can fit me properly. Also, I wasn't really sure whether or not I should've worn a suit jacket.”
“Yes…” Howl would peek over the top of his desk and study Donny Boy up and down, a salient tone of fascination in his voice. “You really are quite the physical specimen, aren't you?”
“I suppose I do enjoy a good workout,” Donny Boy replied, a little bit bashful.
“You do have a basic understanding of the type of job you're here applying for today, don't you?” Howl asked.
“I believe so… The ads in the newspaper said Experienced private investigator in search of young and capable partner…”
“That's right. And being a private eye, it's important to have a plethora of tools at your modest disposal. One of those tools being the ability to effortlessly mesh into your surroundings. It's important not to stand out too much when in a public crowd or when casually photographing somebody's license plate from across the road. At the moment, I'm having some doubts on that possibly being a strong suit of yours given your current… how should I say… physique.”
“Oh… Well, to be completely honest with you, Mr. Bishop, I haven't even paused to consider that as a possibility.”
“Yeah, well, thinking a few steps ahead is also an invaluable tool to have.”
With more than a quarter of a century of busy detective work under his belt, his hair having grown white as Winter's ashes and the once buoyant Spring in his footsteps having lost some of its feather throughout the years, Howl Bishop was originally from the lands of sunny, Southern California, born on a weekday in a rushed and overcrowded hospital in the blighted city of Los Angeles.
Brought up in a bohemian household, Howl's anxious mother was a failed, Hollywood actress turned “new-age” healer and father was a meddling screenwriter that had spent more of his time obsessing over the quality of the ink in his typewriter than ever inundating his children with any orderly grants of wisdom.
Standing at six-foot even in height, a strong, conquering jaw and with an even tan across his arms and facial features, Howl was one of the many foreign expats sailing over from the States in purge of more permanent roots in Pan de Leones. Old, brown, leather belt holding up his wide, beige-colored slacks, Howl always wore floral, Hawaiian shirts when in settled eye of the public, mixtures of white and pink and with a couple of loose buttons up toward the collar.
With his sharp, Anglo features and light attire, it was entirely common to mistake Howl Bishop for a possible tourist visiting Latin America for the first time, sightseeing across the country and falling for obvious scams at the nearby market. That is, of course, until one caught an initial glimpse of Howl's encyclopedic knowledge of the city's urban layout and sprawling geography, along with his ease of verbal fluency when communicating in Spanish, often conversating with local barkeeps and store merchants on objects ranging from the wise and esoteric to the lurched, mind-numbing, and trivial.
“I would like to procure a general gauge on how comfortable you might be interacting with the more unsavory avenues of human society,” Howl would lean back into his seat and ask, clamping his hands together and placing his palms over his stomach.
“Could you be more specific?”
“In such line of work, one all too often will find themselves having to calmly intermingle with unrested eyes of broken glass and scoundrels. Do you possess any real-world experience dealing with scum and the morally compromised?”
“Uhm…” Donny Boy appeared curtailed by Howl's question, unsure of how to respond. “I once dated a girl that refused to pay off her parking tickets,” he said.
Without managing to reply, Howl simply stared in confusion from his seat across the desk, reevaluating his initial impressions on the kid. Then, squinting his eyelids a little, he felt inclined to change the current subject and asked, “I don't mean to suddenly swerve off topic, but… have we met before?”
“What?”
“Well, I'm looking at your face, right now, and… I can't help but get the feeling that this isn't the first time that we've been in the same room. Do we know each other?”
“I do not believe we have ever met, Mr. Bishop,” Donny Boy was quick to point out in response, laughing out loud a little to himself while nervously shuffling around in his seat. “I've always done alright remembering faces and my mother had always told me it was rude to forget someone's name.”
“Hmm… I guess in my advanced age, my average perception of things has grown a bit muddy. I suppose I simply must be confusing you for somebody else.”
Wide, rugged shoulders, preposterous arms, and with a large, outward, and muscular chest, Donny Boy was young and handsome and had shaded, bronze-colored skin. His lightly brushed hair was a wild, sunflower-blonde of which he maintained in perfect tinge and kept the darker shadows of his roots regularly dyed. Along with the fancy, finely tailored fedora resting on his head, the crumpled price tag of which he had just recently stuffed into his pocket, Donny Boy wore a normal pair of rectangular, blue-framed eyeglasses, granting him a bit of a barbarous librarian kind of a look.
Dark eyebrows and with the small patch of facial hair on his chin routinely trimmed, Donny Boy had entered the office wearing a short-sleeved, white, button-up shirt, the generous, overfed muscles of his upper body appearing to want to tear through the clothing and with a clean pair of ruby-red suspenders attached to the waistline of his denim-blue slacks, tugged and strapped-up over his mountainous shoulders. He also had on a dorky, red bowtie for the occasion.
“How old are you, Donny Boy?”
“I'm twenty-eight years old, Mr. Bishop.”
“And what's your sleep schedule like?”
“Excuse me?”
“Your sleep schedule. Have you developed the habit of going to bed around the same time, every night?”
“I believe so. I've never been one to indulge in any late-night festivities. Why do you ask?”
“Well, when living the demented life of a private eye, it's not uncommon to have to commit to some later hours on the unplanned occasion: car stakeouts after midnight; navigating the craze of urban nightlife on foot; purchasing some nefarious lawyer a hundred shots of overpriced vodka at the stripclub just for a few layers of common information. Do you drink coffee?”
“I've never been much of a coffee drinker, no.”
“Well, you definitely should be. Sugar highs and caffeine are going to be your most reliable friends on those late nights when you most need them. Either that or… well… you know…” Bringing his hand up to his face, Howl used his finger to tap the side of his nose.
“Oh, no way, Mr. Bishop,” Donny Boy immediately replied. “I wouldn't even think of touching that stuff. I've always had a firm stance against any illegal drug use.”
“That's good,” Howl said. “I've noted my fair share of innocent souls throughout my time wasting away from drug addiction. A found sense of longed-for excitement is what initially lures them in. And then, after enough restless days turn to night, enough sleepless nights turn to chaos, suddenly they look up and… the neon lights on the street don't seem as vibrant as they once used to…”
Donny Boy would look at Howl with a sort of strange sense of wonderment, our detective's eyes having slowly migrated across the room toward the window, perceiving what, to him, had appeared to be an expression of profound fatigue captured on his face.
The sound of the vehicle screeching to a halt could suddenly be heard outside on the street, trashcans tumbling over and followed by the angry voice of a young woman shouting profanities.
“Oh no…” Donny Boy muttered underneath his breath, his eyes suddenly wandering over toward the window.
“What about your relationships?” Howl asked. “Do you have a wife or girlfriend? One of the more unfortunate aspects of being a private investigator is the difficulty you might experience maintaining a healthy inner circle. This is often a critical detail that turns the most people away.”
Donny Boy was completely distracted and had failed to pick up a single word, a growing look of nervousness on his face.
“Donny Boy, are you listening?”
The frantic sound of sudden footsteps quickly marching up a flight of stairs could be heard just outside the door to the office, followed by the reactions from Howl's trusted secretary demanding an unknown grouping's identification and honest proof of appointment.
“Move aside, lady! You don't want to have to get injured!” a young woman's voice hollered in response.
“How have they managed to find me?” Donny Boy wondered out loud to himself.
“We have you outnumbered and we're very upset!”
“What the hell is going on out there?” Howl began to react.
Suddenly, managing not to completely fly off its hinges, the door to the office was viciously kicked open, creating a sudden gust of wind that would travel across the room, knocking over a slanted stack of printed papers off the corner edge of the desk.
Standing in the open doorway, visible tension throughout her arms as her hands were forged into concrete fists, a young, teenage girl had a rancid look of anger on her face. A dark, navy-blue blazer over a knitted, bright, yellow skirt, the young woman was dressed in a traditional, school-girl's uniform and had her hair cut down short, visible scrapes and bruises on her knees giving out impressions that the girl was perhaps a bit of a rowdy tomboy.
“Nayaiko! I found him! He's in here!” the young girl shouted back over her shoulder.
She would then come into the office, and shortly afterward, her thin silhouette appearing in the doorway, an additional and secondary, young woman showed her face and seemed equally upset at the current moment. Dressed in an identical uniform as the first, this second girl had her hair much greater in length and stood with long and beautifully braided pigtails poking out the sides of her head.
The second girl entered the office and shut the door.
Standing over Donny Boy who seemed to be trembling in his seat a little, the first girl snarled out of her nostrils and said, “This is the second time this week you tried to ditch us…”
“This honestly isn't the best time, girls,” Donny Boy said, his voice a bit shaky.
“You know, we were standing outside the changing booth for thirty-five minutes before we realized you weren't there,” the second girl would report. “You told us you were trying on some hats!”
“I did! Look!” Donny Boy then lifted the hat up off his head to showcase. “I ended up purchasing this really awesome fedora for myself. It's really cool, isn't it?”
Neither girl seemed to want to take the time to respond. They simply crossed their arms in defiance and stood with a pair of inconsolable scowls on their faces.
Continue...
#reader#reading#book#books#currently reading#books and reading#booklr#bookblr#bibliophile#bookworm#book blog#book review#bookish#fiction#bookstagram#booktok#fanfic#fandom#headcanon#canon
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Can I request Whumptober No.13 for Yan Rob Lucci or Yan Kaku?
Sure thing! ^-^
Whumptober Day 13
Yandere Lucci x Reader
"Hello there," you greeted a little white pigeon wearing a red tie. "Aren't you cute."
"Thank you."
You jumped, startled, and surprise clouded your face. "You can talk?"
"Yes, but don't tell anyone, okay?" The pigeon held up his wing as if they were hands forming the shush sign.
"Ohhhhh okay," you nodded. In awe and fascinated by this talking bird, you didn't pay attention to the noises next door.
For hours you asked the bird questions until it announced it had to leave. Sad to see it fly away, you waved goodbye until it flew out of sight. You'd never see it.
At least, that's what was supposed to happen.
A month later the pigeon came back, and your excitement skyrocketed. You were beginning to believe the talking bird with a tie was all a dream you had, you were happy to know the bird's real. You asked more questions but then you asked one you should've asked sooner.
"Do you have a name?"
"I do, forgive me for not introducing myself," the pigeon apologized and bowed. "I'm Hattori."
"Hattori, huh." You petted his little head. "Do you have an owner?"
"Mhm, but he's... busy right now, so I came here out of boredom."
You giggled, "I hope I don't get in trouble for keeping you away from him."
"Oh, I'm sure he wouldn't mind." Hattori leaned into your hand. "I think he'd like you."
"You think so?" You mused before going into the kitchen to get Hattori a snack.
Little did you know, his owner was standing under your balcony, arms crossed and leaning against the wall.
Like clockwork, you saw Hattori once a week now. You invited him inside a few times, but he declined, saying he preferred being outside with fresh air. At least, that was before tonight.
"[Y/n], it's cold outside, can I fly in?" Hattori shivered with his wings wrapped around him.
"Of course." You stepped to the side and let the poor bird into your home, forgetting about your glass of water on the counter. "Here let me get you a blanket."
You left the balcony door open and headed to the hallway closet, taking out the handstitched blanket you made for the bird you had created in your spare time. When reached, Hattori was perched on the counter beside your drink.
"Here," You laid the tiny thing around the bird. "You should feel better now. Oh, I almost forgot about my drink." You picked up the glass, sipping the contents. "What kind of owner leaves his pet out in the cold of night? Actually..." You placed the drink down and held your head. "I don't feel so good."
The counters became sideways and the ground came up to slam into you. Hattori flew up from the counter, you didn't quite see where he went. The last thing you saw was dress shoes approaching you.
Tag: @bookandyarndragon @roseoftrafalgar
#whumptober2023#no. 13#“It comes and goes like strength in bones.”#“I don't feel so good.”#one piece#whump fanfiction#whump fic#whump writing#one piece scenario#one piece x reader#one piece x you#one piece imagine#one piece x y/n#lucci x reader#rob lucci#one piece lucci#lucci#hattori#One piece hattori#x reader#no 13#requested#anon request
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𐚁֙࿐ THE PRIEST
kenjaku x fem!reader (platonic)
Tags — fluff? , platonic , ‘first’ meeting , stalker-ish behavior , soft kenjaku , creepy kenjaku , listen he cares about his daughter and shows it in weird ways
Notes — kenjaku is y/n’s parent, it’s not explicitly stated since this is from y/n’s pov but pretty obvious he is. i just wanted to clarify beforehand!
Sighing tiredly, Y/N slumps her head against her computer, eyelids feeling all too heavy as she stares down at her keyboard.
Just gonna close them real quick... Y/N thinks, allowing her eyes to flutter close with exhaustion creeping up on her.
But as she feels her consciousness start to escape her, she forced them to open once more.
Just need to finish this paper then I can go back. Y/N relents, sitting up again as she shifts in her seat in an attempt to get more comfortable in the metal chair
Maybe she should've chose a better place than some old café to study in, but it's not like she really had a choice now. Finding another place that was even open would be difficult at this time of night.
Speaking of that, she should hurry up if she wants to make it to the dorms before someone notices she left. How annoying, but she supposes it's understandable. After all, they—
Y/N was torn out of her thoughts at the feeling of something nuzzling against her hand.
Blinking in surprise, Y/N shifts her gaze down to see... a cotton ball?
"Oh, it's one of you guys again..." Y/N murmurs in recognition, eyes lighting up with fondness as she shifts her hand so it was laying flat back against the table, allowing the creature to crawl onto her hand.
"You're cute little guys, huh?..." Y/N smiles, raising her other hand to pet it, watching as it preens at the contact, making a purring noise.
Well, these ones specifically were cute. Most were... Y/N pauses, remembering all the monstrous-looking beings that always seemed to watch her. ...odd.
They never harmed her, though. In fact, most seemed to like her. As odd as it was, Y/N never complained.
"Mrp?" The creature nudges against her hand, drawing her out of her thoughts.
"Ah? Oh... Just thinking about something, don't worry." Y/N pats it's head one final time before setting it down next to her computer.
"Mrrrp..." The creature lets out a sad noise, visibly deflating as its body slumps down.
Y/N laughs into her palm, grateful that nobody other than her was here to see the behavior they would surely deem odd.
Well, there was an employee in the back, but... Y/N tilts her head over, glancing through the window to see him slumped over a table with his eyes shut. ...he's clearly occupied.
Y/N reaches her palm out, the creature sliding onto it as she raises her hand against her head, allowing the creature to lay on her head.
"That good enough?" Y/N asks, smiling in amusement as she glances at the window, seeing the reflection of the creature burying itself in her hair, nestled comfortably.
"Mrp!" The creature confirms eagerly.
"That's good, then." Y/N nods in approval, turning back towards her computer as she visibly deflates. "I just have to finish this then we can—"
"Hm? I hope I'm not interrupting something."
Y/N nearly jumps out of her skin at the calm voice, turning to see a man dawned in monk clothing giving her a closed-eye smile.
A priest? Y/N wonders, staring at the man blankly for a moment before remembering what he asked seconds earlier.
"A-Ah, of course not, I was just... ranting to myself." Y/N was aware of how flimsy her lie sounded as she mentally winces.
"I see." The man's eyes peer open, amusement mixed with an unreadable emotion glimmering in them.
"I hope you wouldn't mind if I take a seat." The man says.
"Wha— ah, uh, sure? Why not...?" Y/N nods in agreement, pushing her stuff closer on her so the man could sit down across from her.
Y/N was never known for being the brightest person, but even she could recognize it might not be the best idea to let a strange priest sit with her.
Well, too late to take it back, she supposes.
"You seem to have a bright future ahead, I'm proud of you." The man observes, his tone undeniably genuine.
"Eh? Oh, thanks... just doing my best." Y/N ducks her head down in embarrassment, focusing on the screen infront of her.
Is this how they got people to join cults? Y/N vaguely wonders before shaking that thought away.
"Mrrp..." The creature on her head abruptly growls at the man, startling Y/N as she visibly stiffens.
Keeping her eyes trained on her screen, Y/N does her best to ignore the creature for now, not wanting to seem like a crazy person to the man infront of her.
"Oh?" The man glances up. The action making Y/N pause as she wonders for a moment if he could see the creature too when— "Your friend doesn't seem to like me."
"You can seem them too?" Y/N asks as she scoops the creature into her hands, petting it softly as it melts in her hand, comforted by the hushed voice and soft hands.
The man seems to pause as he watches her comfort the creature, surprise and something unreadable in his expression before he smiles.
"You really are unlike them..." The man mumbles, the words only confusing Y/N further.
"Huh? 'Them'?" Y/N asks, attention drawn away from the creature still held securely in her hand.
But the man doesn't grace her with an answer, looking down at the table with a distant expression.
Y/N's head cocks to the side in confusion, looking at the man before looking at the creature in her hand that was seemingly... glaring at him.
"What's wrong? The last time you did this..." Y/N's quiet voice trails off, not wanting to recount what happened as she looks at the creature with growing concern.
The last time it growled at someone was when some creep tried to grope her on the train, the ominous growl accompanied by a threatening presence scaring the man off.
Though this was unlike the time, the man was odd, sure, but he wasn't acting like the other guy did. The monk honestly just seemed ignorant (or uncaring?) of social norms, which she couldn't blame him for since everyone has their quirks.
"You've grown up to be a nice girl, Y/N." The man compliments, drawing Y/N from her thoughts as she looks up to see the man standing once again.
"Ah, um, thank you?" Y/N replies uncertainly, the man smiling at her in fond amusement before turning and walking out.
Only after a few minutes of silence pass do the words he said truly sink into Y/N, body freezing as she stares at where he was walked off to, feeling as if a cold bucket of water had just been poured over her head.
She had never told the man her name.
© 𝓢OLARSAINT 2024 ─── all of my works belong me alone! do not copy, steal, plagiarize, or spread any of my works in any other social media platform. these have only been reloaded on my own accounts on ao3 and wattpad
#kenjaku#kenjaku x reader#kenjaku x y/n#kenjaku x you#jujutsu kaisen x you#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen x y/n#soft kenjaku
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𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤
kim sunwoo x gn!reader
0.8k words, fluff, one swear word?
a/n: jesus take the wheel omg pls go into tags
Eric yawned as he stepped out of his room and into the main living space of his and Kim Sunwoo's shared apartment. He stopped short, eyes blinking away sleep, as his vision cleared to see you seated on the couch, nose buried in a book. Seeing you in the apartment was not a strange case since you were Sunwoo's partner, but the strange thing was what you were wearing. Eric noticed it immediately as Sunwoo's prized gray hoodie, the material practically swallowing you up.
Eric's eyes widened, even as he stepped into the room in a confused daze.
You sensed his presence and glanced up. "'Sup Eric."
He mumbled a greeting, "Hey…" He slowly made his way over to the single armchair adjacent to you, head cocked and eyes still pinned to the sweatshirt. It was just so…
"Uhm Eric?"
"Mhm?"
You chuckled, marking your book and letting it lay in your lap. "Is there something wrong?"
Eric shook his head, sitting up properly. "Oh," he stammered, "nothing, just… is that Sunwoo's hoodie?"
You pinched the material in your hands and snapped it against you. "This? Yeah, he just kind of threw it at my face on his way out to get stuff from the store."
Eric's eyes shot wide open again. "He just—gave it to you?"
"Yeah, is that supposed to be weird, dude?"
"Dude." He rolled his eyes and threw his hands in the air, his palms slapping against his thighs as they came back down. "He gave you his hoodie. That's practically a proposal in Sunwoo's language."
His comment made you flush and you shrunk down beneath the collar of the hoodie like you were hiding the smile crawling onto your face. "You're being dramatic; it's not that deep," you said, even though your heart had skipped a beat at the thought of Sunwoo feeling so strongly about you. You'd known that his hoodie was a prized possession, but you hadn't wanted to over think it earlier when he literally just chucked it at you and said to "wear it if you want".
Of course you were gonna wear it. What kind of fool would you be if you didn't take the opportunity?
Eric huffed. He stood up from his seat to head into the kitchen to no doubt make himself ramen. "Fine, okay! If you don't trust me, just ask him yourself."
It was a little less than half an hour later that the front door to the apartment opened, revealing Sunwoo and his couple bags of groceries. Eric had retreated back into his room by now, but you had resumed reading your book in the comfort of Sunwoo's hoodie. (Because it wasn't as big a deal as Eric was making it, right? Right. Totally.)
His dark hair, slightly wavy from his last perm a while ago, hung in his eyes, his pink lips pouty as he dragged the bags into the kitchen and onto the counter. "Baaaaabe! Yn-ie, are you still here?"
You snorted. "Why would I be gone, dumbass?"
He came in with his head ducked, checking his phone, slippers shuffling against the floor. "Dunno. Maybe you forgot you had work or something."
"You didn't see my shoes by the door?" You asked, a smirk curling at your lips.
Sunwoo's mouth broke into a smile, then he finally glanced up.
Sometimes, he wondered how you could look so perfect just sitting there like that in his clothes. For a second, he let himself snap about five hundred mental screenshots of you in his hoodie—but just for good measure...
Click!
"Did you just take a picture of me?"
Click! Click! Click—! (He really should've had his volume off, huh.)
Sunwoo pursed his lips with a sheepish laugh as he walked over and crashed onto the cushion next to you. "No, I took like, ten."
You feigned a gasp, diving for his phone. "Aye! I better look good in those or you're trashing all of them!"
He yelled when your fingers grazed over the screen, and he stretched his arm out as far away as possible, even as you climbed over him to grab it. "Yah! No, they're mine now! You can't take them away from me!"
"They are literally my face, Kim Sunwoo!"
Sunwoo wrapped his arms around you and hugged you firmly to him to stop you from squirming anymore. "You look good; I promise," he lamented. You were now positioned sideways on his lap, loosely hugging his upper body while he snuggled into your lower half. "I couldn't help myself seeing you wear this."
You let out a breathy little laugh, cheek pressed against the top of his head and your fingers playing with his hair. "You gave it to me."
"I know."
"Eric said it's important to you."
"You're important to me."
Your heart stuttered at that comment and you couldn't quite find the right words to say, all of a sudden. "Well," you said softly, quietly. "You're very important to me, too, Sunwoo."
tbz m.list
permanent taglist: @tayunji @im-a-big-mess @honeyhuii @y3jiishot @crazywittysassy @seomisaho @stopeatread @enhacolor @rnjfy @jaehunnyy @kpopjackie @spiderrenjunfics @soobin-chois @stayarmytinyzenmoa-l @ethereal-engene
#the boyz x reader#kim sunwoo x reader#the boyz fluff#the boyz drabble#the boyz scenarios#the boyz imagines#sunwoo x reader#sunwoo fluff#sunwoo imagines#sunwoo drabbles#sunwoo scenarios
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Get Out of My Dreams, Get into My Car
Chapter 9: Can't fight this feeling
Moodboard by the amazing @a-redharlequin 💜
No warnings for this chapter. Tags: Feelings realization (the other way around I guess)
Summary: Steve had been struggling the whole night with the words he should've said in the evening and in the morning he finally decides just to go for it. Unfortunately the universe seems to have everything against him on that day.
Read on AO3 >>
:::::::::::
Steve had kicked himself mentally through the entire night for not saying the words in the evening. Three small words that would’ve probably changed everything and he couldn’t get them out of his mouth.
And now that they were sitting at the breakfast table, it felt just stupid if he’d say them here in the middle of coffee and eggs. Pass me the sugar and I like you please don’t go to your ex’s art thing.
“So, you’re going to the opening, then?” he ventured as he stirred his coffee absentmindedly.
Billy nodded, keeping his eyes on the newspaper.
“Uh, about that…” Steve started his brave try, despite the awkwardness.
Billy looked up from the newspaper.
“At what time is it?” Steve asked.
“Six.”
“Right.” Just say it, you idiot, Steve scolded himself. “I was thinking, um…”
Suddenly there was a loud knock on the terrace door and both of them turned to look at who was pounding it at this hour.
“Hey, Malibu!” Argyle shouted through the door. “Weren’t we supposed to catch some waves this morning?”
“Oh, yeah, just a moment!” Billy shouted back and looked at Steve. “We agreed with Argyle that we’d go…” Billy started and motioned to the living room.
Steve wanted to strangle Argyle. “Yeah, you go ahead,” he said with a wave of his hand, managing to keep his tone light—but just barely.
Billy looked at him for a moment. “You sure?”
Steve nodded. “U-huh. It can wait.”
“Alright,” Billy said, nodding. He shouted to Argyle, “I’ll be there in five!” and left to get his gear.
Steve leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. He tried to assure himself that he could still talk about it with Billy when he came back from the beach. There was time.
So, to spend the time doing something productive, he finished his breakfast, read the newspaper from cover to cover—hardly remembering any of it, though—and washed the dishes.
He was drying the last plates when the phone rang. He dried his hands on the towel and unhooked the receiver. “Harrington.”
“Morning, Steve,” came a familiar female voice through the wire.
Steve leaned his head against the wall, groaning inwardly. “Hi, mom.”
“We just arrived in San Diego yesterday and I thought—”
“You’re here?” Steve interrupted her, confused. “Why didn’t you call earlier?”
“Well, your father wanted to spend a few days longer in Vegas than we planned and then we kind of forgot.”
Steve sighed. “You were coming this way and didn’t let me know?”
“Well, we thought we’d surprise you,” his mother said with the tone that told Steve that he shouldn’t be offended when his parents decided to grace him with their existence out of the blue.
Steve ran his hand over his face. He already knew where this was going and…he didn’t exactly have anything special to do except that talk with Billy and keep him from going to the gallery opening. He let out a deep sigh. “Okay. What did you have in mind?”
Mrs. Harrington wasn’t amused. “Don’t sound so eager about it, Steve.”
He set the receiver on his shoulder to a bit to squeeze his eyes closed. “Sorry. I just have…things to figure out.”
“Well, can you take a break from thinking and come for a brunch with your parents? Maybe you could recommend a restaurant and we could meet there?”
+ + +
When Billy came back from the beach, to his disappointment, Steve was gone. While in the zone on his board, he’d decided that they’d need to talk about last night—and maybe ask if Steve would want to join him at the opening. To keep Rob from getting any stupid ideas and…just to go out with Steve. Totally not for a date, but just…out.
But now he had no option but to wait for Steve to come back. So, he took a shower and then sat on the couch to watch TV.
Just as he was starting to relax, when the phone ringing in the kitchen shattered the quiet and jolted him back to reality.
Alice, the owner of the aerobic studio, was on the other end, her voice sounding like it came from the bottom of a barrel. “Hi, Billy! I’m sorry this comes on a such a short notice, but would you be able to do my aerobic classes today? I got some nasty bug, and I won’t be leaving the house today.”
Billy wasn’t entirely thrilled about the idea. “Uh, depends on what time,” Billy replied, rubbing his neck with his hand. He knew how much the studio meant to Alice, but he wouldn’t want to be the first she’d call next time…
“They’re from three to five. Please, Billy, everyone else has said no, and I don’t want to cancel.”
Billy looked at the clock on the opposite wall. It was already 2:20 pm, so in order to make it on time, he would have to leave now. “Well, you could’ve called a bit earlier, but sure, I can do that.”
“You are an angel! I’ll make this up to you! Just make sure to be on time,” she teased him, reminding him of the many times he’d been late for his own classes.
Billy laughed. “Don’t worry, I’ll leave right now.”
After hanging up, Billy went to put his aerobics gear together. While at it, he realized that there wouldn’t be time for him to come back home from the studio. He’d have to go to the gallery straight from there.
What a perfect reason to cancel going to the whole thing.
But if he did that, said that he was sick and couldn’t go, even if Rob wouldn’t know he lied, he himself would. And part in becoming himself was to be honest with himself and to everyone else…
Fuck.
He didn’t have to stay there more than just show up, have a flute of sparkling and come back home. He’d live through it.
Now all he needed to do was to go through his wardrobe quickly to find something to wear in the evening and change into at the studio.
+ + +
The brunch with his parents had lasted longer than Steve had expected. It had been nice to see them because he hadn’t seen them after he’d moved away from Hawkins. And since he knew he had time to talk with Billy before six pm, he hadn’t rushed back.
So, when he finally got back home, it was a surprise to find the house empty.
“Billy?” he called out.
No response.
He checked the living room, kitchen and even poked his head into Billy’s bedroom, but there was no sign of him. Not even a note on the kitchen table.
He looked at the aerobics class list on the fridge door, held up by a magnetic surfboard, and immediately he heard Billy’s voice in his head correcting him: It’s a longboard! There’s a difference! It made him smile—apparently he’d finally learned the lesson.
He concentrated on looking at the timetable: Billy’s classes were on Tuesday and Wednesday, and he was fairly certain Billy wouldn’t go for an extra lesson today. Or any day, really. He did his exercise on the waves and by lifting and aerobics was on his own exercise schedule only in the winter.
Steve’s shoulders slumped as he walked back to the living room and plopped down on the couch. He had no idea where Billy could be. The only option he really had was to wait and then go to the gallery and try to catch him at the opening before Rob would do any more damage.
At least he knew where the opening was because it was written on the calendar on the wall; The Brush Poets’ Gallery.
+ + +
Billy walked through the bustling art gallery, his stomach churning with a cocktail of nerves and morbid curiosity. It had been months since he’d last seen Rob, and the prospects of their reunion filled him with equal parts dread and anticipation.
Just breathe. You’ve got this. It’s not like you’re still hung up on the guy, right? He tried to reassure himself, but his sweaty palms and racing heart told a different story.
As he navigated the throng of well-dressed somebodies, Billy caught sight of one of Rob’s paintings hanging on the wall. Rob had painted it during one of their steamy nights, and it made Billy’s chest ache with a bittersweet pang of nostalgia.
Don’t go down that road again , he chided himself firmly. Rob’s ancient history. You’re here just for …Though he wasn’t really sure why he was there. He knew he should’ve left Rob behind, for good, ages ago, but hearing his voice on the phone had breathed life into the embers of the love Billy once had felt.
Fucking feelings. Nothing but trouble.
He found his way to the other end of the space and…there stood Rob next to a podium, looking infuriatingly handsome in a tailored suit that hugged his lean frame in all the right places.
Billy snorted and pondered for a moment who Rob had coaxed into giving him the money for it, since sure as hell wouldn’t have money for having tailored anything himself.
Probably someone from this crowd. Though Billy was sure most of them were here just to show themselves and get tipsy before heading out to the blinding lights of the city.
As if on cue, Rob turned to look in Billy’s direction, and the way his eyes lit up when their gazes met made butterflies take flight in Billy’s stomach.
Though Billy wasn’t sure if it was a flutter of cute small butterflies or just a few big, ugly moths reminding him of the pain Rob had caused.
+ + +
The dusk had started to settle when Steve parked his car around the corner from the gallery. He gripped the steering wheel for a while after turning off the engine. He wasn’t entirely sure if this still was a good idea. But he also knew it needed to be done. He needed it done.
So, he got out of the car and walked back to the gallery, hands shoved in the pockets of his jacket. When he got there, he stopped to look inside through the windows. Surprisingly sizable crowd of people seemed to be inside. He recognized some faces—sure as hell, everyone who’s anyone, and so on. He tried to look for Billy, but there were too many people for him to tell.
Doubt crept in as he gazed inside. He wasn’t sure if he should be here. If it would make any difference. But going in was his only possibility to tell Billy how he felt before Rob did something that would ruin his chances.
The vibrant atmosphere of the gallery enveloped him as he stepped through the doors. The bright track lights illuminated the colorful abstract paintings that lined the white walls, and soft instrumental music mingled with the lively chatter of the crowd holding wine glasses.
But there was only one thing Steve’s eyes were on the lookout for; the long blond curls.
“A glass of Chardonnay, sir?” a waiter materialized at Steve’s elbow.
Steve jumped at the sudden words coming from right next to him. “Oh, um, no thank you,” Steve stammered.
Get it together, Harrington.
To calm himself, he took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of expensive perfume that lingered all over. He meandered along the perimeter, taking in the colorful, emotive artworks while surreptitiously keeping an eye out for Billy in the crowd.
With each passing moment, his nerves raised closer to the surface. What would he even say if he bumped into Billy? Hey buddy, fancy seeing you here! Looking damn fine in that…whatever he would be wearing.
Steve shook his head. Great, only cheesy pickup lines in store.
As Steve found his way further into the space, he finally stopped. There, on the side of a small podium, was Billy.
Steve smiled. Billy had his hair up in a messy bun and strands were hanging loose, framing his face. He was wearing a simple white silk shirt that hung on his broad shoulders and—if it was any consolation to Steve—his normal blue jeans and not the tighter than tight black jeans he usually wore when he went out. Not that the blue ones were any less tight, mind you.
+ + +
Just before Billy reached Rob, the artist stepped up to the small podium and raised his hand to silence the crowd. His voice rose above the chatter as he began his thank you speech, and Billy found himself drawn into the orbit of his presence despite the nagging discomfort.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” his snobby voice rang out, silencing the room. “I want to thank you all for coming tonight to celebrate the unveiling of my latest collection.”
+ + +
So, this was the infamous Rob, Steve thought as the tall, dark-haired man started talking. A lot better looking than he had imagined, and, he had to admit, he could vaguely understand what Billy must’ve seen in the guy.
Rob continued his speech, his tone dripping with self-importance. “This exhibition would not have been possible without the support of you, my patrons and my friends, and most importantly, my muse.” Then he turned to look down at Billy with a wide smile, his hand reaching out.
+ + +
Billy’s heart stopped as Rob’s gaze locked with his. Oh, no. Please don’t. Not here, not now...
But it was too late. Rob was already reaching out, his eyes never leaving Billy’s. Once again, Rob did what he did best; put Billy in the spotlight so that he couldn’t say no.
Billy allowed himself to be pulled onto the podium, standing next to Rob.
Rob took his hand in his. “This man, this incredible, beautiful man, has been the inspiration behind every brush stroke, every color choice. My boyfriend, Billy Hargrove.”
Billy felt the color drain from his face as every head in the room swiveled to stare at him. Boyfriend? What the hell? We broke up months ago!
+ + +
Steve’s stomach twisted, his mind reeling. Boyfriend? Was this guy serious?
Rob had hurt Billy and Billy wouldn’t go back with him unless…
Unless…they’d made up.
Billy had been gone when Steve got home, and that was a few hours before this event was to start. What if they’d been talking things through and…
+ + +
Before Billy could protest, in a swift, fluid motion, Rob leaned in and captured Billy’s lips in a passionate kiss. His mind reeled as Rob’s lips moved against his, the familiar taste and scent of him flooding his senses with memories he’d tried so hard to forget.
+ + +
Steve watched, frozen, as Billy melted into Rob’s embrace, their bodies fitting together like perfectly sculpted puzzle pieces—and his heart shattered, the pieces scattering like shards of glass on the floor.
His eyes were stinging. Conflicting emotions washed over him, each one more painful than the last. The realization that he had lost his chance with Billy, that he had been too late, too cautious, too afraid, hit him like a wrecking ball.
You waited too long, and now look where it’s gotten you, he berated himself silently.
The bitter taste of regret lingered on his tongue, the weight of what could have been pressing down on his shoulders. He had missed his chance, and now he had to live with the knowledge that Billy’s heart belonged to someone else.
With a heavy heart, Steve made the swift decision to leave the gallery. He quickly slipped through the crowd, his steps laden with disappointment and regret.
+ + +
When Rob finally pulled away, Billy was breathless and shaking, a storm of emotions raging inside him. Shock, anger, confusion, and worst of all…a traitorous flicker of desire that he couldn’t seem to quench no matter how hard he tried.
With a shaky breath, Billy pulled away from Rob’s embrace, his insides blazing with a mix of hurt and determination. “I…I can’t…Rob, you can’t just waltz back into my life and pretend nothing’s changed,” he said, his voice low but firm. “You made it pretty clear that we’re over when you walked out of my life.”
Rob’s confident smile faltered, and he glanced at the crowd that was looking at them, a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. “Come on, babe. We’re meant to be together. Why else would fate bring us here tonight?”
Billy shook his head, a mirthless chuckle escaping his lips. “Fate? No! You asked me to come, and I was stupid enough to do that. You’re just trying to mess with my head again. It’s not going to work this time.” He took a step back, putting some much-needed distance between them. “I’ve moved on. I’ve found someone who actually cares about me, who’s there for me when I need him. Someone who doesn’t just use me as a prop in his little art world dramas.” He said the last sentence louder than the rest, ensuring that at least the front row heard it.
Rob’s face darkened, his jaw clenching. “Oh, please. You expect me to believe you’ve found someone better than me? Who is this mystery man, huh?”
Billy turned away from Rob, determined to step down from the podium when his eyes spotted a familiar figure by the large windows of the gallery, quickly retreating towards the door.
Steve.
His heart seized in his chest as he watched Steve go out the door, his shoulders hunched and his head bowed.
And in that moment, everything clicked into place.
Steve had come after him. He wouldn’t be here, unless…Unless he had feelings—for him.
Without another word to Rob, Billy stepped down from the podium and pushed his way through the crowd, his eyes fixed on the door Steve had just disappeared through.
+ + +
The cool night air enveloped Steve as he stepped out of the gallery, a welcome change from the suffocating atmosphere inside. As he walked back to his car, he inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with the crisp, clean air, hoping it would somehow cleanse the pain that had settled in his chest.
+ + +
Billy burst through the gallery door, his heart pounding in his chest as he scanned the crowded street for any sign of Steve. The cool evening air hit his skin, a stark contrast to the stuffy atmosphere inside the gallery, but he barely noticed. All he could think about was finding Steve as he scanned the street with his gaze.
Come on, Steve. Where are you?
Just as he was losing hope, he caught a glimpse of the familiar dark hair turning the corner up ahead. His heart leaped in his chest, and he took off to follow it, dodging around a group of tourists who were blocking his path.
+ + +
Steve fished the keys out of his pocket, his fingers trembling slightly as he unlocked the door and slid into the driver’s seat. The familiar scent of leather and the soft purr of the engine as he turned the key provided a small measure of comfort, a reminder that at least some things were constant in his life that would remain unchanged.
As he pulled out of the parking spot and onto the street, he let his mind wander, replaying the events of the evening in his head.
The image of Billy and Rob, locked in a passionate embrace, seemed to be seared into his memory, a painful reminder of what he had lost before he even had a chance to truly have it.
+ + +
Billy rounded the corner, his breath coming in quick gasps as he searched the street ahead. There was no sign of Steve. He’d probably had his car parked near here and had just pulled off.
“Fuck!” Billy growled, startling an elderly couple who was just passing him. They mumbled something about manners as they continued on their way.
Billy turned on his heel and headed back towards the gallery, his mind already mapping out the quickest route back home.
He burst back into the gallery, his heart pounding and his mind reeling. Barely registering the curious stares and whispered comments from the other attendees, he made a beeline to the chair next to the podium, where he’d left his jacket.
As he shrugged it on, he felt a hand on his shoulder. “Babe, where are you going?” Rob asked, his voice laced with concern and a hint of annoyance.
Billy turned to face him, his jaw set and his eyes blazing. “I’m going after Steve,” he said firmly.
Rob’s eyes widened in surprise. “Steve? Who is Steve?”
“He’s the one.”
Rob rolled his eyes. “You’re going to run off after some other guy when you have me?”
Billy shook his head, a rueful smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Rob, what we had was special, but it’s over. Steve is the one I want to be with. Don’t call me again. Ever.”
With that, Billy turned and walked away.
As he pushed through the gallery doors and out into the cool night air and towards the Camaro, he felt a sense of lightness for finally doing what he should’ve done a long time ago. Stopped hanging on to a guy who couldn’t commit and open his eyes to the one who had been there all this time—Steve.
#harringrove#harringrove fic#billy hargrove#steve harrington#harringrove fanfic#steve x billy#billy x steve#stranger things#stranger things fanfiction#suometar writes
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qksnksdjjsks your yumi and tanner meeting the reader was so cute i eated it up !!! (specifically yumi bc i am a yumi girl in a isaac/nick world)
can you do an imagine where the reader is invited to stay at the house with them and the boy makes a move? perhaps SLOWBURN??? they both want each other but are really nervous? perhaps… a pinky hold? cliche yawn and arm around the shoulder? perhaps…. A CONFESSION?!?!
it can be with yumi or tanner… or both!!! OR THE WHOLE TGC!!! but that’s a lot of work. you can do whatever you want!
p.s., ur holding up the tgc x reader tag SINGLEHANDEDLY!!! you make amazing work!!! <3
- ur #1 fan
i actually wrote something like this a while back based around yumi!! i pulled it up from google docs :))
。゚゚・。・゚゚。 ゚。 just kiss already ; blake
゚・。・゚
genre; tooth rotting fluff
type; imagine
read below!
You'd been friends with The Group Chat boys for a while, so they'd decided to invite you over to their place. Nick had a few ideas for some new vlogs, while the rest of them just finally wanted to meet you in person!
After a good few hours that seemed like forever, your flight finally landed in Austin. Larry and Yumi were there to pick you up! Larry got out the car, waving you down like a NPC. "Y/n! Over here!" You sighed, laughing a bit as you sighed. This would be an interesting weekend. "I'm coming!" You yelled over, dragging your luggage behind you. Larry picked up your luggage and shoved it in the trunk of Yumi's car. "Let's go! Let's go, let's go!" Larry spoke loudly as you got in the backseat.
Yumi shook his head, looking aggravated as usual. "God, could you not, I have a headache. Also, hi, Y/n." Yumi spoke a bit quieter than Larry. "Hi, Blake." You smiled politely, pulling out your phone to distract yourself on the way to their place.
The car ride was relatively quiet, not an awkward quiet, more like a comforting one. Larry surprisingly didn't say much, you assumed it'd get more chaotic once you got to the house. After about twenty minutes, you pulled up to the official group chat house. "We're here! Y/n, get your shit and lets go!" Larry rapidly opened the car door and ran inside.
Yumi groaned, "... What a little shit." He got out the car after he turned it off, opening the trunk and grabbing your suitcase. "I got it, don't worry." He gave you a soft smile, which you honestly.. didn't expect from Yumi. You nodded, "Thank you!" ... Was his face red? No, there's no way. You're going crazy.
You walked into their house, and it was actually relatively clean. That's new, considering the pictures and videos you've seen. "Wow, for a guy house, it's pretty clean." You hadn't seen Isaac standing in the hallway, "Well, hello to you too!" You jumped, "Jesus Christ! Hi Isaac!" He smiled, coming towards you, then embracing you in a hug. "It's so good to finally meet you! Like, in person." You nodded, "Yeah! It's super good to be here!" He patted your head, "Flight wasn't too bad, was it?" You shook your head, "Not at all! Just felt like forever." Yumi put your bag down by his room's door, which.. was a bit weird. You just brushed it off as a nice gesture, maybe they didn't have a guest room.
Yumi looked a bit peeved for some reason, so you'd just decided to leave him alone for now. "So, where's Nick?" Isaac nodded, "Oh, he's out at the store grabbing some things, I'm supposed to go meet him.. uhh.. Now, actually. So I do have to go! Obviously we have all weekend to hang out, so.. Larry! You're coming with!" He groaned, "WHAT?! Make Blake go! I don't wanna!" Isaac looked over at Yumi, who still looked a bit annoyed. "... Nah, you're coming with me. Go get in the car." Larry groaned, "Fiiiiine."
Soon enough, Isaac and Larry were out the door and gone. Yumi sat on the couch with a bag of chips, "So, you and Isaac got a bit close, huh?" You turned to him, deciding to sit by him. Not too close, but.. closer than you probably should've. "What, the hug? I mean, I didn't make anything more out of it than just a friendly hug." Yumi nodded, "Mm. Any shows you like? We can watch something while they fuck around at the store." You shrugged, "Dunno. I don't really watch TV anymore. I'm too busy." He nodded, understanding the struggle, since he was busy working on his new album as of recently. "Uhh.. We can just put on Stranger Things or something. I don't know shit about TV anymore either." You gave a soft chuckle at that, and you could've sworn you saw his face go red again.
You nodded, "Sure! I've heard good things about it," You paused, stretching out your legs a bit, "How's your new album coming? I know you're supposed to release it soon." You could've sworn you saw his eyes light up, "Oh! Uh, yeah. It's supposed to release tomorrow, actually." You nodded, "Oh! Sick, I didn't know it was so soon." He laughed a little, "Well, if you'd look at my Twitter, you would know." He teased. "Oh, whatever! How many songs are on it? Can I get some special Yumi insight?" He shrugged, "Huh.. I mean, why not? There's 8 songs on it." You leaned back, putting your hand on the side of you. "Ooh, okay. I can't wait."
Yumi looked towards you as Isaac and Nick walked through the door. "Oh! I thought you guys would take longer! Also, hi Nick!" Nick smiled, but squinted at Yumi. "... Hey, Y/n! Blake hasn't been too much of a," He coughed, "Flirt, has he?" The word 'flirt' was barely intelligible. "Sorry?" Yumi turned a bright red, causing him to whip his head away from you so you didn't see. Nick waved his hand at you, "Sorry, allergies. He hasn't been too much of an asshole, has he?" You shook your head, "Not at all! He's been pretty nice, actually!" Nick smirked, "I wonder why."
After the other boys had retreated to their rooms, Yumi scooted closer to you. You'd thought nothing of it, you didn't want to make it weird. "So, where am I sleeping? I'm fine with sleeping on the couch if there's no guest room." Yumi shrugged, "Uhm.. Hm. I mean, I have an air mattress in my bedroom you could bring out here and use." He suggested, looking towards you as he rested his arm on the back of the couch. His arm was almost wrapped around you; you couldn't help but feel like a lovesick teenager. "Y— Uh, Yeah! I'm fine with that." You wished you could just stay in his room with the air mattress. No, there's no way. You don't like Yumi. Yumi, the lovable asshole who yells, the silly guy who lets his friends give him botched haircuts, the really, really attractive guy that— oh no.
Yumi noticed your face go red, "Are you hot or something? I can turn down the AC—" Isaac popped out of his bedroom, sneaking up behind the couch. "Oh my God, KISS ALREADY!" You both whipped your heads around to see Isaac's tall frame looming over both of you. "OH MY GOD ISAAC!" Yumi yelled, swatting him away from the couch, which made him retreat back to his room with his hands up in defense.
"... What's up with him?" You looked Yumi in the eyes. His face was as red as a cherry. Did he like you as well? Are you actually not crazy? Oh my God. Yumi sighed, "Look, he's teasing because he knows something, uh," He paused, taking a deep breath. "I do like you, Y/n. Like, a stupid amount. I feel like a stupid teenager with a high school crush, but it's so much more than that," You paused him by putting your hand on his shoulder.
"Blake. I like you too."
#alex's writing#anon.txt#tgc x reader#tgc#tgc x you#tgc x y/n#the group chat x y/n#the group chat#the group chat x you#the group chat x reader#yumi#yumi x you#yumi x y/n#yumi x reader#yumimain x you#yumimain#yumimain x y/n#yumimain x reader
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Cooking Up Love, Chapter 2
Pairing: Chef!Matt Murdock x F!Journalist!Reader
Rating: T (for now, might change, might not)
Story Summary: Here
Warnings/Tags: Hallmark levels of fluffy, cheesy goodness (and speed that their relationship develops, lol), no use of Y/N, Matt is not a vigilante, he is a bit of a dick though, more tags to come as the story develops
Word Count: ~1800 (literally double last chapter, lol)
A/N: Thank you to everyone who liked and commented on the first chapter! If you'd like to be added to the tag list, please don't hesitate to ask!
And thanks so much to @theradioactivespidergwen for the adorable divider!
Tag List: @yarrystyleeza @hailey-murdock @mattkinsella @bellaxgiornata @danzer8705
You checked your smartwatch for the time as you rushed down the sidewalk towards Daredevil. Your GPS had told you that it'd be faster to walk there from the Bulletin than take a cab given the time of day, but you were starting to wonder if maybe you should've taken your chances.
You breathed a sigh of relief as you spotted the restaurant up ahead then slowed a bit so you could catch your breath before reaching the entrance. Okay. It's fine, I'm on time, I got this.
You looked up at the restaurant. Daredevil was displayed in dark red lettering above the entranceway, with different patterns of dots underneath each letter. Huh. Interesting choice.
You reached for the door handle and pulled, only to find it locked. Shit.
You looked at the sign next to the door.
Hours of Operation:
Sunday: 11 AM - 2 PM
Monday: Closed
Tuesday - Thursday 5 PM - 10 PM
Friday - Saturday: 5 PM - 12 AM
You reached into your purse to call the restaurant… only to realize that you had left your cell phone sitting on your dresser at home.
You sighed. Great.
"Can I help you?"
You turned as a pretty blonde-haired woman walked up and unlocked the door. "Oh, um, yeah, I hope so."
You dug a business card out of your wallet and handed it to her. "I'm with the New York Bulletin . I'm supposed to be interviewing Chef Murdock in a minute, but I left my phone at home so I'm unable to let him know I'm here."
The woman's eyebrows raised as she looked at your business card. "You're interviewing Matt?"
"Um, yes?"
The woman narrowed her eyes at you suspiciously. "Just a second, I'll be right back."
You waited as the woman went inside and locked the door behind her.
A few minutes later she returned and unlocked the door, this time with a friendly smile on her face.
She held the door open for you. "Come on in."
"Thanks." You stepped inside.
"I'm Karen," the woman said. "I run front-of-house."
"Nice to meet you," you replied.
Karen led you to a table near the right corner of the front entrance. "Matt'll be right out. Can I get you something to drink in the meantime?"
You shook your head. "Oh, no thank you, I'm fine."
"Okay, if you change your mind, let me know."
"I will, thank you."
You took your notepad and pen out of your purse, silently cursing yourself again for leaving your phone -- which was your only audio recording device -- on your dresser.
Since you couldn't even continue your brief research on Chef Murdock while you waited, you looked around instead.
The walls were all painted a soft white with the exception of the back wall, which was exposed brick with a built-in fireplace running along the middle of it. Side tables holding bottles of wine were the only choice of decor, giving the space a simplistic look.
You kind of liked it.
Ten minutes passed, then twenty… then thirty. What is the holdup, you thought to yourself. Surely he can't be that busy since they're not open for service yet .
You were just about to get up to go ask Karen if Chef Murdock had forgotten you were there when the kitchen door opened and Chef Murdock himself came strolling out.
His photo really hadn't done him justice -- his biceps strained against the sleeves of his chef's jacket and his jawline looked like it could cut glass.
Your eyes trailed up to his, which were hidden by the same red-tinted sunglasses he had been wearing in his photo.
You swallowed and stood as he approached, sticking your hand out for him to shake as you introduced yourself. "Mr. Murdock, thank you for meeting with me. I was told that you don't do interviews."
He ignored your hand and sat. "I don't usually, but it seems like this one was… unavoidable. And it's Chef Murdock. I didn't spend three and a half years in culinary school to be called Mr. "
You hesitated before sitting and looking down at your sparse notes. "Okay, well then. Um, Chef Murdock, I'd like to start with a few questions, if you don't mind."
"Mmm."
You took a deep breath. "Okay, so you're a Michelin star chef, correct?"
"Three."
You looked up at him again. "Excuse me?"
"I'm a three Michelin star chef."
"Oh. Um, excuse me." Asshole . "As a three Michelin star chef, what made you want to open a restaurant here in Hell's Kitchen? Why not somewhere like Manhattan?"
"I was born and raised here in the Kitchen."
You smiled up at him. "Oh, so do your parents still live here? They must be very proud."
Chef Murdock raised an eyebrow. "Well they probably would be, except my mother abandoned me as an infant and my father was murdered shortly after the accident that blinded me as a child, which you would know if you had bothered to do a modicum of research."
Your eyes widened, your smile quickly falling from your face. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry." That at least explained the glasses and the dots on the signage out front. It's Braille. "I had no idea, I --"
"-- didn't bother to come prepared, yes, that much is clear." Chef Murdock crossed his arms. "If this is the sort of unprofessionalism that everyone who works at the Bulletin shows, then I'm not sure I should be sitting down with one of their reporters. We're done here."
You opened your mouth to protest as Chef Murdock stood and stalked off, shocked that he had suddenly stopped the interview before it even had really started.
You stood and put your notepad and pen in your purse, fighting back tears. What the hell just happened?
This was the first time you had ever failed at an interview -- you were known for both your professionalism and your ability to get to know your subjects on a deeper, more personal level in order to get them to open up to you.
You headed back to the lobby of the restaurant, willing yourself to not cry while you were still in the building.
Karen smiled over at you. "All done?"
"Um, yeah," you mumbled. "Could you let me out, please?"
"Sure thing." Karen unlocked the door for you, looking at you curiously. "Hey, are you okay?"
You shook your head. "Fine, fine, just gotta go."
You pushed past her and exited the restaurant, waiting until you had made it into the alley next to it before you burst into tears.
Matt sighed as he took his glasses off and tossed them onto his desk. At least that's over . He hadn't gotten to where he was by half-assing anything and he certainly wasn't going to let anyone ruin what he had worked so hard to rebuild, especially some so-called 'journalist' who couldn't even bother to do some simple research before sitting down for an interview.
"What the hell did you do, Matt? Karen just told me that that journalist from the Bulletin just ran out of here practically in tears."
Matt looked up and crossed his arms in front of his chest as Foggy's familiar footsteps stopped in front of his office. "She came completely unprepared, Foggy. I wasn't going to waste my time sitting down with someone who couldn't even bother doing any sort of research before coming."
"That's because she hadn't had time to do any! The interview needed to happen right away because of deadlines and stuff for the paper so it got sprung on her at the last minute, just like I sprang it on you at the last minute."
He paused as Karen's footsteps approached. "Kare, do you still have Ms. Taylor's business card? Maybe we can try to salvage this."
Taylor? "Wait a minute, who?" Matt replied confusedly.
"Kelsie Taylor? The food writer from the Bulletin ?" Foggy sighed exasperatedly. Jesus, Matt, did you even try to remember her name?"
Matt shook his head, beginning to feel bad for being so harsh towards you. "That's not who she said she was."
"Matt's right, it definitely wasn't her," Karen added. "At least, that wasn't the name on the card she gave me."
"Who was she then?"
Matt said your name. "She did say she was with the Bulletin though."
"Her card's on the front podium," Karen said. "I'll go get it."
Foggy turned back to Matt as Karen left. "You never were going to do the interview, were you?"
Matt winced. The last time he had agreed to any kind of journalistic endeavor had ended in disaster and almost complete ruination of his culinary reputation, and quite honestly he was terrified of it happening again. "I was , but --"
Foggy groaned. "Don't even give me that bullshit, Matt. Do you know how hard I had to work to even get you that interview? They were going to give the front page to Fisk , of all people!"
Wilson Fisk, who owned Kingpin's, had been suspected of being behind several popular restaurants' sudden closures (more than one being due to 'mysterious' kitchen fires), as well as having bought most, if not all, of the positive hype and accolades he and his restaurant had received.
Matt scowled. He would be damned if he was going to let that bastard steal the spotlight out from underneath him. "Fisk? Really? He's not even a real chef! His sous comes up with most of his recipes, he just modifies it a bit and slaps his name on it."
"All the more reason for you to get that front page interview."
Matt heard Karen's footsteps approach again. "Got her card?"
"Yeah, it's right here," Karen replied.
Matt could smell the subtle scent of your perfume as Karen passed Foggy your business card -- something lightly floral with a hint of vanilla.
Foggy read your name off of your business card. "This says she's the Features writer."
Matt's brow furrowed. "Features? You said the food writer was doing the interview."
"I assumed she was but I guess since it was a front-page article they wanted someone else to do it." Foggy pulled his phone out of his pocket and tapped at his screen. "Hang on, I'm gonna pull up the Bulletin staff."
Matt waited as Foggy pulled up the list of staff then tapped on your name. "Is this her?" he asked Karen, presumably showing her your picture.
"Yeah, that's who it was," Karen replied.
Matt nodded as his watch beeped with the time. "We have to get ready to open, but I'm going to go over to the Bulletin 's office in the morning to see if I can talk to her and straighten everything out."
He just hoped you accepted his apology.
#lotmf writes#matt murdock x reader#matt murdock x fem!reader#matt murdock x female reader#matt murdock x you#chef!matt murdock#Cooking Up Love Masterlist
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₊ ☾⋆ video games ⋆⁺₊⋆
yuji itadori x reader
synopsis: on a rare day off, y/n and yuji decide to spend the day together relaxing at his dorm. despite y/n's hesitance, yuji convinces them to try out his video game!
tags: fluff, friends to lovers, oneshot, video games, cute, little kisses, forehead kisses, lap sitting
wc: 1647
a/n: eeeee he's so cuteee 😩 i've had the synopsis in drafts for literal ! months ! i'm satisfied with how it turned out
Your legs swing idly back and forth in the air as you turn a page in your book, your eyes landing on the beginning of the next page. Your body stretchs belly-down along the edge of Yuji's bed, and he sits on the floor against the side near you. You glance at him, trying your best not to get irritated at the series of frustrated sounds he's making.
You shift your elbows to lean over Yuji's shoulder. "Why do you play those games if they just make you mad?"
"Not all of us are nerds who can read," he replies blankly without missing a beat, his gaze unbreaking from the screen before him as his hands furiously mash the buttons on his scuffed controller.
"Oh yeah, I forgot," you say, going back to your book.
Yuji gives you a side eye, pouting slightly. "Hey, it was a joke," he whines, "you weren't supposed to agree."
A few moments without speaking pass before the game's sounds became muffled, and a sad chorus plays. Yuji throws his head back, hitting your side, and lets out a long groan; simultaneously, his controller clatters on the floor, sliding a few feet away. You feel sorry for it and briefly chuckle. "You'll get it next time," you say in an attempt at low effort assurance.
Yuji turns his head to stare at you, unamused. His hair tickles your skin at the spot where your shirt rides up just above your waistband.
"Just say that you think I'm bad!" He quickly reaches to grab the controller, and holds it up near your face. "Why don't you try it, huh? Come to think of it, I've never seen you play a video game before. Find out how hard it is!"
"Hm. Nope," you reply, pushing the controller away with a single finger, turning your attention away from Yuji. You should've known that reaction would just provoke him into convincing you further. After rejecting a series of pleads over and over again, you quickly decided that Yuji was exactly the type of person to waste his day annoying you until he got what he wanted.
You slammed your book shut in defeat and gently tossed it aside. "Okay! Fine. Give it here." Yuji blinked, and before he could react, you snatched the controller from his hands and slid to the floor to sit next to him. He grinned impishly, and scooted closer to you so the sides of your bodies were pressed together firmly. He lifted a finger and pointed vaguely to a certain button.
"So, to restart the encounter, you just-"
"Yeah, yeah, I know that much," you grumbled, flicking the joystick and pressing a button. The screen fades and lights up again as Yuji's character stands idly.
He reaches again to direct your attention to certain parts of the joystick and begins to explain the controls. "Okay, so you use that one to look around, and that one to move. And then-"
"Itadori, I know how to play a game."
He shrinks back and looks down at you like a sad puppy. You bite your lip as you realize how happy it was making him feel to tell you how to play; you look at him for a few moments, studying his expression. "But tell me how to shoot," you say, and Yuji is instantly revitalized. You smile gently as he reaches his hands over to place them over yours, and you focus to move your fingers along with his.
He excitedly describes which button does which action, although your mind instead wanders to the feeling of his hands. They're not insanely large, but they seem to envelop your own, and the subconscious firmness of his grip suggests that they're definitely strong hands. More than anything, they felt warm and safe.
You chew your cheek and push the thoughts away as Yuji finishes explaining and waits for a reply. You nod and look back at the screen; the enemies shift on their feet in the distance, and you wonder how close you can get without pulling aggro. Despite your distraction, you were still sort of paying attention to what he was saying, and you rack your brain to remember the controls he talked about.
"I'll never let you live it down if I get this first try," you say before pushing the joystick forward. Yuji mumbles something under his breath, but he watches intently.
The encounter was short lived. You managed to take out a few enemies, (mostly thanks to aim assist,) but you messed up some movements and dropped to 0 HP before you could duck under cover. Before Yuji could say anything, you shot him a dirty look as the screen faded. He nervously laughed offered a supportive smile.
"Hey, that was good, though. I mean, it takes practice to make all the right movements when you pick up a new game."
You shrug and lay the controller back into his lap. "Yeah, I guess so," you reply. Your attention remains on the screen, and you sit still, waiting for Yuji to resume his gaming. When several moments pass and he doesn't, you turn your head to look at him. He's staring at you, with that trademark kind smile.
Your brows knit in confusion and you smile back. "...What? Quit looking at me like that."
"Sorry," he says, sheepishly laughing. "I thought you were gonna go back to doing something else."
"Nah. I'll watch for a while."
"Okay. That makes me happy." Yuji turns back to his game and replays the encounter. You look at him from the corner of your eye for several moments, trying to discern his emotions. He was calmer, and although his smile had faded mostly, it remained as a ghost on his lips. Despite dying a few more times, he wasn't groaning or getting angry any more. Eventually, he held out the controller again. "Wanna try again? You looked like you were having fun before."
You shake your head and smile. "I'm okay. If you can't beat this part, I doubt I can."
"Aw, that doesn't matter," he says before his expression brightens as an idea comes to mind. "Here, we can do it together. If we lose, you can blame it on me, too."
You watch, puzzled, as Yuji stands up and moves to step around your back; you move forward a bit to give him more room to maneuver. He slides down to the floor and stretches his legs out on either side of you. Your face heats up when he reaches his arms around you and rests his hands in your lap with the controller. He tilts his head and leans over your shoulder slightly.
"This good?" He asks.
You hum in agreement and quickly place your hands over his on the controller, trying your best not to show how flustered you are. What was he thinking, moving so that you're basically in his lap? Who are you kidding— it's Yuji Itadori. He doesn't think.
As you played the game together, and lost repeatedly, you found yourself grinning and laughing with Yuji. While he focused on one enemy, you noticed another pop out of cover to shoot him. "I got you," you said before pushing his finger against the joystick, moving the character behind a wall before it could get hit.
"Nice," Yuji exclaimed as he mashed more buttons.
Synchronized, you both made celebratory comments as you progressed in battle, and you also made sounds of disappointment as the death screen returned and it was time to try again.
After nearly half an hour of fighting again and again, the last enemy finally fell; the room fell silent as you both paused to process. Yuji let out a loud whoop and wrapped his around around you tightly, squeezing you against him. You laughed as he smothered your head in the crook of his neck in his excitement.
You tap his elbow a few times. "Can't breathe, Itadori!"
"Oh, sorry," he sheepishly replies through his laughter, letting you go instantly and propping his hands against the floor.
You turn your body and crane your neck to look at him. The words he's adorable, ring through your mind, and your body leans forward without thinking until your lips press against the corner of his lips. Your expression falls as you part from him, worried of his reaction; of what he'll think of you now.
His eyes are wide, but as you frown, he snaps out of his shock and grins happily. He pulls you in for another embrace, this one much softer, and you feel his lips against your forehead. Your smile grows, and you relax your body entirely against his as your hands rest on his chest. You wait for him to shift before pulling away again, and his hands remain at your shoulders. His stare is intense, but the good kind.
"Wanna play Minecraft or something? I have another controller so we can play co-op," he says, letting his hands fall to your elbows. "I think I'm done with the other game for today."
"'Kay," you reply. Yuji rejoices under his breath and pumps his hand as he moves to quickly grab his second controller before returning to his spot behind you. You giggle at his excitement and graciously take the controller, leaning your back against his chest to get more comfortable. Your legs become tangled with his, and you look up to see his expression. He glances down and widens his smile with an exhale.
"I'm glad you wanted to play some more," he said quietly as his attention turned back to the screen. "I'm not ready for you to leave."
You reach up to tenderly touch under one of his closed extra eyes; he doesn't react, and his smile remains. "I don't really have anywhere I'd rather be," you finally reply.
☾. like/reblog if you enjoyed the story !
masterlist: x
#yuji x reader#yuji itadori#jjk x reader#jjk fanfic#jujutsu kaisen#yuji#jujutsu kaisen yuji#yuji fluff#jjk fluff
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Thanks for the tag @mk-writes-stuff!
OC Interview
Let's get funky, let's answer for Azhur! (For context, Azhur is Twenari’s father. He's been... alone for a very long time.)
Are you named after anyone?
"No, no, no one else. There's only one me, fortunately. Unless you're counting my family name. Then there's a lot of us. A whole pack of Devarises. Did you know the scientific term for a group of sorcerers is a conference? A conference of Devarises. Gods, I hated those."
When was the last time you cried?
"I couldn't say. Wasting moisture is a travesty in my hell, for rain is rare. Sometimes, when I do give in, I pretend I'm visiting the sea."
Do you have kids?
"Two, though one is gone, taken, dead. I haven't been around Twenari for long, but I see much potential in her. Dreams swim behind her eyes, as much as hands rein in reality. I cannot know her, yet I would like to learn to love her one day. As for Akani.... The soul is a funny thing, made of magic and miracle. It presents on a scale of Tamm units, visible through a sorcerer’s arcane awareness, which draws upon the Veil at a rate, a rage, a relay of 8.5×10^5 ODR volts per second, equivalent to 1 standard Blösten unit, from which can be derived both magi-potential and spell friction by way of the Klaston-Daphon equation and-"
Do you use sarcasm a lot?
"Huh? Do I? I think I do. I make myself laugh all the time!"
What’s the first thing you notice about people?
"How loudly he shouts around them."
What’s your eye colour?
"A pale brown, lighter than my skin. Very distinctive."
Scary movies or happy endings?
"Uh, happy? Happy is good. Fear is evil."
Any special talents?
"My magic, obviously, but saying a Devaris is talented at magic is like saying a fish is talented at swimming. I've gotten quite good at survival here in my hell too. But my best talent, I think.... Ah fuck, I forgot already. Damm, anyways, my second best talent is making soup."
Where were you born?
"The Devaris island, which hovers approximately 200 meters above the city of Unity."
Do you have any pets?
"If I had, I'd have eaten the poor thing already. Spiders and tree sap get quite tiresome after a while."
What sort of sports do you play?
"I'm a dab hand at solitaire, though I think if I play one more round, I'll smash my head into a rock. I did track when I was young, I suppose. Ma always wanted me to go out for wrestling because of how big I was, but I couldn't stand fighting."
How tall are you?
"6'8". Yes, the weather's nice."
What was your favourite subject in school?
"It should've been magic. I love magic. It's my blood, my purpose, my curse and my blessing. But, I always found my mind craving literature, even so. I wanted stories, as frivolous as they are. Were? Are. They were real then."
What is your dream job?
"I don't care what I spend my days with, I want to get out. I want to be free, absolved, forgiven. I want to leave my hell. I want him to stop screaming. I know he's not real - right? - but that doesn't stop the noise. But to do that, I need a bridge. By use of the bottle method, it's theorized that a mage could shift the frequency of one strain of magic to match another. Harmonic magi-radial frequencies can initiate a Naldervon cascade, similar to the effect of a teleportarion ritual. If gravitational drift is factored in, then by taking the derivative of the Naldervon cascade number, found by way of a Tamm reading and plugging the value into Fendessi's equation-"
Anyways, love that guy. He's like if Castaway was way more fucked up. I'll tag @finickyfelix @ettawritesnstudies @elsie-writes @inky-duchess and anyone else who wants in :)
Blanks below
Are you named after anyone? When was the last time you cried? Do you have kids? Do you use sarcasm a lot? What’s the first thing you notice about people? What’s your eye colour? Scary movies or happy endings? Any special talents? Where were you born? Do you have any pets? What sort of sports do you play? How tall are you? What was your favourite subject in school? What is your dream job?
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TMAGP NOTES PART 2 : THE HORRORS ARE AT IT AGAIN
tmagp show notes for episode 2!
again, this will contain spoilers for tmagp episode two and it is tagged with " tmagp spoilers"
if there are any confusing misspellings please tell me so I can fix them
anyways, here it is yall
• I've said this before and I'll say it again OMINOUS MUSIC
• making adjustments huh
• * more office noises*
• will this be an actual office drama
• more of the... interesting filing system I suppose
• Blasphemy? maybe ?
• "we aren't here to decide the system" oh cmon!!! let the guy try
• "unpack that ominous silence later" Alice I'd die for you
• "time isn't real "fuck yes. preach
• ohhh already at a doctor's office?
• court ordered ? ohhhh
• still on the body dismorphya theme suppose ?
• fuck instagram
• oohhh
• I don't understand anything about tattoos so idk really
• not the dugstep
• influencer-"style" stuff just sets me off for some reason idk.
• if a stranger asks me about my personal life you can bet I'm runnin outta here
• " The artist becomes the canvas"
• STARTED A LIVESTREAM????WTF
• WHAT
• WHAT???
• THAT SEEMS SO PAINFUL
• BLOODY LIKE. ACTUALLY BLOODY OR JUST
• what
• wait what
• I mean?? at least you didn't have to pay I suppose???
• damn instant tattoo
• the random motivation at late nights and the mess that ir creates is a mood
• falling asleep while drawing too lmao
• don't stare at it too much. do not. you will starting seeing Things That You Did Not See Before and you will cry
• yes. ignore al the pain and fatigue to continue your work. that's extremely healthy
•"just a small tweak" yeah right
• WAIT WHAT??? THE KNIFE SCRAPED BONE ? WDYM???
• YES YOU SHOULD'VE. GO OUTSIDE STARE AT A TREE WATHEVER DONT DO WHAT YOURE DOING PLEASE
• OH MY GOD
• "nothing much" yea right
• the tatto is leaking??? oh no
• that's an artist's life. you think you finished up a piece and guess what? another 35 details it would be cool to add and another 157 mistakes you need to fix
• eventually you just gotta say " fuck it" and leave it be
• she has a roommate??? oh my god is she not recognizing the other?
• " perfect" but not usable or healthy if I understood it correctly(???)
• acid? oh boy
• Alice being dramatic again love her <3
• * more little noises *
• honestly the Gwen-Alice friendship ( or frienemiship???) is just gold
•"expanding external operations" huh
• wait who you're talking to Alice
• OHHH SISTER???
• play an instrument? we got a musician over here
• yeah Alice does give big older sister vibes
• so Alice's sibling is an aspiring rockstar huh
• ok so his name is Luke
• last time someone had a brother in a Rusty quill podcast it didn't end very well for them
• the band names .just. the the band names.
• I will actually use The Box In The Incinerator Method from now on
• Alice being serious oh dang
• * more ominous music*
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