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theoutsiders-luvr · 4 days ago

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Notes from Nowhere:

Authors Note: I kinda forgot to keep posting…

Chapter 3:

As Soda and Steve were sitting at the starting line, in Steve’s car, waiting for the race to start, Pony was sitting in the stands scared as hell. But he couldn’t let it show. No Greaser would be scared about their brother being in a drag race.

“I don’t get why you get to drive every single time” Soda looked out the window of the car at the crowd.

“You wanna win, don’t you?” Steve teased. Soda was a good driver but he wasn’t as in tuned with the cars as Steve was. They watched out the windshield as the girl crossed the track with the flag. Steve got ready to press on the gas. The girl held up the flag and quickly waved it as she backed off the track. The cars sped past the starting line. Right away, Steve was in 3rd place. They had to do 3 laps around the track.

Soda and Steve were whooping and laughing in the car as Pony was sitting in the stands, gaze locked on the track. He pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lit it to calm his nerves but it didn’t work too well. Soda reached over and turned up the radio so they could have some tunes while they beat the competition. The first lap done, still in 3rd place.

Pony felt like the race was taking forever. He knew it usually took long but not this long. Maybe Darry was right, he should have stayed home. Steve was able to push past a rust red ford to get into 2nd place. Second lap done, 2nd place. Soda was still laughing and jamming along to the music. He had his head out of the window like a golden retriever with his hair blowing in the wind.

Pony’s nerves were starting to settle a little when he realized the race was almost done and afterwards they could go back home. Steve was neck and neck with a blue mustang. Soda wasn’t even paying attention to the race. He was having the time of his life. He was always told that he got drunk on just plain living, and that was true. He was on top of the world. He hadn’t even noticed when Steve passed the Mustang to first place and was hauling ass to the finish line. He did, however, realize when they passed the finish line. He was hollering at the top of his lungs about their win. Steve drove the car over to the parking lot and parked again as Soda hopped out. Steve hopped out as well.

They were celebrating their win when two Socs came up. They quickly stopped celebrating and toughened their stance. Soda stood tall while Steve leaned against the car. They knew the Socs, Paul Holden and Bob Sheldon. Soda knew Paul because he was friends with Darry. Paul was the receiver to Darry’s quarterback when Darry was on the football team. And everyone knew Bob. He was one of the most popular guys at school. Thankfully when Soda dropped out he didn’t have to deal with Bob anymore. Or so he thought.

“Well, well, well, a couple Greasers got first place. Not too surprising. Probably did something to that beat up car of yours. Probably rigged it.” Bob was the first to speak.

“We didn’t rig the car.” Steve stood up quickly. He was offended. It was his car after all

“Well then how else did a couple Greasers win?” Paul was next to speak up. He kept looking at Soda. He had to have known that he was Darrel’s brother.

“Fair and Square, Holden. That’s how” Soda hadn’t said anything yet. He let Steve do all the talking. But he was having a staring match with Paul.

“Yeah right, like a couple of roof rats could win without cheating.”

“We’ve won plenty of times without cheating. You should know that, shouldn't you Bob?” Soda finally spoke up. He would never cheat and he wanted it to be clear. He was many things but a cheater wasn’t one of them.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means all the times we’ve beaten you in a rumble was because we won fair and square. We aren’t cheaters, Robert.” Steve was surprised by how Soda was sticking up for everyone.

Bob looked at Paul before answering, “Why don’t we really see if you can win without cheating, Monday, Pershing Park, 9 o’clock, you two against us two.”

“Knives or fists?” Steve was looking at Soda like he had another head.

“Fists. A fist fights a fair fight and we ain’t no cheaters.”

“Fine then, see you two later.” Bob eyed both the Greasers before walking away with Paul.

Steve finally turned towards Soda, “What the hell is wrong with you? We can’t fight those two! Is something going on up there because last I checked the Soda I knew wouldn’t go itching for a fight with Socs!” Steve was basically yelling at Soda. Hitting his shoulder and tapping on his head.

Soda pushed Steve off him, “Ain’t nothing wrong with me. I ain’t gonna let them disrespect the Greaser name.”

“They do it all the time! What’s different about it now?”

“Shut it, Steve. Ain’t nothin’ different. Go claim the money and let’s get outta here.” Steve rolled his eyes as he walked away to go claim the prize money. Soda sighed as he walked back to the stands to find Ponyboy looking around anxiously. It wasn’t until he saw Soda that he relaxed.

Pony stood up, put out the 3rd cigarette he had been chain-smoking out of nerves, and then walked over to Soda. “Ready to get outta here?” Soda could tell Pony’s nerves so he slung an arm around his shoulders. Pony nodded and the two walked back to the car and waited for Steve. Steve got back and tossed the keys to Soda before he got into the passenger side without saying a word. Soda though was chatting up a storm with Pony even though he didn’t have much to say in return. Soda got in the driver's seat as Pony got in the back. As soon as Soda started the car he turned on the radio and began driving back home. His fingers tapping subconsciously to the beat of the music.

The drive home was quiet beside the background noise of the music and Soda’s tapping on the steering wheel. When they arrived home, Soda and Pony hopped out, Steve got out too but he just got right back into the driver's seat. Pony walked in the house behind Soda. He kicked off his shoes while the other haphazardly tossed them off his feet.

“Darry! We’re home!” Soda’s voice rang out through the house. He walked over and plopped onto the couch. While Pony just continued to stand there.

Darry came down the hall, still in his work clothes. “Hey, how were the races?”

“A lot of fun” Soda said before standing up, “Listen I’m gonna go take a shower and wash the dirt off. Love you” Soda started scampering down the hall.

“Did he and Steve race?” Darry looked at Pony as he sat down for the first time since dinner. Pony just looked at him. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t want to get Soda in trouble but he didn’t want to lie and make Darry upset. “It’s alright, kid. I knew he was gonna. There ain’t no telling Soda not to race.”

Darry and Pony smiled at each other, “Ain’t that the truth. I’m gonna sign off, Dar. Long night.”

Darry nodded a little sadly, “No problem, kid. See you in the morning. Night, Ponyboy”

“Night, Dar” Pony walked down the hall and into his shared room. He changed into pajama pants and climbed into bed. It wasn’t too long until Soda came in and climbed into bed beside him. He threw his arm over Pony and closed his eyes.

“Soda?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you alright?”

“‘Course pone, why do ya ask?” His wet hair soaking his pillow as he tried to keep himself from drifting into sleep. It seemed like as soon as he laid down he was asleep but sometimes he was able to stay awake for a while.

“You seemed off after the races.”

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong pones. Now you just go on to bed. You got school in the morning”

“No I don’t, tomorrow's Saturday.”

“Ain’t you got school on Saturday?” Soda teased. He knew there wasn’t school on Saturday’s but he didn’t want Pony to worry about him.

Pony laughed, “No, Soda, you know I ain’t got school on Saturdays”

“Hey, I haven’t been in school for a long time. Who knows what’s going on?” Soda laughed, he was glad that he was able to make his brother happy, at least for a little while. “Now get to sleep, Ponyboy, if you ain’t got school tomorrow you’ll bet your ass I’m making you study.” Soda teased again, Pony just laughed and buried his head into the pillow. “Goodnight, Pony, love you.”

“Goodnight, Sodapop. Love you” And with that both boys fell asleep. Darry was still awake in the living room, sitting in his dads old recliner chair that was now coined as his. His eyes were heavy with sleep and he should go to bed but he wanted to stay up for a little more. He was worried about Soda and the way he came home. He never acted like that usually.

#the outsiders #the outsiders musical #fanfic #brent comer #darrel curtis #jason schmidt #sodapop curtis #the outsiders sodapop #brody grant #musicals #the outsiders darrel #darrel shayne curtis jr #darrel shaynne curtis jr they could never make me hate you #darrel shaynne curtis jr

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years ago

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Laisse tomber les filles 10

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape; size kink; age gap; manipulation; sexual acts and dubcon, pillow humping.

This is a dark!fic and Lee Bodecker x (short) reader and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: You find yourself ostracized on campus by your shyness, but your reticence won’t deter an unwanted suitor.

Note: It’s Monday, ugh.

Thanks to everyone for reading and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 As usual, I’d appreciate if you let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Your curiosity got the best of you, more so your restlessness.

After your ride with Lee, you couldn’t settle down. You gave up on sleep, late nights not unknown to any student. You flicked on your desk lamp and sat on the chair with a blanket around your shoulders and read a few passages before that peculiar twang made you put down the book.

The flagrant language of the lewd acts made your core hot and you longed for any touch to stoke it. You fidgeted and picked the book up again. Just one chapter… Lee was right, you were learning. You pushed the blanket away as you felt yourself sweating and you recalled that night with the sheriff, his leg firmly between both of yours.

You shut the book again and flicked off the light. You had a few more hours before you had to get ready for class. You needed some semblance of sleep to function and you knew another long night awaited you.

You sprawled out on your thin mattress and sighed. You closed your eyes and tried to drift off, tried to forget the lurid excerpts that kept popping back into your mind. You rolled onto your side then the other. You gripped your head and squeezed your eyelids closed. Just sleep.

You brought a pillow down and hugged it as you tried to get comfortable. The corner rubbed along your panties and a ripple tore through your core. You mumbled nonsensically and ignored the urge tugging at you. You couldn’t…

You pushed the pillow down and clenched it between your legs. You started slowly, carefully building the pressure as you hugged it tighter and tighter. Your breath caught and soon you were panting desperately as you chased that strange plucking deep inside.

You got up on your knees and kept the pillow sideways beneath you and straddled it. You rocked your hips as the wooden frame creaked with each move and you smother your voice with your palm.

You bit down on the heel of your hand as you hung your head back and became the woman in the novel. You imagined a man beneath you, faceless, nameless, and the mountain rose before you. Almost there, just a little more--

You gritted your teeth as you came and slowed, nails sinking into the pillow as you shook and stifled the weak moans. You fell back onto your side, the pillow caught between your legs and let your arm hang over the edge of the bed. Breathless, you felt the heavy drowsiness setting in. You drifted off before the guilt could set in.

📚

The club meeting came to an end but you hardly kept up with any of the discussion. You couldn’t help but think of the last time you saw Lee and everything that came after. You didn’t know what you’d been thinking, why you did what you did. Curiosity, mostly as you tried to recreate that same feeling you got on the sheriff’s lap.

You didn’t realise your weekly session was over until the chairs scraped and bodies began to move. You stood and your purse fell over as you did. You bent to pick up your bag and scoop up the mess that spilled onto the floor. Another knelt across from you and snatch the red-spined book from amid the pile.

Andre held up the explicit novel and looked it over with a chuckle, “so this is what you like to read?”

“Hey,” you snatched it away and shoved it into your purse and stood, “no, I…”

You shrugged and dragged the chair back to the desk and shoved it beneath. You turned back to him as he watched you. You surpassed him as you headed for the door and heard him follow. Your skin was on fire with embarrassment.

“You know, it’s not really literature but it’s… expression nonetheless. I think it’s good that themes like that are being explored in writing--”

“It’s trash, I’m taking it to the donation bin,” you lied as you came out into the warm summer evening.

“Oh,” he said without conviction, “that’s too bad. You must be one of those prudish girls, then. I always thought so with the way you dress.”

“What?” you glanced over at him as he kept pace with you. You searched around for the cruiser but you only saw your fellow club members and the beaten up lemons they drove.

“Well, you’re not exactly pushing the envelope,” he intoned, “I don’t see you at any parties, either--”

“What does it matter?” you kicked a rock as you continued down the sidewalk. You kept your eyes peeled for Lee but you assumed he was waiting back at your residence as usual.

“Oh, I was just thinking you might want to come to one,” he suggested, “you know, loosen up a bit.”

“A party?” you asked as you turned onto Greek row, “I don’t know… I have plans and--”

“You have plans,” he scoffed, “are you that shy or that stupid?”

You were quiet as you didn’t know how to answer. Both, probably, you thought, but sniffed and kept on.

“I’m asking you out,” he said as you reached the corner of your street, “you know, maybe you can do more than read about fucking.”

“Excuse me?” you stopped short and turned on him, “I’m not lying. I have somewhere I’m supposed to be and-- and-- maybe I’m not interested in going out with you. You’re mean.”

His brows shot up and he tilted his head and laughed, “you’re such a precocious little thing, you know that?”

“Maybe,” you said, “but you should get out of here before--”

The siren whooped and you cringed. You heard the slow roll of tires as they drew up and the engine clicked into park. The door opened as Andre scowled past you and rolled his eyes. You stepped aside and looked over at Lee as he placed his hat on his head.

“What are y’all up to, tonight, huh?” he asked with half a smirk.

“Just talking,” Andre spat, “some bodunk cop like you can surely understand that.”

“Scuse me, boy?” Lee’s hand went to his belt, just beside his gun, “is that how they teach you college kids to talk to authority?”

“It’s how I talk to pigs when they oink at me,” Andre rebuffed, “now I was just having a discussion with this young woman--”

“Now don’t be uppity with me, boy, you out here making a public nuisance,” the sheriff stepped up on the curb.

“We were just talking, really,” you said quietly, “I was just saying goodbye.”

“Not that it’s any of your business,” Andre dismissed him with a wave and turned back to you, “well, why don’t you just cancel and come up to Delt--”

You gasped as Andre was hauled off his feet and spun against the side of the cruiser. Lee twisted his arm back and bent him over the hood as he reached for his cuffs.

“What are you--”

“You saw that, girl,” Lee snarled, “he swung at me. That would be attempting an assault on an officer of the law.”

“Ummm,” you blinked and clutched your purse, “I don’t…”

“That’s an arrestable offence,” Lee snapped a cuff around Andre’s wrist as he struggled, “don’t look good on your record, neither. Think the dean will stand for it?”

“Get off of me!” Andre sneered, “I didn’t do anything--”

“You sure did,” Lee growled, “out here harassing young ladies and disrespecting an officer.”

“You’re insane,” Andre’s tried to pull away as the other cuff closed, “don’t you have anything better--”

“Honey, get in the car,” Lee ordered as he wrenched Andre up then slammed his face back down against the hood with a sickening crunch, “I don’t want you to see this.”

“Lee--” you said weakly, “please--”

“You know… this pig…” Andre huffed in a nasally voice.

“Y’aint talk to her, pretty boy,” Lee warned, “or I’ll break your teeth.”

“You’re--”

“Shhhh,” Lee hushed him and glanced over his shoulder at you, “now honey pie, get in the front seat. Don’t make me tell you twice.”

You swallowed and cautiously went to the front door. You slid across the leather seat and closed the door. You heard them arguing before the back door opened and Andre was shoved inside, barely missing his head as he did. You peeked back at him as he horked up blood onto the floor.

The door slammed behind him and Lee got in on his side. He pushed into gear and took off from the curb with the squeal of tires. He glared in the mirror than looked over at you as his expression softened.

“Not exactly how I wanted the night to go but we drop him at the station real quick then we can have some fun, huh?” he smiled.

“You’re dating this creep?” Andre snorted from the back seat.

“Boy, you shut your mouth,” Lee barked at the rear view, “I ain’t tell ya again not to talk to the lady.”

Andre snickered darkly and shook his head as he hung it. He leaned against his cuffed hands and shifted.

“Fine, take me to the station,” he said blithely, “my father will have me out on the hour. Bail in these parts can’t be more than a penny.”

“Oh,” Lee sneered at the road as he drove through campus, “is that so?”

#lee bodecker #dark lee bodecker #dark!lee bodecker #lee bodecker x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #laisse tomber les filles #the devil all the time #college au #au #series

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quirklessidiot · 4 years ago

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title : cigarettes and parfaits [3] pairing : older!nanami kento x younger!reader [13 year age gap, ft toji fushiguro] Genre: romance, fluff, slice of life, josei, angst, comedy, strangers to lovers au

Summary: you’re pretty sure you’d remember marrying a man 13 years older than you, right?

Warnings: alcohol, smoking, mild smut, y/n making stupid decisions, everyones a human-au so yeh non-canon stuff and everyone’s happy (periODT) i keep forgeting to add that this isnt beta-rread..all of my stories arent so yeah shshs Notes: ah, i feel like this story will be lengthen more than 8-10 chapters shshshs i wanted to add a little spice anyways thanks for all the comments uwu ily all!

Masterlist || taglist || [prev ; next] [updates; every saturday!]

“Y/N-chan!!!”

You cringe in embarrassment as soon as you hear that awfully familiar and cheerful voice, you could barely remember this man and the events that transpired the night before but here he was, acting like your new best friend. You weren’t even sure if you wanted to go here but you needed clarity. Surely you didn’t just legally marry a man at an Izakaya out of all places last night?

“Oh, you actually did marry him.” Gojo Satoru proclaims as soon as you take a seat across him, he gestures around his face, “I could tell by your whole, ‘I hope this guy is messing with me’ face. You have it, signed and sealed. Even got the cute matchy rings that I had one of my assistants delivered.”

You pale at the thought of his assistant coming in with a silver ring. Wasn’t he sober? How could he not have stopped you two from doing something as reckless and stupid as this? Weren’t older men supposed to be more responsible than this?

“Why the hell didn’t you stop us?” You groaned, burying your face in your hands, embarrassment painted all over your features.

“I was just as drunk as you two.” He confessed, scratching his head, “probably even more drunk but anyways back to the topic in hand, I only remembered it when the same assistant came in and congratulated me about it. It’s good I had your number on my phone before you two bailed.”

“So you don’t really remember?”

“Bits and pieces.” Gojo grinned, this guy was a maniac, how did the serious man you met just this morning have friends like this? You probably wouldn’t even last long, “I did call Nanami-”

He’s cut off by the rough sound of someone pulling a chair out, you immediately jump on your seat when you realize it’s Nanami Kento, the guy from this morning. The man you had recklessly married!

“This better be some prank you’re pulling, Satoru.” His voice was anything but kind that you almost wanted to hide behind Gojo’s back.

“Hey, hey.” Gojo raises his hands, “Don’t look at me. I didn’t force you into anything and stop scaring your poor little partner.”

Nanami snaps his gaze towards you and you notice how his eyes soften just a bit when he sees your red ears and your eyes looking away from him, “You better call Geto and fucking fix this, I refuse to bother this young-”

“It’s fine.” You cut him off, still shy and red, “It’s...fine...I just…Please don’t think I’m burdened by it. It was technically my fault for even agreeing immediately.”

Nanami clenches his jaw and turns away, “Nevertheless. L/N-san’s young. I hope to not be such an uncouth man like you.” he retorts, voice sharp as he eyes the white-haired businessman up and down. Gojo, seemingly used to it, rolls his eyes behind his dark shades.

“Maybe you guys should try it out.”

The blonde man looks like he’s about to smite the white-haired man out of existence yet Satoru remains oblivious to his friend’s gaze, “Don’t ya think so? It will take a while for those divorce papers to settle in so why don’t you two go out and get to know each other? Who knows…” he sing-songs the last part and Nanami is so close to chunking his briefcase towards the tall businessman, not even caring

“Ah, he’s not exactly wrong, Nanami-san.” you try to calm him down, placing a small hand on his broad shoulder.

“Don’t tell me you’re actually listening to this idiot’s idea.” Nanami replied, gaze narrowing.

“Not really but you have some problems I can help you out on and I have problems that you can help me out on...Of course, the last say is on you...”

“Told you I actually had a brain.” Satoru piped in.

“Shut up, Satoru.” he quips, then turns to you, “I’m thirteen years older than you, L/N-san. I have two high school kids that could pass off as your siblings, and-”

“Well, I technically did marry you.”

“You were drunk.”

“Doesn’t exactly really excuse it.” You laugh nervously, “The whole divorce process usually lasts up to a few months, some even takes a whole year. I could help you out with the boys and I can use you to ward my family off from moving back home.”

Nanami is quiet for a moment, actually thinking about it. Weighing the pros and the cons, not only would you be able to help him out but you’d also be able to get Gojo and blind-dating out of his back.

There really wasn’t anything he could loose, really.

“Or you two might fall in love.” Satoru teases, making Nanami throw him another side-eye, as if saying ‘I dare you to say another word.’

It’s a Thursday today and Sukuna absolutely loathed Thursdays apparently because it reminded him of Mondays, Tuesdays, and Wednesdays. They all were far from the weekend Everyone seems to be happier than usual though. Maybe it was because you were there teaching some basic shit at the board or something.

“...and if we transfer this here and change the positive to a negative, you’ll end up having five as your answer.” You smile, placing your chalk down, “Does anyone have any questions?”

Echoes of no’s resonated throughout the room.

“Alright then, let’s end the lesson here so you guys can have an early lunch. I don’t think an assignment is in order since many of you were able to get a perfect score in the activity awhile ago.” You winked. A couple of whoops resonated throughout the whole class right after.

As the kids shuffle out of the room of the class, Sukuna remains behind. The ojisan had cooked them something delicious this morning and he wanted to eat it in peace without that pesky Nobara grabbing a share from his bento and Yuuji’s annoying babbles about horror movies with his best friend Junpei (the only one who was really bearable was Megumi, really)

“Sukuna-kun?” you called out, snapping him out of his small trance, “Are you alright?”

He notices a glint of worry in your eyes, he had to admit since his transfer here last Monday, you were the least annoying teacher in the academy the blue-haired professor in Japanese literature was absolute shit since he loved to tease him a lot and that bald-headed teacher in science who looked a lot like Mike Wazowski was an annoying twerp who loved dawdling in him and Yuuji’s business and you were kind of good at your job. Not only did his idiot of a brother stop coming to him and their ojisan for help in math but he could actually do the worksheets right and get an actual decent grade at it.

“Yeah.” he roughly replies.

“That’s good.” You smiled, he watched as you bind their worksheets together and clip them in utmost delicacy, “You should head to the cafeteria now, I heard they’re serving milk bread today.”

Without saying anything more, you left the room, leaving him there in the silence.

Well, the Christmas tree idiot was right.

You kind of had a motherly aura on you and it didn’t even look forced.

No wonder, everyone in this room was whipped for you despite your subject being a pain in the ass.

“You look like an idiot.” You mumbled as you slapped Mahito’s hand away in annoyance, your workmate wiggling his eyebrows like the little shit he is.

You completely forgot you did have someone like Gojo Satoru in your life and it was one of your co-workers, Mahito, a Japanese literature teacher who was too nosy for his own good.

“You’ve got a ring on your ring finger and a mailman comes in and gives you an invite for Zen’in Toji’s fortieth birthday.” he whistles, “Even Jogo-sensei gossiped by the water cooler awhile ago, saying that you had eloped with the man. Not that I’m judging you or anything...”

You choke on your saliva, clearly thrown off by the backhanded comment. That darn bald-headed fool that looked like the green eyed monster from the DreamWorks cartoon, he sure needed to lay off the gossip and actually focus on his job as the head of the science department, “You’re not denying it.” Mahito stated, narrowing his eyes in suspicion, “Why aren’t you denying it?”

“I’m not dating Megumi-kun’s father.” You grumbled, finishing up your paperwork, “That man is off limits.”

“Right,” he drawls on sarcastically, “...because you have a strict rule against dating hot older men with money.”

“I also teach his kids and his cousin…” You deadpan.

“We don’t even have a rule against that.” He retorts, rolling his eyes, “If we did, Hanami-sensei would’ve been fired a long time ago.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“And you’re so secretive. If it isn’t Toji Zen’in, who’d ask you out?”

“Hey, I do have a man.” You huffed, “and he’s very kind and considerate...”

The image of the tall and lean man sleeping next to you slowly wormed its way back from your memory and you feel your cheeks start to flush. Good god, what were you? twelve? How embarrassing.

You needed to get that image off of your head, it wasn’t right.

It was all temporary, anyways and he doesn’t even see you in that sort of way-

“Yes, I’m Sukuna and Yuuji Itadori’s guardian…” a very familiar stoic voice could be heard from the nearby table, cutting your thoughts short. Wait, were you so head over heels for the man that you started imagining him here? Yuuji and Sukuna’s guardian? Wait a minute.

All color drained from your face as you snap your head behind you to find the same man you were imagining.

Oh no.

Oh no, indeed.

There stood Nanami Kento in all his glory; crisp suit, stoic face, and eyes laced with mild worry.

“...L/N-sensei is Sukuna-kun’s adviser, by the way. It would be best to discuss this with them.” Akari somberly informed the man, turning to your direction. You don’t miss the shift of expressions when he sees you standing there.

Your mouth parts and you know you look like gawking fish trapped in a small aquarium.

“Akari-sensei’s looking at you with the new hot daddy.” Mahito mumbles next to you, eyeing him up and down, “Definitely wonder where all these old men come from these days.”

You were only half-listening to your co-worker because your head was all over the place, just what were the odds that he was the guardian of the new transferee’s? Just how awkward would everything be? Why did it even have to be at this school out of all places?

Never ending questions pop out of your head as you approached them, “Good afternoon, Nanami-san.” Your smile comes out very stiff and awkward while you hold your hand out for him to shake, clearly there was no memo on how you were suppose to act around your sort-of-fake-husband-whos-kids-you-actually-taught.

Nanami reverts back to his stoic expression as he clears his throat, “Yes, good afternoon to you too, L/N-sensei.” he greets, maintaining a straight-laced tone.

“Akari-sensei says that Sukuna has been quite...rude...in class…” you try to rack your brains up to describe his kid.

“Your son literally pointed out that the history lesson I was teaching was fake and that I should study again so he could get his tuition’s worth.” Akari looks clearly perplexed and ready to throttle the boy if it was legal. You had to admit, Sukuna went overboard with that insult.

You knew how passionate Nitta was about her job and what Sukuna just said to her was like a big ‘fuck you, you suck.’ to her.

“I’ll be sure to talk to him about this,” he sighs, bowing down, “I’d like to ask for forgiveness for that, the boy is a good and smart student-”

“Nanami-san, the school not only cares about grades but character as well.” Akari Nitta sighed, cutting him off, “I’ll let this slide once, if he does that again, it goes on the record.”

You internally bit your cheek, still trying to process everything that was going on.

“I understand. Thank you for that.”

“I’ll walk him out, sensei.” You immediately say soon after, wanting to have some alone time with him, “Let’s go, Nanami-san.”

You walk right next to him silently, some students peerlessly glancing at the tall blonde next to you but you were too immersed in thought to notice the stares, “Nanami-san?” you ask softly as soon as you reach the exit.

Nanami Kento looks at you, his eyes still laced with a bit of worry, “It’s okay.” you silently comforted him, “Just talk to him calmly.”

“That’s not the problem.” he sighed, “I just didn’t expect that the person I married would be the boy’s teacher.”

You sweat drop, “Aren’t you worried about talking to Sukuna? I mean, he literally just disrespected a teacher and you said that he and you weren’t in good-”

“It’s easier to talk to him about that rather than…” he paused, showing his ring, “this.”

You blinked.

Seemed like Nanami knew what to say about the little attitude problem his son had, “So you must be used to this?” you asked, “Him disrespecting the teacher?”

You notice the shift of expressions on his face, you had only known this man for a few days so far but he was starting to get easier to read. His eyes shed more emotion than his face, no wonder he likes wearing those funny sunglasses a lot.

“It’s something I’ve scolded him over a couple of times,” he gruffed, trying to dance around the subject, it seemed like he had such a soft spot to the point where he had a problem with disciplining them, “At times I believe it’s just because he’s way too smart for his age. The boy has read history books for fun when he was a kid and solved quadratic equations to prove that he’s better than me when he was ten.”

“It still doesn’t give him the free pass to say things like that to a teacher”

“I know,” he acknowledged, “I’ll be sure to give him a better scolding-”

“No, you see. This is why he thinks he can get away with it. He isn’t afraid of you. You’ll only probably tell him that you can’t do that.�� you frown, crossing your arms, “You do know that not all sensei’s are as nice as Akari-sensei and he could get in trouble for that even more in the future, right?”

Silence lingered between you two for a moment and suddenly you realize that you must’ve said something way off the rails.

“I..” you turn red, embarrassed by the sudden outburst, “That was too much, wasn’t it?”

You look at him directly in the eye, the worry-filled ones are now replaced with a softer gaze. God, he really needed to stop looking at you like a kid. It would only make this set-up more awkward!

“No,” he mumbles, “It...It wasn't too much…”

“Oh.” you cleared your throat, flustered and looking away from his face, “Well, okay then goodbye then Nanami-sa-”

You needed to get out of this conversation quick.

“Kento.”

Your gaze snaps directly towards him, clearly taken aback by the correction.

“What?”

“We’re technically married now, right?” he softly corrected, “Call me Kento.”

“Oh,” You uttered again, this time softly. You looked down on your shoes, it seemed like the floor looked really interesting now, “Then bye-bye, Kento.”

“Bye Y/N.”

He leaves you standing there, cursing yourself because of your erratic heartbeat at the way he says your name in that voice. First name basis? okay, totally normal for sort-of lovers, right?

taglist [if crossed out, i can’t tag u ; - ;]

; @coldbookworm ; @frankenstein852 ; @neavil ; @shephard17895 @kristineyoshaii ; @airybnb ; @okachansenpai ; @amortentiaxo ; @rinvtaro ; @franko-pop ; @kozutenshi ; @kaldoesthings ; @moonlitdabi ; @chococroissant ; @bleepop ; @kaldoesthings ; @moonlitdabi ; @chococroissant ; @pettybroccoli ; @nixxona ; @kiyoo-omi ; @omibaby ; @bokkunto ; @peccobagnaia ; @sangwoahbigbussy ;

@Kurok1717 ; @hcn421 ; @shinhiromi ; @airybnb ; @katshuya ; @atsuhaya

#jujutsu kaisen imagines #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk imagines #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x you #cigarettes and parfaits

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clairenatural · 4 years ago

Note

Shy Nerd | Dean

Punk | Castiel

[ the world needs more of this]

college au! this ran away from me and ended up 2.2k whoops :’) i hope you like it! (also note i have no idea how motors work i am not an engineer)

There’s an open textbook on his bed, but Dean is ignoring it; instead, he’s scrolling aimlessly through Instagram. He doesn’t really understand Instagram, but Charlie had looked so shocked and dismayed when she found out he didn’t have one that he’d given in. He doesn’t post much—doesn’t have much to post, really, besides his car and LARPing with Charlie—but it sure is a good distraction from his physics work. He sighs and flops down on his back as he taps through stories. It’s a Friday night, so there’s all the usual parties, and clubbing videos, and group dinner shots. He frowns as he taps through Charlie’s story of a few of their friends playing D&D—he’d be there, too, if it weren’t for his exam. His physics final, on Monday, that he should be studying for. Instead of being on Instagram.

Dean is about to close the app and begrudgingly turn his attention back to his notes when he clicks onto one last story.

HELP NEEDED ASAP, it says, white against a black background, in all caps. Someone who is good at engineering. Or building. Or even just welding things. I’ll pay you, it continues, and then in pizza and beer. Please, in smaller font, directly below.

Dean pauses. He likes beer. And pizza. And building things. He could help out this—who posted this, anyway? It’s a name he doesn’t recognize. casanova.k. He taps on the profile picture. His eyes go wide.

Oh.

That guy. That guy from the hipster art party Charlie had dragged him to earlier in the semester, when she was still dating that art girl, and he’d ended up in a dark room thick with smoke, blurry with alcohol, talking to a guy about three levels of cool higher than him about…something he can’t remember. He just remembers hastily exchanging Instagrams as Charlie dragged him out of the party, ranting about her soon-to-be-ex.

And now he needs help.

Dean looks at his textbook. He looks back at the guy’s—Cas?—Instagram. He takes a deep breath and pulls up a message.

i like beer, pizza, and welding things

It’s smoother than usual, and Dean is proud of himself for about 2 seconds before he panics and ruins it: i’m an engineer, i mean. not just a rando with a thing for power tools, haha.

There’s an achingly long pause before Cas likes both messages.

This is how Dean Winchester ends up standing in the University’s metalwork studio, with 24 hours left until his final exam, staring at a multi-eyed, multi-winged, metal…thing.

It’s due next week, Cas had said. I know it’s last minute. The only studio space I could get was Sunday.

And Dean had said yes, like a fool, because he can never say no to boys in eyeliner with pretty eyes.

Now, staring up at the sculpture, Dean lets out a low whistle. Cas, next to him, groans and drags one hand down his face. “I know. It’s—this is why I need help, alright? I think I can still salvage it if I just—”

Dean, who has taken a few steps forward to admire the intricacies, looks up sharply. “What?”

Cas frowns back. “What?”

Dean shakes his head. “No, I mean—I’m not an art guy, but this metalwork is great, man.” He traces one of the welded seams. “You, uh. Obviously have good hands,” he continues, and then winces. Great compliment.

There’s a soft huff and Dean looks up to see Cas watching him, bemused. “My good hands,” he emphasizes it, and part of Dean wishes he could melt like solder. “Make me a good artist. They do not make me good at making things move.”

Dean blinks at him. “Excuse me?” Move?

Cas frowns again, but it’s more out of worry than confusion. His arms are crossed, and Dean tries very hard not to focus on the black ink swirling down his forearm. “I sent you the plans yesterday.” Now he’s chewing on his lip ring, too, and Dean rips his attention back to the steel structure to stop himself from focusing on that, either. He tries to think about these plans. He remembers getting the text, opening them……and immediately disregarding them in lieu of getting as much studying done as possible. Internally, he groans.

Externally, he nods, pretends to know exactly what these “plans” are. “Sure, yeah,” he covers, and hopes it’s convincing.

The metal…thing, because Dean still isn’t sure exactly what it is, has a cluster of wings in the middle—6, to be exact, and they’re poking up around 3 large rings. He reaches out for one of the rings, right between two of its welded eyes, and gives it an experimental push. It creaks, and sways, and Dean winces when he hears Cas suck in a breath behind him. “Sorry”, he mutters, but when he turns back around Cas is frowning at the art piece and not at him.

Dean is expecting to hear either it’s alright or, more likely, never touch my art again, but Cas just hums and steps up until he’s standing next to Dean. “What do you think this is?”

It’s the closest they’ve been since he arrived, and Dean takes a moment to observe the other student from this distance. He’s wearing black boots, black jeans. A t-shirt with a band on it that Dean has never heard of. His nails are black but the rings he’s wearing are silver, and so is the cross hanging around his neck. His hair looks like he either spent an hour on it or no time at all, and his eyes—like at that party, the one neither of them has mentioned yet—are rimmed in black. Dean, in his sneakers and second-hand jeans and faded Batman shirt, has never felt less cool.

“It’s an angel,” Cas continues, and Dean isn’t sure if he’s given up on waiting for a response or if he’d never expected one in the first place. “A biblical one. You know, the ‘be not afraid,’ kind.” He lowers his voice for the angel impression, which Dean didn’t think was possible. He doesn’t know what to do with the realization that it is.

“Don’t think this is what my mom meant when she used to say angels were watching over me,” Dean tries for a joke, and it’s half-hearted, but to his relief Cas chuckles anyway.

“Yes, well. The church preaches them as significantly more…cuddly.” Cas frowns. “It makes praying to them easier to sell.”

The cross around his neck is starting to get confusing.

“And these—these are gonna move,” Dean hazards a guess, reaching out to touch one of the rings again. “All of them?”

“They’re electrons,” Cas nods, which Dean supposes is an answer. “They should all circle the wings together, like the classic atom diagram. But I can’t—” Cas reaches out for the ring this time, hand landing directly above Dean’s. He pushes it, and it sways. Obviously frustrated, he pulls back. “I need it to be motorized, to look right. And I have the motor but don’t know how…to do it.”

And, well. That, Dean understands. He smiles and, in a burst of confidence, claps Cas on the shoulder. Cas looks up at him, startled, but his expression morphs into a soft smile at the look on Dean’s face.

“Let’s get her moving, then.”

He tries not to think about the time slipping away as Cas hauls out the motor, or when he hands Dean tools. He does not stare too long at Cas’ biceps when he’s screwing something in, or when they have to do last-minute welding. They get it hooked up, and it whirs to life, and Dean does not think about how late it is when Cas gives him a hug in his excitement, or when he promises to follow up on his beer and pizza promise at his apartment.

It’s there, back in Cas’ apartment, sitting on his living room floor, both a beer or two in, when Cas finally mentions it.

“You’re the one who gave me that idea, you know.”

Dean stops mid-chew and blinks at him. “Whg—” he swallows his bite of pizza and tries again. “What?”

Cas shrugs and doesn’t make eye contact. He picks at the beer label. “At the party we met at. The one we aren’t talking about, for some reason.”

Dean wants Cas’ ugly, blue, cigarette-smelling shag carpet to swallow him whole.

“You told me you don’t ‘get’ art,” he sets the beer bottle down to do air quotes, and Dean’s shame deepens. “Because you only ‘get’ science. And I told you they were the same thing. And you told me to prove it.”

Suddenly, it clicks, and Dean risks making eye contact. Cas catches his gaze and holds it steady, and he’s calm—not upset, Dean registers, which is a relief. “The atom,” he blurts out, and Cas grins. “Yeah.”

“Art and science.”

“Yeah.”

Dean is sitting up straighter now. “But, the angel—”

Cas sighs and pushes himself up from where he’d been leaning against the couch. He turns until he’s fully facing Dean. “Divinity,” he raises one hand, “and the core building blocks of humanity,” he raises the other. “Art,” he gestures with the first hand, “and science.” With the second.

Dean stares at him. “Are you calling art divine?”

“Art is an expression of divinity,” Cas shrugs. “Science is an explanation for it. But it’s—you know. The same thing.”

Dean wonders how he can say that so casually, so nonchalantly. He wonders what would happen if he crossed the pizza-box distance and kissed him.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts instead, and Cas raises his eyebrows. “The party, I didn’t think—I didn’t think you remembered.”

“I assumed you didn’t,” Cas counters. “But you did. You do. Why didn’t you text me?”

It’s exactly what he expected to hear and it still catches him off guard. “Um—” Dean stammers, trying to think of a good excuse. Cas is just watching him—not staring at, watching—brows furrowed.

With a heavy sigh, Dean settles on the truth. “Come on, man. Look at me,” he scoffs and stares down at his jeans, the already worn knees even worse after the day spent kneeling on concrete. “I’m an engineering dork who plays D&D on Fridays and you’re—” he waves vaguely in Cas’ direction. “You know.”

The frown has deepened. “I don’t.”

“Cool.” It sounds so juvenile to say it out loud.

Now, Cas looks taken aback. “Dean. We met at a party where I voluntarily listened to you talk about string theory for an hour and a half.”

Dean doesn’t know if that’s a compliment or not. He buries any possible blush with a swig of beer. “String theory’s cool,” he grumbles into the bottle.

“Yes.” Cas agrees. “And so are you. Although—” he pauses and tilts his head. “I could have sworn you were in physics, based on how much you talk—”

Dean is so caught up in Cas Novak calling him cool that it takes his brain a second to process the word “physics,” but when he does he nearly spits beer all over the ugly carpet. “Shit,” he swears, already starting to scramble up.

“What?” Cas is following him, frowning.

“Physics final. In—” he checks his watch, “—16 hours. I gotta—” he still has time to water down the beer, study, and get at least 7 hours of sleep before—

“…Why did you just spend all day helping me if you have a final tomorrow?” Dean pauses from where he’s trying to find his other shoe to glance back at Cas, who looks so genuinely baffled it shoots a warmness into Dean’s heart.

“You needed help,” Dean shrugs, finally locating the missing sneaker and pulling it on. “Good luck with the angel, though, okay? If it gives you any running issues, feel free to—”

He’s pulling on his jacket when he feels a touch on his arm and realizes that, sometime in the past 20 seconds, Cas has crossed the room to him. “Dean,”

Dean pauses, and Cas…looks nervous.

“I like D&D,” he offers, and Dean stares at him.

“What.”

Cas levels his gaze. “There is nothing more punk than dragons,” he replies, incredibly seriously.

Dean’s brain short-circuits.

Maybe it’s the adrenaline from the exam panic, maybe it’s the 1.5 beers, maybe it’s Cas’ hand still warm on his arm, maybe he’s still caught up in Cas calling him cool and maybe his brain takes an extra second to load his self-consciousness on its reboot, but—he leans down and kisses him.

Cas makes a small noise but kisses him back almost immediately—but then he’s pulling back nearly as quickly, and he gently pushes Dean back by the shoulders when he tries to follow. Not far enough away to be a rejection, just…enough. “You have an exam in the morning,” he says this like an apology, and the warmth in Dean’s chest grows. “Text me after?”

Dean nods, then pauses, realizes what Cas just said, and nods again. “Yeah, I—yeah, I will.”

“There’s not enough alcohol here for you to pretend to forget this time,” he teases, but he’s smiling.

Dean flushes anyway. “I’m sorry.”

Cas shakes his head and pushes him a bit. “Apologize tomorrow. Go.”

“Okay.” Dean doesn’t move.

“Okay,” Cas replies.

“Okay,” Dean says, and leans down to kiss him again, a quick one, because he thinks maybe he can.

“Okay,” Cas repeats, but his tone is fond. “Go.”

“Okay,” Dean repeats back. But this time, he does.

The next day, after he aces his physics final, he doesn’t pretend to forget.

#destiel #deancas #punk!cas #nerd!dean #i didnt know how to end this lmao sorry!!!!#(also ik this isn't quite as punk as the typical punk!cas im sorry sadhakdsh)#but wow i love these two now #this took me back its been a WHILE since i read/wrote some good punk/nerd #thank u anon #they live in my brain now #my words #follower fics #alcohol mention

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babylulururu · 2 years ago

Text

Guys this is it

I got tagged for the WIP game

What do I have for wips oh God

The Personal Affairs of Wangsheng Chapter 25

Feels like this one is pretty obvious. It's just Wangsheng. 467 words staring at me like why I won't write the fucking ball scene.

It will be done. I promise.

More below the cut!

Untitled document

I don't know what this is. This is the only thing in the document:

The luminescence of the stars filled the sky, a gentle light that comforted and inspired. Zhongli loved the night sky, and found peace and solace in it's beauty.

The document was last updated on February 9th of last year so god knows what the hell it was about. Lantern Rite? I don't remember.

Matchmaking

What I can only assume was a planned sequel to Dense as a Rock but told through Hu Tao’s point of view. Probably was supposed to be, but the writing on this is kind of meh? Like all that happened was Hu Tao complaining about paperwork then Lumine wanted to go to a domain where she would eventually find the blueprint for the key to Zhongli’s dumbbell.

Monday's Melancholy

A document with no words but was planned to be a Tears of Themis AU where Rosa was an idol and was looking for Luke and ended up turning to Mister Wing for assistance in her search.

Then Raven joins the NXX and things get weird from there.

It was an AU thing where Celestine and Kiki were also in the NXX and Kiki developed feelings for Raven at some point but Wangsheng has basically taken all my writing energy away from me whoops.

Can only handle one longfic at a time.

Head in the Game

A planned Tears of Themis anniversary fic where Rosa has inferiority complex towards Mister Wing and sits and cries while playing a mix of Hatsune Miku Project Diva and Hatsune Miku Colorful Stage.

It has some words but uhhhh here's a snippit:

Hatsune Miku: Sekai Diva. That would clear her head. The rthymn game series that Rosa had played since she was a child. Whenever she would get stressed about something, she would play the game, and her stress would replace her worries with a round of concentration.

So those are words that exist.

Birthday ask

A birthday ask I didn't answer because life sucks and sometimes the wifi just doesn't work and then suddenly the house you cleaned during your birthday gets wiped away in a hurricane and I don't wanna think about this ask I'm sorry I know the person who sent it meant well and I actually have an interesting premise for it and it's somewhat developed but I really don't wanna think about the last time I would ever get to hang out in my grandma's house. ;-;

Pearly White

Another empty doc but was just honestly gonna be a cute Chitao scene with neither of them wanting to get out of bed.

Bookworms

Scrapped Alberose fic where they talked about books or some shit. Can't remember the premise other than it must have been some college/high school AU. Here's some words though.

But there was simply something different about how her classmates in front of her just admired pages as if they were simply art pieces to be looked at for a mere thirty-six seconds before flipping the page to of his book. Sucrose had watched Albedo go through at least three books in the past weeks. What they were about, she couldn't remember. All she knew was that Albedo was extremely talented in his academics and yet he still had time to read in class as if he never studied at all.

Aurora's Light

Scrapped royal AU fic where Rosa was destined to wake the king of Stellis with a kiss. In order to get out of an arranged marriage with Duke Marius, Rosa runs away with her childhood friend Luke to live out in a forest cottage for a few years until vines start taking over the forest. The two basically journey to the castle and beat up a dragon.

There's nothing in this document either. Lovely!

The Duke and the Editors Apprentice

This was a royal modern AU where Lumine works as an apprentice underneath Yae Miko. Miko was gonna set Ayato and Lumine up on a date or something. I don't remember but it was apparently a longfic. Whoops.

Sorry Wangsheng you took over my life.

It wasn't that she didn't like her boss. It was far from the truth; Lumine loved having the opportunity to work under Yae Miko as her secretary and apprentice, but it was certainly not easy. What the public didn't know about Miko was that she was crafty as a fox, always seeming to be planning something or another. Just last week she had managed to create a new persona for a member of an advice column and subjected one of the generals from the army to adapt to it. Lumine was used to Miko's schemes by now, but it didn't make work any less stressful.

Wangsheng Stay Alive Scene

Spoilers for future parts of Wangsheng. :)

The Stoney-Faced Emporer and the Starry-Eyed Princess

Another longfic. Royalty AU with Aether forcing Lumine to attend a ball and to at least consider the Emporer of Liyue as a proper suitor for her.

What I like about this one, other than the fact it has two pages (two! of a wip!), I like the idea of a romcom of Zhongli really playing into a stotic ruler and Lumine wants nothing to do with ruling type things. It's a pretty interesting dynamic I had.

Too bad it's gonna rot in WIP he'll.

Regardless of if that thought had even cross Aether's mind, there were pressing issues at hand that Lumine needed to deal with. She looked at herself in the mirror while one of her retainers, Noelle fixed her hair in time for the ballntonight. How her brother was even able to convince her to go was beyond Lumine's knowledge, but she knew that for the rest of the week, she was resigning herself to the fate of suitors asking to court her, or even worse, marry her.

I have a lot more WIPs but they're over a year old and I don't wanna go back any farther and force myself to read my old writing! I hope you like what I have in my wips that got left in 2022 though.

So now I get to force a couple people to go through wip hell with me! @peachiecure and @mottomottoprecure (don't remember if you have a tumblr that isn't your fanseries account but if you do whoops I forgot it) it's your turn to go through wip hell. :)

#personal #wip tag #wip game #god this took an hour #or felt like an hour anyway

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baby-bearie · 5 years ago

Text

romeo, juliet, and evites to funerals

(NOT MY GIF)

jj maybank x reader

taglist: @sunflowermotel @howdyherron @drew-starkey @maraseavey @outerbanqs @tinylatina01 @yelyahryan @loveylangdon @obxwriterfan @jjmaebank @avashroom @rewindlr @katie-avery @raekenliar @ceruleanjj @adoreyoudrews @dolanfivsosxox @heyhargrove @lashtonandmalumsbaby @beautyandthebleh @pancahke @outrbank @kiarasflowr @corleigh @poguemacking @kristineee-obx @shawnssongs @thorsangel @daniel9seavey9 @hopefultrashforanythingreally @pixelated-pogues @dpaccione @thatshiscigar @hesscott @damonsalvawhore27 @fanficscuziranout @trustfundparker @teamnick @becca-harlow @trashmouthpogues @rudys-pankow @ilovejjmaybank @tomzfrog

a/n: uh oh. back again. thank you @jjmaebank for the beta read i love u. i did switch that one tangled reference i made.

JJ hates when you’re mad at him. You won’t text him, you won’t answer your phone, if you actually see him you’d never acknowledge him, and kisses? Forget about it. You’re not exactly a lot of fun when you’re mad at JJ.

You’re currently mad at JJ.

He figured that out after about the 3rd call you failed to return, and now he’s blowing up your phone. Nearly 50 unread texts, 27 missed calls and 13 voicemails, all in a span of 2 hours.

He’s persistent, he really is. Annoyingly so. Whenever JJ upsets you, his go to plan is to just irritate you into forgiveness. He thinks you can’t ignore him forever. You’re determined to prove him wrong. It’s been 3 days, and you’re proud of yourself. This is the longest you’ve held out against his torrent of digital apologies. You want to go longer.

It didn’t take JJ long to realize what you were mad about. For at least the fourth time this month, JJ had missed your date. You had planned a day on the mainland at a local fair, but you spent last Friday waiting as the ferry came and went.

If he had just canceled, you wouldn’t be mad. But he didn’t cancel, he just texted you every half hour, just when you were ready to give it up and leave, that he was coming and to hold on. And then around 5, a good 3 hours after he said he would come, he showed up.

And then he made fun of your outfit.

“Dude, what the hell are you wearing?” He even laughed.

So you left.

It is now Monday morning, and your phone has not stopped ringing for the past 8 hours. How the hell did he manage to keep going, nonstop, for 8 hours?

You can’t deny that you miss him. Going without JJ’s touchiness is affecting you too. Last night you had to cuddle a pillow.

You’re fixing your bed when the pebbles start hitting your window.

One, two, three, four. A pause. And then at least 30 pebbles all hit the window at the same time. You huff in annoyance, rolling off your bed to unlatch the window and shove it open.

“Hi, baby.” JJ is standing on your lawn, sheepishly smiling at you. His hand reaches up to rub the back of his neck.

You quirk an eyebrow at him, unamused.

“Oh, c’mon, Y/n! You can’t still be mad at me.” “Oh, I very much can! Or could you not tell from the numerous times I called you back?” You scoff.

JJ laughs, pushing his hands out at you, as if he’s reaching for you. “See, you’re talking to me already.” “Go away, JJ!” You grit your teeth.

“No.” “Go. Away.” “I don’t want to! Not until you forgive me!” “If you stay here another second, I’m literally going to ignore you for the rest of your life. We’ll get married and have kids and I still won’t talk to you.”

JJ snorts. “That would be bad for our family.”

“I will communicate with you through our children.” “Okay, well you’re pretty, like, vocal, if you know what I mean- “JJ, you disgust me.” “so I don’t know how you plan on me puttin’ a baby in you if you won’t talk to me. Communication is key, Y/n.”

“Okay, first of all, shut the fuck up. Second of all, if you don’t get off this street in the next ten seconds, I will call John B and I will make him drag you off.” You deadpan.

“That wouldn’t even work, John B would take my side.” “I’m his favorite!” You insist.

“Okay, I’m done talking to you, goodbye forever,” You begin to close the window, and JJ shouts. “Wait, wait, Y/n, wait, I swear I will start yelling.” “Goodbye, JJ.” You shut the window and JJ sighs dramatically.

He smirks up at you through the window before he opens his mouth.

“I am hopelessly in love with Y/n Y/l/n, and I’m going to scream about it now.” He whoops. Your neighbor sticks his head out his door. JJ turns and waves at him. “She’s up there!” He shouts, pointing at your window.

You yank the curtains in front of your window and flop back on the bed.

“Y/n, oh, Y/n, parting is something something? Oh, sweet sorrow! Something, something, I never read Romeo and Juliet last year, true beauty?” He screams.

You pull another pillow on top of your head, trying to muffle JJ’s yodeling outside your window. It barely works. You can make out more half-assed Romeo and Juliet references, but you know for a fact the only version of that play he knows is the gnome one.

Eventually, he leaves. You don’t dare actually check to see if he’s gone, scared that in true JJ fashion, he’s just baiting you. But after a good 30 minutes of quiet, you know JJ’s not patient enough for this. He’s gone.

He’s not done though.

He continues to overheat your phone with calls and texts. At one point he sends you an evite to his funeral. “Rip: jj maybank. Cause of death: lack of y/n.” The invitation reads.

At least he’s getting creative.

You’re almost thankful when the clear weather turns into a thunderstorm, knocking out your power. With no wifi, there’s no JJ.

Or so you were hoping.

You’re curled up with a cup of coffee and a family sized bag of chips in front of the TV, barely paying attention to the movie playing when he starts knocking on the door.

You’re not sure who would be at your door in the middle of a storm this bad. Obviously, one boy, but even he’s not dumb enough to come all the way here in weather this bad.

Except he is dumb enough.

You swing the door open to reveal a soaked JJ, squinting in the rain and holding up a bouquet of drooping carnations. He grins at you goofily.

“JJ, you dumbass, what the hell? Get in here!” You grab his wet arm and drag him inside. Even better, he came here in the rain, in a sleeveless shirt.

“Did you get my evite? Because I’m fucking freezing. I think this is how I go.” He’s dripping all over the floor.

You throw a glare over your shoulder as you retreat to find a towel.

Once you’ve wrapped it around him and forced him into a chair, you finally get to scream at him.

“You’re- You’re infuriating, you know that?” You cry out. “You drive me insane! What am I supposed to do if you get sick? Or worse!”

“Then you could’ve sent out those evites.” He smiles hesitantly.

“I’m being serious!”

JJ gives you another toothy smile and holds out the wimpy flowers. You take them from him and immediately hit him with them, spraying water droplets across his face.

“Ow. Okay, I deserved that.” JJ holds his hands up in defense and you hit him with them again.

“Maybe I shouldn’t buy you flowers anymore!” “You’re such an asshole!”

“I’m the asshole?” JJ stands now. “Yes, you’re the asshole.” “I’m the one getting beaten up with flowers!”

“What, did you think you could just show up here with stupid flowers and your stupid face and all would be forgotten?” “Well, no, okay, kind of?” JJ doesn’t know what to say to make you happy.

“That’s not how this works. You can’t just pull some big gesture and fix everything.” “Okay, you’re right. Y/n, I’m sorry.” He grabs your shoulders to look you dead in the eyes.

“You’re sorry?” “I’m sorry.” He shakes you a little.

“You’re sorry for what?”

JJ rolls his eyes, but finishes. “I’m sorry for standing you up and then being harsh about your fashion choices. I did not mean to hurt your feelings. It will never happen again.” JJ sounds like he’s reciting from memory.

“It’s going to happen again, you loofah.” “Loofah? I feel like that’s a new one.” “But you have to apologize, JJ.”

“I tried!” JJ protests, but you cut him off.

“And not over the phone.” You give him a look.

“Okay.” His hands travel to your hips. “Next time, I’ll say I’m sorry. Not over the phone. Can I please just kiss you now?”

“Is that all you came here for?” You laugh. “Pretty much, yeah.”

JJ leans down to kiss you, and you can feel him smile against you.

You pull away, eyes still closed. “I swear, stand me up one more time and I will dump you for- “Shut up.” JJ kisses you again but you lean back. “For good.” You finish and kiss him again.

“But then how would we,” He pecks your lips between words, “have that family you were talking about.”

You tug your head back completely. “I will leave you and my imaginary family.”

JJ shakes his head at you before he looks at the tv.

“What are you even watching?” “Romeo and Juliet.”

“Wait, isn’t he supposed to be a lot shorter than that?”

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s-creations · 3 years ago

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In Sickness, In Health Chapter 3 - Mental Health

Fandom: DuckTales 2017 / The Three Caballeros Rating: General Audience Relationships/Pairings: José Carioca/Donald Duck/Panchito Pistoles Additional Tags: getting sick, being cared for, mental health, injury, sore throat, common cold, chicken pox, broken bones, whooping cough, taking care of others.

Part of a Series Called: We’re the Three- Sorry, Six Caballeros!

José knew it was a long time coming.

He wondered if it was the constant, non-stop life of a job and raising three kids kept it at bay for so long. Because it was upon realizing the familiar gray clouds were approaching once more that he also counted how long it had been since his last...episode. How long ago his last relapse was. How long it had been since his heart beating heavily in his chest while his mind became muddled.

It started out on Monday. Waking up early to get into work. Knowing he was going to be gone until Friday. Gone from his family and the warm bed surrounded by his husbands. Sleeping in numerous hotel rooms where it was uncomfortably cold.

Then his mind seemed to fixate on every negative aspect of his job. How long the flights seemed to be. How every patron had made it their mission to be as loud, needy, and rude as possible. He was sure every mistake, which was numerous his mind helpfully offered, would cost him his position. Which sent him down a spiral thought of how the family would suffer. How dependent they were on him financially and he would be a disappointment once more.

José knew the mask was slipping when co-workers pulled him aside after one flight. Asking if he was okay. To which he merely smiled and said he was feeling fine. But he could tell by the exchange of worried glances he wasn’t being convincing.

It was both a relief and a mounting worry when the end of the week arrived. He was finally able to go home. But he didn’t want to face the family. The kids were old enough to know something was wrong but not able to understand what was wrong. This was a burden José didn’t even want his husbands to deal with. He didn’t want the kids to worry as well.

The front door opened slowly, José standing in the doorway. Contemplating if he should go in or just rent out a hotel until this passed.

But it won’t pass. The problem is always there. Hiding will only make them worry more. They’d just hunt you down and do you really want to do that to them?

José couldn’t tell if the voice was supposed to be helping or not. Letting out a slow sigh, he walked in. Mind and body exhausted, he shuffled over to the couch. Unable to convince himself to make it to the proper bed. Merely kicking off his shows as he settled down. Sleep not coming to him until a few hours later. Even then, it was restless.

He heard when the family woke up. Familiar sounds of feet hitting the ground. Cheerful cries of ‘Tio Chito!’ and ‘Uncle Donald!’ coming from the triplets. Very mumbled and soft replies from the two adults. José rolled so he was facing the back of the couch. Curling up to be as small as possible. Footsteps drew closer. Heading straight for the kitchen, the sounds of breakfast cooking and plates clinking together following. José wondered how long it would take for them to find him.

It honestly didn’t take that long.

Curious footsteps drew closer to the couch. “Tio José?”

Oh, it was Louie. Of course it was going to be one of the triplets who found him first. José could only hope that Louie would assume the parrot was still asleep. That the duckling would eventually become bored and wanders back to the family.

José twitched slightly feeling hands grasping the back of his shirt. Louie climbed up and laid himself across the parrot.

“Louie?” Donald called out from the kitchen, “What are you doing in there?”

“Shhh, Tio José’s sleeping.” The duckling replied. Two sets of footsteps sounded as, no doubt, Donald and Panchito walked in. Louie was lifted up with a small noise of complaint.

“Come on, let’s let Tio José sleep.” Donald said, his voice growing distant as he went back to the kitchen.

Panchito had remained behind, José didn’t have to look up. Sure enough, a hand was gently placed on his shoulder. “José? ...Where are we on the scale?”

It was always ‘we’, never ‘you’. The rooster made it clear how determined he was to help out in any way. It wasn’t a problem José didn’t have to manage alone. This was an issue they handled together.

“José, where on the scale.”

Oh, right, he was supposed to answer. “...7.”

“Okay, we can work with a 7.” Being cautious, Panchito slowly moved the parrot to sit up. José opened his eyes to get his bearings as everything shifted. “Did you sleep?”

“...I think so...but not long…”

“I think the first thing we need to worry about is getting you a shower. And out of your work clothes. I’m sure that will help out as well.”

José made no complaint as he was moved to stand. The rooster more than happy (more or less) to carry the other to the bedroom.

“Tio José?”

And they had to pass the kitchen. So the triplets had their full attention set on their uncles trying to sneak by. Donald looked sheepish, a silent apology for having José being caught in the act.

This wouldn’t be an issue if you could actually take care of yourself.

“No worries,” Panchito attempted to calm the worried looks, “José’s just feeling a little unwell. But he’s going to get cleaned up and sleep for a bit.”

José watched as the three ducklings exchanged looks. The parrot holding himself back from hiding away behind the tall rooster.

“...I like watching movies when I’m not feeling well.” Huey quietly offered.

Which Dewey jumped onto easily. “Yeah! Movie marathon in the living room! Can we do that, please? To help Tio José.”

Louie’s eyes darted between all. Curious about the outcome, but not wanting to weigh in.

“As wonderful as that sounds, Tio José may just want to sleep. Let’s let him get himself clean and decide what he wants to do after that.” Panchito smiled softly at the small chorus of ‘Yes, Tio Chito’ as he led José away. The bedroom door closed, placing both birds in darkness.

“You go get clean. I’ll bring you your sleepwear. Then we can decide what to do after.”

“...What if I do not want to be with the kids?”

“Then you don’t have to. We won’t force you to.”

“...But I will disappoint them.”

Panchito gave a gentle kiss to José’s forehead. “You could never disappoint them. Now, go shower. Take all the time you need.”

The parrot gave a small sigh. Wishing he could just hide away in the red plumage. But knowing he wouldn’t win, he instead shuffled away to the bathroom.

The water was scalding as it fell on José. The room filling with steam as his fingers ran through his feathers. It was nice to get the work dirt and smell off of him. Sure, the hotel rooms had showers. But being home just made that feeling of being clean all the better. That didn’t mean José was going to leave anytime soon. He still had to decide what happened when he left.

Do you really think your family will want to be around you?

“But I want to be with them,” José quietly argued back, “Wasn’t that the whole reason I came back?”

It was so they didn’t have to hunt you down. Continuing to be a burden. Just tuck yourself away and keep out of the way. They don’t want to see you.

The parrot frowned. Not in defeat, but in determination. “Except they do… We planned a movie marathon tonight. They suggested it.”

They don’t want to see you!

“Well, I want to see them.”

José turned the water off after only a few minutes of getting clean. Climbing out and grabbing the towel, scrubbing it over himself to dry off quickly. Eyes landing on a pile of clothing resting on the toilet seat. Panchito must have walked in while José was internally arguing with himself. The parrot ignored the feeling of clothing sticking to wet feathers as he left the bathroom. The rooster, who had been scrolling through his phone, jumped as the door was suddenly opened. Clearly not prepared.

“J-José, you alright?”

“I want my boys.”

Panchito gave a relieved laugh and smiled. “Alright. Let’s go see our boys.”

They entered the living room, where the couch was already transformed into a blanket tent. Stack of movies resting at the base of the entertainment system. Dewey cheered upon seeing Panchito and José. But Louie was the one who dashed over, clinging to the parrot’s leg. José instantly bent down to pick the duckling up. Finding comfort in the weight and warmth in his arms.

All clambered onto the couch, smuched together as the movie started. No one commented when José fell asleep halfway through.

#donald duck #josé carioca #panchito pistoles #jose carioca/donald duck/panchito pistoles #The Three Caballeros #the three gay caballeros #s-creations #fanfiction

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thescullyphile · 4 years ago

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Tuesday

'Monday' post-ep

“What do you want, Mulder?”

“I didn’t say anything!”

But he had. Mulder had been looking at Scully with those sad, hazel eyes like a little boy about to ask for a puppy. Scully’s level gaze has its intended effect, and he squirms a little as he waffles, indecisive, between whether or not he should ask her. He opts for a classically tasteful segue. “My apartment needs to be recarpeted. Guess a busted illegal waterbed doesn’t really help Landlord-Occupant relations.”

“Oh, that sounds wonderful.” Scully says drily. Her sternness is a measure of her affection.

Mulder’s response is downright mournful, practically pouting as he looked at her. “And, to top things off, the Gunmen won’t let me crash at their place. Apparently they’re working on something ‘above my paygrade.’”

Scully’s eyes follow his hands as they hop in air quotes, successfully fighting the smile that threatened its appearance at the mention of their odd friends. She quirks her eyebrow a bit like she isn’t tracking the conversation. “So- you need a place to stay?”

Mulder nods yes, an eager, hopeful little smile on his face.

“What do you want me to do about it?”

Mulder’s head cocks a little to the side, his smile dropping at her unexpected response. “I...uh…”

Scully smiles, more to soothe him than anything. He’s a little more sensitive than he used to be, nerves close to the skin so that her gentle ribbing smarted and ached, and she’s still getting used to it. “I’m kidding.” Her voice is gentle, buying herself some time as she pauses. No going back now. “Do you want to stay with me?”

Her teasing has made him hesitant, and she regrets it as he shrugs, knowing she should have been more gentle. “I mean, only if it’s not an intrusion or anything, I can probably find somewhere else.”

Scully hates it when they get like this, running in circles even when they’re exhausted because neither can ask for what they really want. She shakes her head definitely, taking up the mantle that Mulder had seemed to wear so effortlessly in years past. “Nonsense, Mulder. I want you to stay.”

She feels a little exposed, if the blush that creeps into her cheeks is any indication, but she stands her ground. Mulder leaves big shoes to fill.

He snaps out of his shyness like a switch has been flipped. A few words can do wonders for a man who’s never been told that he is loved. “Agent Scully, “ He is smiling now, devious, “are you suggesting we- fraternize?” He mocks dismay, and she rolls her eyes, set at ease. “Shut up, Mulder.”

Mulder sets his duffle bag on the edge of Scully’s couch, already resolving to sleep on the floor rather than the back-breaker that she calls a sofa, but Scully drags it by the handle into her room instead. “What, you’ve never had a sleepover before?”

Not with you he wants to answer, but chooses to be glib instead. “Ooh are we going to braid each other's hair?”

He catches her side eye full in the chest, glows from it, and she laughs a little, taking in his spiky hedgehog hair. “Mulder, do you even know how to braid?”

“I’ll have you know, Scully, I’m a man of many talents.”

He gets the chance to prove himself after dinner as they watch Jeopardy reruns. Scully is sitting in between his legs, distracting enough that he soundly loses a question on American history, a category he usually beats her in. Mulder finds that he doesn’t really mind, knowing that the chance to play with the real Scully’s hair is well worth the loss of a few thousand imaginary dollars and some pride. Her hair is a lot shorter than Samantha’s was, and he’s a couple decades out of practice, but after a few false starts he gets going. A french braid is born as Alex Trebek announces the daily double. Mulder has Scully’s sides fitted between his knees (really, his thighs, but he doesn’t want to try her sensibilities) and in the combined intoxication of her closeness and the completion of his task he forgets to wager.

“All done.”

Scully reaches up, pats at the braid suspiciously as if she is Medusa and her hair has taken new life. The braid, albeit short, was neat. She turns with a proud smile, and Mulder feels his heart drop to his stomach in a way that only a smitten man can know. “Look at you! You’ve been holding out on me, Mulder.”

They sit there for a moment, grinning widely, and Mulder feels the urge to whoop, or jump, or pound his chest. In a life of what felt like successive valleys, the little things seemed more worth celebrating. He settles on grabbing her shoulders and squeezing a little. “Aw, don’t tell me you had doubts?” He’s unprepared for the way she leans back against him, doing what she does best, bringing them to the precipice and putting it on Mulder to push them over the edge. “Well, I figured you’d either remember how or die trying.”

Death isn’t something they joke about, not anymore. They’ve come too close too many times for there to be any humor in it, having seen enough of Death’s masks to realize that the real thing wasn’t a joke. Sometimes, Mulder felt, it was like they lived on the gallows, noose around their neck, waiting for the floor to drop out from under them.

He felt phantom memories of timelines that didn’t exist, felt a pang in his chest that he knew Scully felt too, the last, fading reminders of how close to death they both had come earlier that week. If he focused hard enough, he could feel the panic flutter up in his gut, there and then gone. Mulder rests his chin on her shoulder, and they both fix their eyes on the screen, feeling that looking at each other might irreparably rend their necessary defenses. He feels her hot pulse against his cheek, feels her swallow as his voice rumbles out from deep in his chest. He is tired. “We’ve had an interesting few days, haven’t we, Scully?”

“More like an interesting few years.” She sighs in response and sinks fully against his chest, his arms wrapping around her waist like they have a mind of their own. He is wounded by grief, and her closeness is the only remedy he knows. “I’m sorry.” He mumbles his apology into her shirt.

“I’m not.” Scully replies more quickly than he anticipated, and he is left a little off balance. “But...” Mulder is at a loss, hollowed out by his guilt. The deaths of people he never knew burden him, and what he hasn’t lost lies just as heavily on his heart as what he has. “You’ve lost everything. Your career, your health, your family.” He doesn’t understand why she is still at his side, even after everything they’ve gone through, and he wonders at her persistence. The universe is weaving his death shroud, and he keeps tripping over the threads.

Scully’s confidence grows in the face of his doubt, emboldened by her protectiveness of him, her brother in arms, her partner, her friend. “I still have you, Mulder, and you are more than enough.” How is a man supposed to react to that? He is off-kilter as she squeezes his arms, reflexively letting go of her waist, but she keeps a hold of his hand as she stands. “Come on Mulder, let’s go to bed.”

#the x files #txf #x files #dana scully #fox mulder #txfic #Formatting this on my phone on browser tumblr is a nightmare #This is my obligatory season 6 post ep #anywhooooo they’re in love :)#But Mulder is a mess

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lilac-5ky · 2 years ago

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Roommates from Hell, pt.5 (Toji x Fem!Reader)

Chapter 5: Off to the Races/A can of worms

Chapter 4 | Story Masterlist | Masterlist | Requests

A/N: reposting cause tumblr is being a bitch with the tags Worm's debut, aye! Also, let us all who thought it was horse races and not boat races lament in silence.

Warning: Curse attack counts as a warning I suppose. Mentions of blood, strangling, etc.

The furniture carrier service arrived with your stuff two days later, on a rainy Monday morning. The two middle-aged men congratulated you in broken Japanese for your wedding, whose ceremony apparently took place at Okazaki Jinja (also known as Rabbit’s Shrine) on Christmas Eve, and according to Toji, you looked most stunning in your shiromuku kimono.

His descriptions were so vivid that whenever he called you honey and wrapped an arm around your waist, you questioned whether your own wedding invitation was lost in the mail.

The charades continued even after the men departed, reaching their climax when Toji tossed you a slotted screwdriver and willed you into work, because what is a wife if not a slave?

That’s not to say Toji was a lousy fake husband. Not only did he offer to christen his new bed together, but to also perform “the shit” out of his marital duties. Neither happened, and every mention of you as his pretty little wife faded with the melting of the ice and the blooming of the plum trees.

Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, and before you knew it, the two of you had fully adjusted to each other’s presence. For the most part. You still found it excruciatingly hard to get over the recurrent mess he left in the bathroom as if he were digging for Atlantis, his habit of discarding bloodied clothes in the corridor rather than the hamper, the Easter egg hunt you regularly embarked on in search of his stashed dirty plates, and of course, his turning the living room into a gym, not minding that his roommate just so happened to be a single female with urges of her own.

And for the record, his offers to join him in the shower only multiplied after he got his hands on the first water bill and insisted bathing together would help cut down on unnecessary expenses.

Toji was a handful, and living with him felt as if you were a contestant at Takeshi’s Castle, minus the guards whooping you with sticks and the exorbitant cash prize to justify your endurance. But even with the constant temptation that he was, you’d grown appreciative of your shared routine.

A typical weekday involved you getting up at the crack of dawn to prepare breakfast and side dishes ahead of lunch. The sounds of tinkering pots reached his ears before the whiff of freshly brewed coffee got to his nostrils—a bedhead Toji sheepishly stumbling his way into the kitchen with sweatpants low around his hips and a fist jabbing the sand off his eyes as he greeted you with the groggiest of Mornin’s.

You shared breakfast until duty called, and on days he found sitting at home as a trophy wife too tedious for his tastes, he popped by the diner for a “free” meal paid straight out of your pocket.

By the time you got home late in the afternoon, Toji had already half-assed his assigned chores and would either be zapping through the channels or going through another one of your belongings. Last week featured your junior high diary, whose existence and table of contents remained blurry until he cracked a joke about your short-lived crush on the hot substitute history teacher and you snorted a noodle out of your nose.

The nights were spent evaluating teenagers in idol shows, betting pizza slices on MMA fighters, dissing soap opera protagonists for their terrible life choices, and attempting to solve the cases in crime dramas ahead of the detectives. Cheap thrills for cheap entertainment, with the one to get the most correct answers during “Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?” entitled to minor rewards ranging from red bean soup in the cold months and shaved ice in the Summer, as well as foot rubs for you and shoulder rubs for him.

Time in your apartment moved at the languid pace of snow globe snowflakes and at the hurried tempo of hourglass sand. Five months later—in June, specifically—you barely remembered how to replace light bulbs or the bus routes from and to your job because you couldn’t recall a day-to-day life without Toji. Your hand naturally set a second plate on the table; your voice naturally placed an extra wonton order at the Chinese joint; your eyes naturally crinkled at each of his antics; and your lips naturally arched upon his welcoming you home; you naturally weren’t alone anymore.

And in a way, this was everything you’d ever wanted, but in plenty of others, you were terrified of losing it all to his former lifestyle when Toji came to his senses and realized this kind of life wasn’t for him—that you weren’t for him.

To reward him for being somewhat frugal and to exercise impulse control, you gathered some of your savings and surprised him with a trip to one of his favorite places. However, what ended up stealing the limelight was the big floppy hat on your head, which had last been in fashion before the Titanic sank.

In your defense, whatever impression you had of horse racing came from Hollywood movies where the rich and mighty spectated from their VIP seats with their fancy binoculars and fancier parasols. A near-empty venue with takoyaki stalls and an audience of men spread as sparsely as the hairs on their scalps was not what you expected.

“She’s a foreigner,” Toji explained to the bookie, whose eyes narrowed at the odd combination of your yellow umbrella-shaped hat paired with a white formal sundress and matching barrette heels.

“You should’ve told me,” you huffed as Toji led you to a corner next to the booths.

“Tell ya what?”

“That I’d stick like a sore thumb! Feels like everyone’s staring at me.”

He licked his fingers and hastily flipped through the racing cards. “That’s because you are the prettiest in ‘ere.”

You tugged your hat lower over your reddened face, mumbling, “They’re all pensioners anyway.”

He didn’t pay you any more attention until he was done sorting the papers. He went over the general rules of betting, recommending you put your cash on the odds-on Narita Brian, a Thoroughbred stallion that already counted seventeen victories in his seven-month career. And you would have trusted his intuition if you hadn’t suddenly remembered about his one-sided affair with Lady Luck.

While Toji was off to grab seats, you wagered half of the money on his choice and the other half on the newest entry at the very bottom of the list—an Arabian horse named Doraemon. You collected the slips and spotted him in the middle rows of your section, his feet arched against the empty front seat and his arms spread over the ones beside him. You sat down on his left and handed him his slip, glancing down at the tracks.

Men in identical caps that merely differed in color were tending to their mounts, fixing their halters in place. The race wouldn’t start for another thirty minutes, during which Toji ran on about jockeys, breeds, and records, letting you in on how the majority of the contesting horses were between the ages of two and three and how they collectively shared their birthdays on January 1. It was unlike him to gush about his interests, but there was no mistaking it; he loved it there.

You did your best to keep track of the complex terminology and Doraemon’s blue flair as the herd of horses made it to the starting gates. The bell rang without any further delay, and Toji’s voice fell into an abrupt hush as he watched Narita Brian fall second to Golden Wind and third to the newcomer Doraemon. He tore his slip into bits while you struggled to come up with the right words to say—though the cash spoke plenty of its own.

“Beginner’s luck,” Toji scoffed, maintaining a five-step distance as the two of you walked toward his rental of the month, a German silver sedan with ivory leather coating.

You triumphantly fanned your face with the envelope. “Is that what losers call it?”

“Beginner’s luck,” he repeated.

“This has nothing to do with luck. Simply me trusting in my childhood hero to save the day.”

He slurred something under his breath and hopped in the driver’s seat, banging the door with a thud that bounced across the parking lot, filled with the cars of people from the family restaurant next door.

“I’ve saved your ass a lot more than that stupid robo-cat, but I don’t see ya trustin’ me.”

You rolled your eyes and fastened your seat belt. You shuffled the banknotes and split them into twos, gesturing for Toji to open his palm.

“I trust you. Just not your luck.”

For once, he was hesitant to accept. “Save your pity cash. You earned it.”

“No, we earned it.” You grabbed his hand and slotted the bills right in. “I bet our savings. Even if your prediction fell out, you are still entitled to half of the prize.”

His fingers closed around yours, his thin obsidian brows relaxing as you held the weight of his persistent stare. “Wouldn’t do the same if our roles reversed.”

“I know.”

“And you’re wrong to gimme half. I pay less rent and snatch the spare change when you’re not lookin’.”

“That’s why I trust you,” you smiled. “If anything, you are consistent.”

His bottom lip twitched as if there was something else to say. There wasn’t. He let your palm fall empty onto your lap and put the key in the ignition, slinging his arm over your headrest to back into the road. You didn’t budge. Not in the slightest.

Not even when his mouth was inches away from yours, hooded jade eyes teasing his intentions.

“You are hopeless,” he said.

“Already know that,” you answered.

Not long after you hit the road, you found yourselves parked outside a grocery store in Minato City, the horizon melting into saturated ripples of copper gold and dusty pink. Toji motioned for you to hurry and reclined against his pushed-back seat in an attempt to escape the invasive sun glare.

You stepped out of the vehicle, momentarily popping in to drop your hat over his face. He groaned before acknowledging your gesture with a soft Thanks and an even softer smile, both hidden under the hat’s wide brim.

“I’ll cook you something real tasty for dinner. Your favorite!” The words scattered behind you as you broke into a jog, hair flowing freely against the wind and heart thumping lightly to the monotone chirp of the cicadas.

A beep declared your entrance to the three conversing part-timers who rushed back to their registers—two of them experienced enough to greet you with a bow of their heads, and the other too preoccupied with her phone. Teenagers. Around the same age you were when you got your first gig at that convenience store in Sendagaya.

You grabbed a basket and surveyed the aisles for ingredients. It was too hot for motsunabe but just right for yakitori. You could get some liver (since he was particular about offal) and toss it in the pan, or broil it in the oven. Or, you could go all out and opt for the priciest cut on the shelf: ribeye steak. Granted, Toji wouldn’t tell the difference between Kobe and Sirloin even if it was pointed out to him, but you wanted to savor such a delicacy at least once.

The closer you got to filling the basket, the emptier your wallet got. At checkout, the employee rang up your groceries and stuffed them all in one bag. She thanked you for your purchase, and you trudged outside.

A tinge of violet contoured the pale moonlight, the starry curtain yet to drop. It was the kind of night that made you wish you had a rooftop to yourself. Just you, the stars, and the man whose arm dangled lazily from the driver’s window.

“Hey, what time is it?”

It was safe to assume Toji didn’t share your sentimentalism.

You fished your phone out of your handbag, balancing the groceries against the trunk. “Like, uh… 7:32. Why?”

His fingers drummed at the door, while his lips kept his contemplation private. “Mind goin’ home on your own?”

“On my own?” you blinked. “Why, what happened?”

“Something came up,” Toji said, revving up the engine. “Won’t take long.”

Without getting to ask about the gender of that so-called something, you were deserted in the empty parking lot, witnessing all color in the skies be swallowed by absolute black tar.

You made it home an hour and three buses later, your first initiative being to check on the thawed ice cream pint. Chunks of Belgian chocolate floated on the surface like skerries amidst a vanilla-bourbon ocean. You slammed the lid shut and tossed it in the trash. No dessert for him—assuming he made it in time for dinner, that is.

You threw yourself into work, marinating your suspicions in soy sauce, glazing your apprehension with sherry vinegar, chopping your anger into fine bits, and lastly, searing your frustrations over the stove’s fire.

Whether he was clinking virgin margaritas with some non-virgin Mary at a rooftop garden party in Hibiya was none of your business. You had no right to ask. No right to phone him. No right to worry. No right to blow a fuse either. He had his life and you had yours, and for every point they intersected, a million others existed to divide them.

Still, you had every right to feel like a world-class idiot for thinking these past months ought to take the wild out of the wolf.

The first text came at a quarter past ten. Be there soon. You set the table and messed with the cutlery, arranging and rearranging it over and over again. Steak’s best eaten warm, but it’d be fine. He’d be there soon.

Around eleven, you got a second message. Start without me. You’d already eaten half the salad and gotten a head start on the main course. The meat was worth every penny. It was simply delicious.

By midnight, only his side of the table remained untouched. The ice in his water had melted, the glazed carrots had turned soggy, and the main course was as stale as damp dog hair. What a waste.

You processed the vacancy in his spot, sticking Toji’s image on the chair like a cut-out from a magazine. Inanimate, but there. So close that you could almost tell him off about the overgrown fringes he’d consistently refused to let you snip, when your thoughts were cut short by another buzz—this time, a single word.

Sorry.

Your fingers rehearsed different replies. It’s fine, paired with a smiley face that’d surely cost you a few hundred yen. What are you sorry for? Another fine, albeit more aggressive, alternative. A direct approach with a Who is she, and the most pathetic choice of all: Why can’t it be me?

You dropped the phone and piled up your dishes, emptying the rest of the salad into his. You’d barely reached the sink when the device began to vibrate again, each ring driving the phone closer to the edge of the furniture. The caller hung up before you had the chance to press Decline. Or so you thought until an agitated Toji yelled at the other end of the line. You disposed of the plates and rushed to the table, bringing the speaker to your ear.

“What are you on ab— Hello?” A series of acute beeps terminated the dial.

Please don’t tell me it’s broken, you pleaded while you examined the screen, tapping it on the back as if it were one of those stubborn old TVs— your eyes widening at the final text in your SMS window. You swore you’d deleted everything, but faced with such compelling evidence, your conviction seemed worthless.

You tried to punch in an excuse when a second round of buzzes launched the phone to the floor, where it typed away on its own, twisting your words into incoherent slurs that exceeded the character limit, the last of which repeated the same three-letter word in uppercase letters.

DIE

Startled, you tripped against your chair and knocked it down, the flickering lights drawing your attention to the ceiling. You stole a glance at the intact switch and dashed to the far-end table corner, piecing a steak knife between trembling fists. You’d watched enough horror movies to know those who acted last died first.

“Hey, asshole! That scared to show your ugly mug, you’ve gone into hiding?” You swung the knife forth. “Come out; promise I won’t judge.”

The electricity in the room settled only for the air to turn abnormally cold, your puny strikes facing resistance against the invisible body of your opponent. You gulped, wrapping your fingers tighter around the handle.

“Okay, maybe you aren’t a wuss, but you’re still rude! Attacking me in the middle of the night, implying, what, that I’m single? Since when is that a crime? Breaking and entering, on the other hand, now that’s a felony!

The lack of reaction prompted you to further your display of wits. “Wake up. This is the 21st century, and women can do just fine without man-whores in their lives. Gotta be a real stuck-up to think otherwise.”

Your spiteful insults tackled you to the ground, as your attacker seized the opportunity to entangle themselves around your ankles and decisively shimmied up your throat. A snake? No, this thing definitely had claws. A centipede maybe?

“Who the fuck you think you are deciding if I live or die? Y-you think,” you coughed, blindly stabbing anywhere you felt its presence, “dating is that easy? Why not do it yourself, then? W-what are you here f-for?”

Flight wasn’t in the cards anymore. The spirit’s clutches sank deeper into your flesh as it feasted on your emotions, steadily growing stronger. You combed through Toji’s stories for something to help you get rid of this thing before it got rid of you—a weak spot, a way of striking, a non-sorcerer technique—anything. But staying focused when the oxygen tank that fueled your brain begged to be depleted was plain impossible.

Choosing fight over fright, you ripped through the air with your knife once more. The limitations between your body and the curse’s were unclear. Warm blood trickled from where the sharp edge nicked your unpracticed knuckles, the grip loosening until all there was left for you to do was flap the air, falling victim to the overwhelming pressure in your head.

You were really going to die. Alone and helpless on the unmopped kitchen floor to a foe imperceptible to the naked eye.

What would Toji do?

He’d probably be the one to find your body shaping one of those funny chalk outlines from Law and Order. You didn’t want to admit it, but he was the better detective. Even if the cops wrote you off as another serial case victim, he’d know a curse did it.

You pictured his reaction, hoping he’d at least shed a tear at your loss, that your absence would at least strike a chord in his heart, that you’d at least be included as a highlight in his collection of scars; that you at least wouldn’t be forgotten.

It was fine to be selfish this once, right? After all, you didn’t ask to be missed or honored like a lover or a wife would. Just to be remembered with a smile, as fondly as you recalled him during these final breaths of your pitiful life—a life he alone made worth living.

There were so many things you wished you’d told him, though what you regretted the most was not thanking him for that day at the bridge, knowing fully well you’d never get the chance to.

In the throes of death, two brown antennae sprouting from a gruesome creature you lacked the courage to describe overtook your vision. Thank God you weren’t able to see this earlier. You would have shat your pants and died in a pool of shit.

“There you are… ugly bastard as expected.”

Just when you thought you’d set sail for the other side of the river, a sound akin to that of a bug being stomped pulled you back into what you prayed was reality.

“Been called a bastard before, but ugly?” A viler crunch followed, the centipede crumbling into a pile of dust to reveal the smug grin on your savior’s scarred lips. “Now that’s a first.”

Relief washed over your self-inflicted wounds and abused trachea as you somehow found it in you to stumble rather than leap to the heaven of your choice, an ugly sob muffling all which you tried to say. The sword—judging by the volume of the collision—dropped to the floor as Toji welcomed you in his arms, a large palm rushing to rub the small of your back while his other hand combed through your hair reassuringly.

“It’s okay,” Toji cooed. “I got you now.”

You wept even harder, the gentle tone as he repeated those four words bringing about the opposite of the desired effect. How could you’ve given up so easily when it meant not hearing his voice or seeing his face ever again? How could you doubt your death would shake him when he was frantically kissing apologies on the crown of your head, cradling you as if he was the one who needed to be saved? How could you feel so idiotically ecstatic when you’d nearly turned into curse food?

Still sniffling in his shirt, you wiped your eyes against the fabric and peered at him, taking in his knitted eyebrows and downturned mouth—the worry in his features—and eventually the extra body between you.

“Hey, Toji. What’s that around your waist?”

The potent smell of antiseptics took your kitchen by storm as Toji laid out the first aid kit’s contents over the congested dining table, fitting sterile gauze dressings and iodine bottles in the gaps created by the plates. His chair was dragged closer to yours while he constantly hunched forward, holding both your hands in his own and operating with a little less care than you were willing to tolerate.

“Ouch!” You flinched when his knuckles grazed another of the myriad open wounds that spanned from the apex of your elbow to the chipped tips of your fingernails—none too deep to demand serious medical expertise.

Ignoring your whiny tone, he looped the bandage around your thumb again, this time pressing even harder against your bone. “What a crybaby.”

“Anyone would cry if they were being mummified!”

“Not mummies, they wouldn’t.”

Your next protest lost its turn to the shrill squeak emitted by the elephant, or rather, the worm in the room, whose presence you’d temporarily forsaken. Despite it being of the tubular crawling kind, it didn’t look half as appalling as the monstrosity you witnessed. If anything, its plump lips and rounded cheekbones resembled a human baby more than they did an actual worm.

The creature continued bobbing its head up and down on Toji’s shoulder, its eyes perfectly shut, while it shuddered at its master’s quip. Not only was it sentient, but it was also openly laughing in your face. You hated it.

“What is that thing anyway?” you asked.

“How many times you gonn’ ask? Worm.”

“I can see it’s a worm, Toji, I’m not blind,” you sighed. “I’m asking what’s this worm doing wrapped around your neck like a travel pillow.”

He kept silent while binding the remainder of your fingers—four of them together and the fifth left apart—though “encasing” seemed more appropriate given his dedication to providing you with a proper pair of mittens. He taped the loose end and grabbed the second roll, letting go of your treated hand.

“A’right, quiz time.” Twin shimmers sparkled playfully in his jade eyes. “How do chefs carry their equipment around?”

“You mean their knives?” He nodded. “They stuff them in a roll so they don’t knock each other.”

Toji snapped a quick thumbs-up. “Next question, what’s the name of that movie we watched last week?”

You processed his question while kissing your teeth. “Can I get a hint?”

“A hint, huh?” He scratched his jaw, eventually grinning. “The one with the pervy lawyer and the hot chick who pissed herself.”

“You mean ‘The Secretary’?”

“Rephrase it.”

“The assistant?”

He crooned in approval. “And now for the million-dollar question,” he leaned closer. “Why do people keep mutts?”

“For company? For uh… protection?” He shook his head at both.“Really? Can I phone a friend?”

“Nope. Go simpler and you’ll find it, ain’t that hard. Well, not as if you have anyone to call either.”

You kicked at his chair’s front leg and faked a slap on his giddy face. “You are lucky I have these on, or else!”

“Or else what?” Toji caught your wrist. “You’d hit me?”

You dabbed his cheek lightly enough for him to return to his seat with a complacent smile as he resumed dressing your hand.

“You are the lucky one. A real centipede would have bitten its venom into you. Must have annoyed the livin’ shit out of that curse to have it choke the words outta your potty mouth.”

“You call that luck?”

He hummed, flipping your palm on his knee to pour iodine over a scratch. You hissed as he brought it to his mouth and blew on the wound. “Don’t wanna know about Worm anymore?”

“I… do.”

“Then answer,” Toji said.

“Fine, fine.” You groaned. “You said simpler, so… pet?”

“Bingo. Put ‘em together, and you get your answer.”

“So you are telling me that this worm is your knife carrier, slash hot assistant, slash pet? Is that it?”

He carefully folded the bandage on the inside of your palm and crossed it between your fingers. Again, he didn’t speak until the work was done and you’d retracted your hand.

“In other words, the inventory curse, yes. Reason why you couldn’t off that curse is because ya hit it with a regular knife. You need something imbued with cursed energy; everything else just tickles.”

“That explains a lot,” you mumbled bitterly.

“Can’t cut bread with a cheese knife, can ya?” Toji continued. “Worm over here carries my cursed tools for me. He doesn’t cap, doesn’t bark, and doesn’t drop his pencils either.” He sneered as he cued the worm to open its mouth. “Watch.”

Without receiving a single order, the curse parted its lips to reveal the fur-embedded hilt of a broadsword twice the size of your table, which Toji easily unsheathed and set on the ground.

“That’s 500 million for ya. Cuts through pretty much everything.”

Your eyes widened while he proceeded to showcase his collection, bringing out daggers and claymores that ranged from hundreds of thousands to even a billion yen. He went into some detail when it came to the fancier ones, but the majority were dismissed as either “sword” or “gun”.

Finally, he pulled out the hat you’d lent him and placed it on your head—not a single blotch of saliva, despite it coming straight from the worm’s intestines.

“Don’t you dare tell me you can’t afford rent next time!” You scoffed, watching as the worm crawled down his torso and gobbled up the weapons one by one. It was amazing. Kind of disgusting, but amazing all the same.

“So, Mister Zen’in.” You curled your fingers however best you could and shoved them in his face like a makeshift microphone. “What’s it like being a single dad at the tender age of 28?”

Toji smacked your hand away. “Keep callin’ me that, and I’ll give ya a taste.”

You would have given yourself another injury if it weren’t for his quick reflexes stabilizing your chair in time. You were blushing mad, and it wasn’t from the shock. He was smirking, and it certainly was from the way your thighs instinctively buckled around his hand—something you became aware of only after your feet had landed on the floor.

“Done with the interrogation?”

He plopped down on his chair and motioned for the worm to come over. It obeyed, wrapping itself first around his leg and then around his torso before nuzzling his neck. They both seemed so content in each other’s presence that your joke felt more like an expression of reality. Toji with a pet—now that’s new.

Putting his question on hold, you stabbed a carrot with a fork and offered it to the creature. “Here, wormie, wormie! Have a treat.”

“Wormie?” Toji quirked a brow.

“Cuter than you calling him Worm,” you imitated his raspy tone.

Wormie glanced at its master for confirmation before opening its mouth and swallowing the carrot along with the fork. You wondered if you’d ever get that back, but were stunned to see Wormie slide from Toji’s shoulder and devour two of the plates like that masked spirit in Spirited Away.

He—taking Toji’s word that Wormie was a male—slithered across the table and stood in front of you with an amicable expression, his lips rounding to emit three little toots that you gladly interpreted as Thank you for the food; it was delicious. My owner is an idiot for missing out.

Begrudgingly, you lifted your hand to pet him, managing a small head pat before Wormie returned to Toji. At least his pet had superior tastes to his—both in women and in food.

“Done now?” You nodded with a faint smile. “Good, ‘cause I’m beat.”

“Wait!” You blurted as soon as he stood up. “I mean, what if that thing has friends?”

“Friends?” Toji echoed with a chuckle. “Scared a curse more popular than you?”

Really lucky, you growled.

“What if… What if they team up against me to exact revenge while I’m asleep?”

“Oh? That’s what scares ya?” He laughed again, and you should’ve known he was up to no good when he answered, “I can fix that.”

“Is this really necessary?”

Your question felt out of place when the two of you were crammed in the sleeper sofa like canned sardines—Toji’s left arm comfortably stretched beneath your head as a pillow, while his other willed your body into a snug, albeit humid, embrace. Summer was hot enough without being subjected to his breath fanning steam onto your neck or having the press of his bare chest against your clothed back, and you were already sold on this being your new sleeping norm.

“You’re the one who didn’t wanna sleep alone,” he gruffed in a tired voice.

In a way, he was right. You were the one who dug her heels in the couch and refused to budge even after he checked every house corner for signs of a demonic presence. Incidentally, you’d also been the one who acted as if you wanted to watch a late-night rerun on TV, promising not to disturb him.

One thing led to another. He put Wormie to sleep by quite literally ingesting him, cracked a soda open, and joined you. Your show ended; a movie began. He stole the remote; you threw a fit. He tossed you his shirt and made room; you slid off your dress and put it on. It smelled of gardenia; it smelled of you.

You stayed.

Any other day of the year, you would have raced to your room and hidden your head under your covers like an ostrich in the sand, yet no place in the world felt safer than his arms, knowing they hadn’t hosted another.

Of course, you weren’t keen to admit that. “I never said that!”

“You didn’t?’ Toji yawned. “Sure sounded like you did. Now zip it and sleep tight.”

Can’t get any tighter than this, you meant to argue, but your will to protest had died out. The first harbingers of dawn started gathering outside as chirping birds at your window ledge, drowning the mournful song of the cicadas. Bless Sakurai and that new part-timer for taking on your early Monday shifts.

You closed your eyes and let yourself be lulled into sleep when a realization shook you to the core. How could he possibly protect you while asleep?

“Would you suit up for my funeral?”

“Woman, one more word, and I’ll feed your ass to Wormie myself.”

You gasped, craning your neck to catch a glimpse of his chiseled yet visibly frustrated profile. “Wormie eats humans?”

“If he doesn’t, I will.” He fastened his arm around your stomach as if to get his threat across.“Shut up while I’m asking nicely, won’t ya?”

Some time passed since you’d last disturbed him, and his breathing evened out into a light snore, a hint of raspiness tingling the shell of your ear. He wasn’t lying about being exhausted, and although you’d spent countless nights sleeping in the same house, not once did you sleep close enough to hear all those little sounds he let out when he was at his most vulnerable.

You wished you had something to record him with, but mostly, you wished your view was that of his face as opposed to the ghost nightlight on the table.

A different version of today’s events replayed in your head, excluding all the harrowing details that haunted you in the night’s darkest hours. The races were fun; you should save money from now on to do that more often. The compliment wouldn’t hurt to accept. The food was amazing, the episode was alright, and his coming to your rescue was something straight out of a movie.

“Toji?” Making sure he was still asleep, you rolled to his side.

You had to brace yourself not to sigh in splendor as your eyes trailed over the unmapped expanse of his body, skimming over every valley and every peak leading down to the defined V-line that seemingly finished miles below the elastic of his sweatpants. You wondered how many kisses it would take to traverse that distance if the starting point was that of his agape lips, the outline of his scar dim between the greenish shadows in the room.

He had no right to look this beautiful. You returned to your old habit of counting rights and wrongs—and at the time, you couldn’t find a single fault to him, but a dozen in you, as you tilted your head and printed a gentle kiss on his lips.

“Thank you.”

As soon as the words were out of your mouth, you were locked in a kiss independent of your own wretched volition, as Toji’s lips branded yours with one of equal gratitude.

“You’re welcome.”

That should’ve been the end of it, but before you had the chance to pass judgment, you followed his lead in closing your eyes and were recaptured by his indelible warmth, lips moving together in sync as if there was something to be gained from each other’s mouth, bit by bit chipping in more than you’d bargained for, so desperate in your game of chance that your hands greedily seized the smallest of earnings.

His long fingers sank deep within your hair while he hiked up your (his) shirt, palm fondling the swell of your breasts without an inch of reservation, and it felt good—it felt bliss; so much better than it did at that hotel and all the other times your mind invented since. He was certain about where and how he wanted to touch you; every other woman he’d ever been with just practice for this moment, and even though he’d never said it out loud, you must’ve known that to be true.

It was always you.

Your hips bucked against his own as Toji squeezed your bodies together, his teeth joining in the action of his tongue as he bit down on your lip, feeling your leg coil tight around his torso and the tap of your heel on his toned back. That was the only way for you to feel him, considering the bandages greatly restricted the movements of your hands, which were awkwardly thrown over his back.

“You’re such a stubborn brat, know that?” He panted, pressing your ass firmly enough for the tent in his pants to poke at your clothed entrance. You nodded, brushing your nose against his. “Tell ya one thing, you do the other. Ask to kiss you, and you gimme your cheek. And now this?” He couldn’t resist slotting his tongue between your lips, pouring all his resentment into one sloppy and heady exchange of spit. “Gonna give ya a reason to thank me all week long.”

You shuddered at his words, attempting to steal his next sentence from his mouth before you were forcibly unlatched and turned the other way, your waist caged by both his arms so that you couldn’t budge.

“Week doesn’t start until tomorrow.” Toji seared a kiss on your nape, prodding the hair out of the way with his nose. “Now let me fucking sleep.”

A/N: so apparently tumblr fucks up posts when the tag list is featured inside the fic, which sucks and that might be the reason why I had to make three posts for this fic to be seen in its respective tags. I’ve tagged those who had to be tagged in the first one of these three posts, but since this chapter is hard ruined, I’ll do the tags on a reblogged version from now on.

this website seriously sucks. here are the two other versions of the exact same thing ._. first and second

you can still comment here if you wanna be tagged on future updates, and sorry for this entire mess ._.

#toji x reader #fushiguro toji #Toji Fushiguro #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #toji x y/n #toji x you

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jobean12-blog · 5 years ago

Text

Top Shelf: Chapter 12-Bookaholics

Pairing: Bucky x reader (Bookshop/Bartender AU)

Word Count: 1,515

Summary: You and Bucky try to get the ball rolling and explain your idea to Sam and Nat all while having a little fun :)

Author’s Note: Hey everyone! Happy Monday! Thank you for all your continued amazingness! Love you all! If anyone hasn’t been to the High Line you can check out the website here It’s one of my favorite places in the city and really is that beautiful! I like taking you on a little tour of NYC through this story, it helps with how badly I miss my city (we are doing well though so one thing at a time right!) All the pictures I use in my moodboards are real photos of these places. Here is the link for attaboy again in case you want to see that too. Thank you all for reading! Much love to you always ❤❤❤

Warnings: Fluff, some super light smut (mostly implied), flirting, romantic fluff :)

Previous Chapters

Chapter 1: Enchantment

Chapter 2: Cookie Crumble

Chapter 3: Sweet Anticipation

Chapter 4: Read Between the Limes

Chapter 5: Secrets on the Shelf

Chapter 6: Love Between the Covers *

Chapter 7: Love Lines & Soul Finds

Chapter 8: Drunk in Love *

Chapter 9: Pour it onto the Page

Chapter 10: Recipe for Love *

Chapter 11: The Pages in Between

When you awake the next morning it’s to the sound of more rain hitting the sky light, Bucky’s even breathing warm against your neck. You slowly shift and stretch to grab your phone. Seeing that it’s not even 6am you unlock the device and lazily search through your Pinterest, saving recipes that look worth trying.

“Looking up some new stuff to bake, sweetheart?” His voice is low and raspy from sleep and you love the sound, turning and smiling as he rubs his eyes. “I hope I didn’t wake you?” He curls his arms around your middle and pulls you against his chest, “nope.” You rest your head under his chin, closing your eyes and listening to the rain.

“How about we just stay up here forever. Forget work, read books, eat pizza…” You continue, your breath hitching as Bucky’s hand creeps under your shirt. “Listen to the rain…Bucky.” He rolls on top of you, gently pulling your shirt above your head. “What else?” he asks between kisses. “This. Lots and lots of this,” you whisper, shimming out of your shorts.

“How long do we have before you have to leave for work?” His fingers inch below the waistband of your underwear, easily slipping inside you. “Enough time,” is the last thing you say before his lips capture yours, swallowing your moans.

You find if hard to concentrate at work, every free minute your mind wanders to thoughts of the bookshop and your idea and to Bucky. It’s hard to shake the feeling of wanting to dive in headfirst and just do it, go all in. But you know you can’t. You must do this right. You shoot Bucky a quick text, ‘hey babe, want to talk to Sam this weekend? Maybe we can hang at the bar after closing and go over our idea?❤❤’

His reply seems enthusiastic and you smile. ‘Definitely!❤ I can’t stop thinking about it, especially being in the bookshop now. I keep imagining where we could put things and how to move things around and all that.😁😍’ Letting out a breath you let him know you’re excited and try to get back to work. The rest of the day is boring, and the work week drags, however, your nights with Bucky are anything but.

Saturday night rolls around and you and Nat stroll into the bar late. You wade through the crowd of already drunk people, searching for Bucky behind the bar. You spot him leaning against the back counter, his button down open at the front and his sleeves rolled up, the buttons looking like they may pop off any moment. His jeans do little to hide his thick thighs and perfect ass. Sam slides up next to him and you follow their line of sight over the bar to find two girls giggling at something they said.

“Hey Nat, I think our boys caught some attention,” you snicker, pointing their way. Nat raises her brow, whispering in your ear before heading to the other end of the bar. She makes her way to the bar, getting the attention of Peter. “Hey Pete, could you get y/n and I some shots please,” she asks, batting her eyelashes.

He nearly falls over, grinning wide at you both before looking nervously over at Bucky and Sam. “Uh, yea, sure of course ladies. What’ll it be?” You pretend to think it over for a second, “you know what, why don’t you pick for us? Whatever you think we’ll like. And make one for yourself so you can join us!” He simply nods, rushing off to make your shots. “Could he be any more adorable,” Nat whispers, giggling. “No. But could he be any more afraid of the boys?”

You both let out a laugh, having way too much fun and looking over at them. They’re staring, Sam with his arms crossed over his chest and Bucky with his hand on his hip, all four eyebrows raised in your direction. You smirk at Bucky just as Peter appears with the shots. “Thanks Pete, can’t wait to try these.” He lifts his shot up, clinking the small glasses with yours and Nat’s. You keep your eyes on Bucky while you down the cold liquid, slamming the glass down on the bar and licking your lips. “That was great, good choice, thanks.” Nat heartily agrees, sliding the glasses back and smiling at Sam.

“You’re welcome, can I get you anything else?” A large hand lands on Peter’s shoulder, Sam’s deep voice answering his question. “No, thanks Pete, we’ll take care of the girls from here on out.” You watch him visibly stiffen, shaking his head vigorously before practically running off in the other direction.

“No need to scare the pants off the kid, baby,” Nat coos, her smirk reappearing. “And it looks like you were handling those girls on the other side of the bar just fine from here.” Bucky and Sam look at each other and scoff before they start laughing. “So, that’s what this is about!? They’re Steve’s cousins that are visiting from out of town,” Sam says, eyeing Bucky before laughing again. “You were jealous!” Bucky adds, his eyes bright. “I love it.”

His smile is so wide you want to punch him and for a moment you and Nat are silent. “Well, how were we supposed to know! And we were only having a bit of fun! AND might I add, I was not jealous!” Nat chimes in, “but clearly you two were! Coming over here and scaring Peter half to death!” They start laughing again and Bucky leans over the bar to whisper in your ear, “I love you.” Sam throws Nat a wink and waves over the two girls who quickly head toward you. After introductions are made and everyone laughs over your misunderstanding you spend the rest of the night enjoying your new friends and having some drinks.

By the time 2am arrives and the bar closes you’re all tired but still willing to talk things over. Sam cleans off a back table and grabs some waters. “Ok. Let’s hear this plan of yours,” he says, smiling brightly despite the time and fact that he’s been at work for almost 12 hours. Your heart swells. You love them all so much.

Before you start you reach into your bag, pulling out a small Tupperware. “Ok, but first, some cookies!” Sam whoops along with Bucky, two large hands grabbing for the container. Bucky looks to you, his mouth full of cookie, “go for it baby.” You hold his hand the whole time, laying out what you’ve come up with so far.

Nat’s smile never falters, and Sam’s excitement is clear as they listen to all you have to say. When you’re finally done, they naturally have questions which you and Bucky do your best to answer. “Listen, I think it could really work if you do it right. People love books. They love food. They love coffee. You just need to bring it all together,” Sam says, suggesting you set up a meeting with his friend Tony who owns several businesses and has a really good head for this stuff.

“He sounds like he could be a huge help,” you say excitedly. Sam nods, chewing his last cookie. “Oh definitely. He’s brilliant and honest and if anyone can help you navigate through this it’s him. And of course, us!” he adds, putting his arm around Nat. “Of course, guys! Did you tell Steve yet?” she asks. Bucky shakes his head no. “He and Peggy couldn’t make it tonight so they are going to stop by tomorrow, actually later today, so we can fill them in.”

When you finally leave the bar, it looks as if the sun is about to come up. “Summer is really here! I love how early the sun comes up these days. And how long it stays out,” you say, leaning into Bucky. He has his arm around your waist as the two of you walk slowly down the quiet street. Suddenly, he stops. “Hey, I have an idea. You wanna go on a little adventure before we head home?”

With a little squeeze to his middle you happily exclaim, “yes,” not needing to ask any questions as you follow him into the subway. About twenty minutes later you emerge back to the surface and see you’re at the High Line. “Oh, Bucky! I love it here!” He smiles down at you, walking up the steps. “I hope we can see what I want to see,” he whispers, holding your hand as you head down the path.

You reach a spot where you have a clear view of the water and Bucky sits on a bench, pulling you into his lap. It’s close to 6am and the sun is starting to peek over the horizon, the bright orange and pink hues dancing across the calm water. “Good morning,” he says against your ear, his eyes fixed on you instead of the rising sun. Turning your head, you kiss him softly. “It’s the most perfect morning.”

@aesthetical-bucky @auro-ora @azurika-writes @book-dragon-13 @buckys-broody-muffin @bucky-on-my-mind @bugsbucky @eurynome827 @hiddles-rose @hailmary-yramliah @hawksmagnolia @ikaris-whore @imgaril-lindru @itsunclebucky @jhangelface0523 @jewels2876 @loricameback @littledarlinhavefaithinme @littleredstarfish @mushyjellybeans @marvelandotherfandomimagines @marvelgirl7 @nano--raptor @randomfandompenguin @sallycanwait68 @scarletsoldierrr @softpeachbarnes @the-wayward-robot @throwmyheartawayagain @flyawaybay @amandatar-06 @nd1998sc @yansi1923 @captainchrisstan @vherriepie @godofplumsandthunder @when-the-hell-is-bucky @fire-flv @jamesbarnesappreciationclub @irishflutiegirl @rinthehufflepuff @moonybarnes @nordlysinthewoods @inflxmes @lauratang @my-favorite-fics-and-imagines @buchanansebba @emilylyoness @curlyred2020 @kaosera @breezy1415 @metal-armed-cuddly-dork @devynsdiary

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squishymochisoo · 4 years ago

Text

the ghost, my past lover || seo changbin (ft. kim seungmin)

genre: angst

pairing: seo changbin x reader, kim seungmin x reader

words: 2.2 k

synopsis: the boy you once loved was gone. but why did you still see him around? you blocked everyone out of your life and surrounded your heart with an iron wall. how on earth did seo changbin manage to break through those walls?

trigger warnings: death

a/n: happy birthday to me (in a few hours)! as my birthday treat to myself, i decided to post something! enjoy! and let me know what you think about it!

i hate that i can’t seem to forget you.

i hate that you’re a part of my psyche.

why did it have to be this way? “y/n, clean up after yourself please” seungmin sighed from across the room as he saw you slouch against your bed frame laughing at some drama you were watching. seungmin scrunched his nose as he saw your different pair of socks littered all over the floor of your room. for the past 5 years, he has watched you hide yourself away, closing every door that has opened up for you. five years it’s been five years since his passing it’s been five years since seungmin’s passing you had pushed so many people away in the past five years and build up a wall that separated you and world. seungmin could tell you felt reluctant to start anew. he knew you felt as though you didn’t deserve happiness, especially if seungmin wasn’t there by your side. he knew you felt as though his passing was your fault. as though your loneliness was your punishment for someone you lost. did you think that your own happiness would bring yourself further guilt? maybe you felt that you would forget him and your past if you found your happiness once again. as you watched your drama, you slightly casted your eyes to the corner of the room, wondering what the figure was doing just standing there. even after years since his passing, you still see him around.

at first you were afraid. but after a year, it felt as though the presence was really truly him, the boy you once loved. sometimes you could feel his burning stare on your back as you cleaned the house or as you trudge back into bed after a long day at work.

when you first saw him a week, days after his passing, you thought it was just the lack of sleep from those sleepless nights you lay in your now empty bed. as those days of seeing him around became weeks, you thought it was just the devil playing tricks with you.

but when you catch a glance on his face whenever you cried, a part of you knew it was your seungmin.

although you knew, the boy you loved and lost was with you all throughout these years, you never approached him or signalled to him that you knew of his existence.

whenever you wanted to speak to him, whenever you felt like you needed him. a part of you just couldn’t. you missed him so much. but he was supposed to be gone. why has he been walking around your house and talking to you for the past five years?

was it guilt? was it sadness? were you just trying to punish yourself that you got out of the mess unharmed but the consequences that came afterwards left a scar on your heart?

some days seungmin trails behind you and nags at you for not cleaning up your apartment. or for ordering in instead of cooking at home. but what hurts most is when he mentions your friends. “seriously babe, you’ve got to talk to jisung, jinnie and lix. you can’t just cut off contact with our friends. they are so worried about you. go talk to them, do this for me please” he pleaded. do this for me.

those words stung your heart. you couldn’t blame him, he didn’t even know you could hear him. but sometimes you would hear him talk about his dreams that he wanted to achieve, what he wanted to do when he was still here. you felt guilty as if he was also putting the blame on you. you knew he would never blame you for what had happened, but a small doubt did live in your mind. ~ “get ready you’re going out!” jisung screamed through the phone. no matter your efforts to cut off ties, the boys never gave up … surprisingly. “no thanks, my boss wants a lot of paperwork done by monday.”

“so? it’s friday. you have another two days to complete it. please boo, it’s my birthday today!” jisung whined through the phone.

“fine.” you reluctantly agreed as you saw seungmin’s figure sitting at your desk swing his legs happily at your answer.

“yay! wear something nice!” he shouted as he hung up the phone. ~ “y/n! come here quick!” jisung gestured you over as he held a drink in his hand. you looked at the people around the table only to find that you only knew felix, hyunjin and jisung. you stared at the three other men confused.

“okay! this is changbin, minho and chan! now that you know each other let’s drink!” jisung laughed as he downed a shot.

“hi” you laughed awkwardly and sat yourself next to hyunjin.

“felix told me you work as a reporter?” the one called changbin asked from your left. you smiled and nodded.

“yeah i usually report social issues. you?”

“oh, i work with children as a psychologist.” you eyes widened, not expecting his answer.

“wait, how do you know jisung?” confusion evident in your eyes that someone like jisung are friends with psychologists. not that jisung was not capable of doing so or anything.

“i took music production as an elective in uni and met him” changbin laughed, understanding your confusion.

you and changbin watched from the booth as the other boys danced their heart out. as much as you hated the club, it was the twins birthday party after all.

“you sure you don’t want to dance?” changbin asked gesturing to felix and jisung whooping while dancing.

“maybe some other time then”

“you know, you shouldn’t suppress yourself from happiness you know” changbin muttered from the side. you weren’t sure if you were meant to hear it or not. you turned to him, your eyebrows raised as if questioning his statement.

“i didn’t mean it in a very harsh way, it’s just – just – occupational habit, that’s all”

“it’s fine” you waved off.

“i’m sure the twins and jin would have told you about my … situation. seeing as minho and chan were very careful when talking about jisung finding his true love tonight. but it’s been five years you can talk about it.”

“well… if it’s really fine, i’d like to help you out. i’ll help you to try to stop you from suppressing your emotions and desires.”

“yeah, i really can’t afford a psychologist right now.” you let out a small laugh, although thankful for his kindness. changbin shook his head instantly.

“i’m not doing it as a psychologist but as a friend.” changbin pouted and gave you puppy dog eyes that made you reluctantly agree.

“okay it’s settled! now what drink would you like?” changbin asked as he stood up. you kept quiet pondering if you should be drinking.

“y/n, you haven’t had the mojito here in so long. wasn’t it your favourite?” you could hear seungmin ask from beside you.

oh right.

you almost forgot that seungmin has been there beside you this whole time.

“i’ll get you a mojito then” changbin voiced, breaking your train of thoughts. the look of surprise on your face, made him laugh as he walked away.

how did he know what’s what you wanted?

“where are we going?” as asked changbin as you entered the car.

“amusement park!” your face felt at the answer.

“oh”

“oh my god changbin no. y/n hasn’t been to an amusement park since i was gone and that’s where i you know – “

you could hear seungmin question changbin from the backseat, nagging and scolding changbin for making such a decision.

“take y/n ice skating! they love ice skating”

“oh how about ice skating?” changbin asked you.

your eyes widened in disbelief.

can changbin see seungmin? was that possible? seungmin was not part of your imagination? or did he find out about your hobbies through jisung?

“oh my god can you actually hear me?” seungmin exclaimed.

“y/n likes any type of bread and cakes you can find. they really like rice not noodles. when they need cheering up just bring them to a karaoke room to sing their hearts out. y/n hates liars and despises lizards. they suck at cooking and can only make scrambled eggs.” you heard seungmin went off tangent on your likes and dislikes.

you couldn’t help but let out a sad smile. he still remembered all those things about you.

“that’s not fair!” you whined as you pointed to minho and hyunjin. the 7 of you crowded around your living room.

“stop giving minho money, hyunjin! he’s supposed to be bankrupt by now.” minho stuck out his tongue at you.

monopoly games with the boys are always … intense.

they never tried to hide the fact that there were cheating which frustrated you more as you tried to play fairly.

you rolled the dice and gasp when your thimble landed on minho’s park lane with a hotel.

“i can’t afford to pay that!” you glanced at your money pile. as minho celebrated your loss, changbin piped in.

“i’ll pay for y/n!” you felt your ears heating up at the comment.

“ooooooohhhhhh, what a man!” jisung swooned from the side causing you to roll your eyes.

“ you can’t do that, it’s against the rules!” hyunjin added.

“ and since when have you played by the book?” chan laughed from the sofa watching the game.

hyunjin huffed and pouted causing you and changbin to break out into laughs.

it’s been about three months since you met the three boys and they have been a handful. changbin kept his promise and helped you out whenever you tried to suppress your emotions and desires and it a weird way it worked.

‘no i need to know’

you thought as you paced back and forth in front of changbin’s office door before entering.

“changbin.” you approached the man sitting at his desk in his office.

“i need to ask you a question. and please answer it truthfully. don’t deflect it and please don’t judge me.” you begged.

“w-what’s going on?” changbin asked nervously unsure what you were going to ask.

you pointed to his couch in his office.

changbin following the direction of your finger.

“do you see him?”

“what?”

both changbin and seungmin voiced at the same time. your lips quivered as you took in a breath.

“it’s too big of a coincidence that every time he talks about what i like, what i hate, my drink preference, my subway order and to even my dreams. you seem to echo what he says.”

“y/n –”

“at first i thought jisung had told you everything about me. but there were things that even jisung couldn’t have known. from my first pet to my family?”

you heard seungmin take in a deep breath.

“ y-you could see me?” tears collect at your eyes as you heard his broken voice.

“how did you know about ice skating and how did you know that i couldn’t go to amusement parks anymore, not after the accident.”

“why didn’t you tell me? why didn’t you tell me you could see me?” seungmin screamed out.

more tears fell from your eyes are you looked at seungmin.

“i couldn’t. not after what happened. i just couldn’t face you. it was my fault.”

“how was it your fault? it was nobody’s fault! i died due to my own negligence.”

you shook your head violently as you sobbed.

“i- if i didn’t force you on that roller coaster ride. n-none of this would have happened” you hiccuped.

“y/n, i didn’t tell you about my heart condition. you’re not to blame. please stop blaming yourself. you’re getting better and happier thanks to changbin hyung. please to this for me”

please do this for me

you cried out and your breath quickened. you fell to your knees as you tried to gasp for air.

“y/n, listen to me and take deep breaths” changbin held your shoulders.

“deep breaths, “

“i didn’t know you could see him too, he told me a bit more about you and what happened. i couldn’t tell you because how absurd would that have sounded?”

you nodded, understanding where changbin was coming from, tears still spilling from your face.

“seungmin,” you started as you turned towards where you saw him last. only to find that he was gone.

“seungmin!” you cried out looking for him around the room.

seungmin.

the boy you once loved.

the boy you never saw again.

it was at that turning point , where you got better exponentially. changbin helped you moved on and sealed the scars that was once left on your heart.

sometimes you felt like you weren’t ready to find love yet. a part of you still thinking you deserved this punishment, that part of you stopping yourself before your heart could skip a beat.

although… your cheeks heating up or your heat beating slightly faster whenever you saw changbin might prove you wrong.

you deserved to feel loved.

you deserved to be happy.

although seungmin was the boy you once loved.

changbin might just be the boy you love.

|||

hope you enjoyed this short fic! i wrote it quite quickly so forgive me for any grammar errors whatsoever.

also leave a comment or anon me about what you think of it! your critiques /comments do make my day!

#stray kids #stray kids scenarios #skz scenarios #skz #stray kids fic #seo changbin #kim seungmin #stray kids angst #stray kids x reader #changbin x reader #seungmin x reader #stray kids imagines

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nachtai-ish · 5 years ago

Text

Shea Butter (Baby) (NSFW)

Pairing: Erik x Black!Reader.

Summary: I mean…. another man’s trash is another man’s treasure.

(author’s note: so, okay...I had this idea of mash-up monday where we all take two songs with the same title, or same general title and write a fic based on what you are inspired by from listening to both songs. I’m sure there are enough songs to do this with. my songs were Shea Butter by Pardison Fontaine and Shea Butter Baby by Ari Lennox and this is what I came up with. I hope people try this as well! It was fun.)

Song Lyrics That Inspired Me: I want you, gotta have you, I don't think you understand (You don't) I heard you when you told me you already got a man (So?) That nigga probably love you but can't fuck you like I can You need a man in your pussy, not a pussy as your man (Ayy, woo) - Pardison Fountaine

You lost in the shape of my hips Hope there is a move And if you really down, we can find it Lost in an alley, make love by a trash can, ayy - Ari Lennox

You felt uncomfortable, to say the least. You were smashed right between your boyfriend, and his homeboy. Your boyfriend’s hand was slung around your waist, hand on the curve of your hip. He could definitely feel the vibration of your phone, notifying you of text messages that you were receiving.

“Damn baby, you got the hotline tonight.” Devon said drink to his lips, eyes glued to the tv screen. You laughed then, nervously, out of the corner of your eye you could see his homeboy, best friend, supposed god father to your future kids, put his cellphone back down on the arm of the chair.

Good lord you were playing with fire. You had been striking the match for a long time now, ever since you had drunkenly kissed his homeboy during a kickback, on the side of your brownstone. He was holding the trash, that he was supposed be throwing out, with one hand and your ass in one hand. You were holding his face pulling him deeper into you. You were supposed to be showing him which trash can was yours. That was months ago. Ever since then you had been trying to avoid Erik Stevens. You made sure that you were busy on nights like this, studying at your own place, working night shifts at the pharmacy. Hell, you had even taken up night soul cycling with your crazy cousin who was into the crystals. But somehow you had gotten caught slippin’.

But you were an adult, you could handle a little awkwardness and as long as Erik was cool, you could be cool.

As least that’s what you thought.

It all started at the door. You opened it and was instantly hit with that familiar fragrance of man, cologne and Irish Spring. You felt dizzy and were tongue tied when you looked up to see Erik smiling, wolfishly, back down at you.

“Damn girl, where the fuck you been?” He leaned against the doorframe looking you up and down. When his gaze traveled back up and paused at your lips, he bit down on his own and you knew right then that you were in trouble. “You been hiding from me?” He asked, low enough to where only you and him could hear.

Before you could respond by pushing him out of the doorframe and slamming the door on your troubles, Devon walked up and made that noise men make when greeting another male of their brotherhood. While they did their handshake and greeted each other, you slipped under Devon’s arm and made your way into the kitchen to make sure the spread was right…and to get out of Erik’s eye sight.

Fifteen minutes later you still had not made it out of the kitchen, still picking over the food. The living room was now full with Devon’s friends and their girlfriends or girls they were seeing at the moment. You busied yourself putting out more food when the men made their plates, engaging their girlfriends when they came into the kitchen to grab a drink or a little food. Anything you could do to avoid being in the same space as Erik. At one point you had started to arrange the cups in his cupboard.

“Baby. Stop fingering my cups and sit down. Damn.” Devon said earning a laugh from his crew. You turned and huffed, the jig was up and you had to face your demons. And your demon was patting the cushion between himself and his boy.

And that’s how you found yourself between a rock and a hard place. Devon had wrapped his hand around your waist somewhere after the 1st quarter ended and that’s when the text messages started. You knew it was Erik because he nudged you discreetly once your phone started vibrating. You made sure Devon was focused on the game before grabbing your phone from your pocket. You unlocked it and read the message.

You didn’t answer my question.

What question?

U been hidin from me?

Y would I hide from you?

I don’t know baby. U tell me.

Don’t call me baby.

With that you slid the phone back into your pocket and cuddled up into your man. But that of course didn’t stop Erik from messaging you. You pulled out your phone again and brought it closer to your face now that you were closer to Devon.

Y not? You my baby.

No I’m not, Erik. I have a man.

Nah, you got a boyfriend. I’m ya man.

Can your boyfriend make you cum like I can?

His sentence made you go back to that day, in the alley, next to your garbage can. You’re not sure who touched who in what way to make Erik push you against the wall like he did. You’re not sure what signal you gave him that made him know that you wanted him to kiss you like he did. By the time you figured what you were doing was wrong, he had your legs around his waist and your dressed hitched up so you felt him against your panties.

You pushed him back, breathless, your lip gloss smeared around and on his lips. His and your breaths came out in white puffs, going up together in a cloud of vapor.

“What ma? Why you stopping me?” He leaned towards you again capturing your lips in another heated kiss but you pushed him back again before you both got in too deep.

“We shouldn’t be doing this, Erik? Devon is right upstairs.” You searched his face for regret or memory* but the only thing you saw was undisguised lust. It made you even more turned on.

“I don’t give a fuck about fucking Devon.” His lips brushed up your neck. “He knew I wanted you anyway but nigga fucking pushed up before I could.” He bit gently right under your earlobe and you shivered, but not from the cold.

“Wait what?” You pushed him back again and this time he made a noise that sounded close to a growl. “The fuck does that mean?”

Erik looked down the alley where people were passing by, not looking towards the sounds you know they could hear coming from the dark alley. He looked back at you. “That day Devon approached you at the party, I saw you first and I told him about you. How good your ass looked in that yellow dress.” He gripped your ass at that and you groaned. “How I liked how you bit your lips when you danced with your girls. How I wanted to take you home that night. How bad I wanted you to sit on my fucking face.” He kissed you again and when he pulled back, you immediately followed his lips with your own but he kept talking.

“But D, fucking D always has to have what I want, so he pressed up on you first.” He pressed against you then, hard and big. Your pussy clenched. “And now you with him. But I don’t give a fuck. I want you.” With that he rocked against your clothed pussy, sending a sharp jolt as if he was inside of you. You moaned softly.

“Yeah, just like that.” He said encouraging your moans as he continued his dry humping. “When he fucks you tonight, you remember I made you feel like this without being inside of you.” He rocked harder. “You remember how wet you got from just my kisses.” He sucked a line from your neck to your lips biting down. You moaned as his thrusting became harder, giving you enough friction to throw you over the edge hard.

You clenched your legs around him hard, pulling him into you. He chuckled softly in your ear before giving you soft kisses on your neck.

“Then when he finally makes you orgasm with that weak shit he gives you, you remember how good you felt with me, and how much better I can make you feel with just one stroke” When your legs stopped shaking, he dropped you down and picked up the trash, putting it in the trash can where it belonged.

A buzzing brought you back from your memory, and you noticed that you had clenched your legs up tight.

I didn’t think so.

Answer ya ‘man’.

“Huh?” You slid your phone back into your pocket and looked over at Devon who was looking back at you as if you had two heads.

“You bored huh bae? I’m sorry.” He kissed your temple. “I was just asking who was texting you?”

“Oh.” You chuckled, placing a smile on your face. “Just Kendra. She was telling me about her date with the NBA player.”

“Your girl is a trip, I swear.” Devon settled back and got back into the game, even moving his arm from around you and pointing out a bad call.

After fifteen minutes your phone had buzzed several more times, yet you ignored it instead spending your time really focusing on the game. Devon and several of the men had taken to standing up around the TV as if their energy could be transmitted through the TV. The girlfriends were gathered in the kitchen picking at fruit and talking. You had tried to join them but Erik gripped your shirt, keeping you in your place. He had hung back from the guys, instead choosing to antagonize you by brushing his knee against yours every five minutes.

Erik leaned towards you and whispered in your ear. “Since you ain’t answering my messages, I’m just gonna tell you what they said. The first one said, I want your pussy against my mouth.” He licked your earlobe before pulling back just as whoops went up.

“Stop it.” You said out of the side of your mouth.

Erik smirked and leaned closer to you, “Nah. I wrote them messages and you gon’ know what I said. The second one said, I want you ride my face. Period. Hard. Period.”

“Erik, please.” You begged quietly, you could feel your resolve crumbling.

“No ma. You been hiding from me. I don’t like that shit. You got a nigga fucking weak and shit, hoping to see you but you don’t never show up. So you best believe I’mma tell you everything I want from you while you’re here.” He smiled. “That reminds me, the third one said, after you cum against my mouth, I’m going to bend you over whatever’s close and take what I want. Hard.”

You bit your lip and clenched your thighs together. You looked at Devon who was focused solely on the game.

“Oh and the fourth one is my favorite one, it said, 15 minutes, my crib.” He brushed his hand over your knee and then stood up going over to Devon and patting him on the shoulder.

“Oh man, you’re leaving already?” Devon said doing their handshake again but ending it with a chest bump. “You must got a pussy appointment?” Devon smirked.

“I hope so.” Erik grinned at Devon and then said his goodbyes to the other men before waving goodbye to the ladies and then finally at you. He mouthed ‘13’ before walking to the door and leaving.

You looked around and found the girlfriends looking at you. When they found you looking back at them, they turned whispering to themselves again. Honestly, you really didn’t give a fuck about what they thought. In fact, you didn’t give a fuck about anything at this point.

You looked at the clock on the wall.

In 11 minutes, you were going to get dicked down.

#erik x reader #erik killmonger #killmonger smut #black panther fanfiction #erik stevens x reader #killmonger x reader #black panther killmonger #killmonger imagine

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dixie12 · 4 years ago

Text

so much angst

why do some real work when i can write 1700 words of angsty jonny in the aftermath of pat’s 400th goal!

Jonny had spent the last three days practicing looking and sounding excited. He knew Patrick would be calling him to celebrate after his 400th goal, especially since Chicago was still mostly on lockdown, and it wasn’t like he could go out and party with the guys. He was determined not to bring Patrick down, not to make yet another conversation about him and his issues. Patrick deserved to be the center of attention, and Jonny was damn well going to give him that.

He texted with Sharpy a bit before the game, predicting when they thought Pat would score. After the frustrating loss in their last game, Jonny had has money on Patrick scoring early. Thankfully, Sharpy didn’t ask how he was feeling; he must have known that he wouldn’t get much of an answer out of Jon, anyway.

Jon watched the game with increasing tension as time wound down and Pat still hadn’t scored, his body moving unconsciously on the couch as he deked along with Patrick. When the puck finally found the back of the net, after that beautiful hesitation move, Jonny whooped in joy, throwing his arms up before he even realized what he was doing. Not like he had any neighbors to bother, though, tucked away in isolation at his cabin. He pulled out his phone and sent Patrick a quick text, even though he knew Pat would be overwhelmed with congratulations over the next few days.

Jonny pulled up Twitter and watched the goal a few more times, scrolling through reactions from the Blackhawks, NBC sports, the NHL, other Chicago athletes, and pretty much everyone involved in hockey.

As the accolades added up, a familiar heaviness settled into his chest, weighing down his excitement. Patrick was somehow getting better with age (“like a fine wine, baby,” Patrick had teased him, once), and while Jonny couldn’t be prouder of him, of what they’d accomplished together and what Patrick was continuing to accomplish on his own, he couldn’t help but compare himself to Patrick, and it wasn’t pretty.

Everyone knew that the organization was grooming Kirby to take over for him. If it hadn’t been for that freak injury at World Juniors, the kid would be out there centering the first line right now, in the spot that had belonged to Jonny since 2007. Jesus, Kirby was six when Jonny started his first game in the NHL. How was he supposed to compete with that? Sure he had the “respect of the room” and the experience, but Jonny himself had taken on the captaincy before he turned 21; there was no reason Kirby couldn’t do the same.

He tried not to check message boards too frequently, but sometimes even his willpower wasn’t enough, and he was already feeling sorry for himself, brief elation at Kaner’s goal subsumed into the ever-present anxiety he felt these days. He poured himself a few fingers of whiskey, knocking them back quickly and setting up a refill before he opened up a thread on Reddit talking about the salary cap and bad contracts.

It wasn’t as bad as what Seabrook got, but the general consensus, Jonny learned, was that he was way past his prime. There were a lot of posts that “wished him all the best” but pointed out how much cap relief the Hawks would get if Jonny never came back. “I’ll never forget what he did for Chicago, bringing hockey back with Kaner,” one poster wrote, “but Toews should recognize that his contract is a fucking albatross on the team.”

Albatross. Decline. Overpaid. Lost a step. Lost a lot of steps.

Jonny kept scrolling, barely reading the individual words anymore. Six months ago he may have laughed them off, would have turned to Pat to show him the most ridiculous comments. Now, though. He was pretty sure they were right, and he didn’t really know what to do with that.

The ringing of his phone, signaling an incoming FaceTime call, startled him out of his spiral. Oh fuck, that was Patrick. He hadn’t realized how much time he’d lost reading, nodding his head in bitter agreement as poster after poster pointed out all of his flaws.

Showtime, he told himself. This was what he’d been preparing for. He hit accept, willing his smile into something bright and natural.

“Congratulations, babe!” he said, a little too loud to his own ears. Maybe the volume would make up for any lack of enthusiasm. “That goal was a beauty, Patrick,” he continued, more quietly and more sincerely. You can do this, he repeated in his head. Do this for Patrick. Be there for him.

Patrick just stared at him for a second, worn out from the game and all the post-game media, probably, but then he broke into a grin.

“Yea, you liked that, didn’t you?” He replied, letting himself be way cockier than he’d act to the press.

“You know I did, Peeks,” Jonny told him truthfully. “Was so stressed just watching, can’t imagine how you held it together out there.”

“Just imagined you were there yelling at me, telling me to keep my head in the game. I told you to fuck off a few times, just fyi.” Patrick was still smiling, now chugging a Gatorade and stripping out of his suit while they talked.

Jonny was distracted by the broad lines of Patrick’s shoulders, his strong chest and arms now visible as Pat settled down on his bed. Without thinking, he mumbled “better get used to imagining it, man.” He felt his face flush as the words came out. Ugh he sounded pathetic. Patrick deserved so much better than this, especially tonight.

“What do you mean, Jonny?” Patrick asked immediately, languor gone, tension snapping into his muscles as he sat up.

“Nothing, nothing,” Jonny hurried to add. “You can imagine what you want, but I’m imagining being there in your bed right now,” he tried, desperate to distract Patrick and get the evening back on track.

Patrick looked like he might push it, but Jonny took his momentary silence to strip off his shirt, as well. He saw Patrick’s eyes flick down to his chest and abs, and yea, at least he was still able to work out enough that Patrick still thought he looked good.

Unless. Unless he was looking at Jonny and judging. Looking at Jonny and thinking of how much better he’d look if he were training full-time. How much better Jonny used to look, when they shared the rink and the locker room and the gym, not just each other’s phone screens.

“Jonny..” Patrick’s voice sounded hesitant. Focus up, he told himself fiercely.

“Just thinking about your goal, Pat. Gets me hot,” Jonny said suggestively, letting his voice drop lower, one hand drifting down to his chest, fingers sweeping over a nipple like Patrick liked to do.

It wasn’t the best phone sex Jonny had been a part of, though Patrick seemed to enjoy it well enough, based on how hard he came, and how quickly he hung up afterwards, telling Jonny he was about to pass out. Jonny had to work way more than usual at just getting himself hard, getting himself off, but he got there eventually, a minute or two after Patrick.

He usually slept pretty well after an orgasm, and he’d actually been jerking off more often lately just to get himself to sleep. Tonight, though, every time he closed his eyes those comment threads started running through his head. He laid in bed for close to an hour, trying to force himself to sleep before giving up, throwing off the covers and wandering into the living room.

He opened his laptop, even though he knew that if he couldn’t sleep, he shouldn’t be messing around on his computer, either. Nothing good would come of it, not at this hour.

Instead of message boards, he opened YouTube, pulling up old highlights of himself. He watched his hands, his edges. He watched himself lift the cup three times, remembering the roar of the home crowd that third time, how he felt on top of the world.

His eyes were burning, suddenly. He rubbed at them, clenching his jaw and fighting back tears. He was so tired. Tired of the uncertainty. Tired of the tests. Tired of the well-meaning questions. Tired of being left behind as Patrick continued to exceed all expectations. He didn’t cry, not quite, but it was a close thing. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, breath coming in gulps as he fought for control of his body.

He spent the rest of the night like that, sleep never quite finding him, but not really awake, either.

The doorbell rang at 7:00, making him jump. Only a few people even knew where he was, and none of them should be showing up this early on a random Monday morning. He stumbled to the door, the old afghan from his couch wrapped around his shoulders. He was probably a mess, but he couldn’t really find it in himself to care.

He opened the door slowly, not sure who to expect, and then he saw the flash of Patrick’s curls. Patrick shouldered in, not even waiting for Jonny to finish opening the door.

“Patrick, what-” he started, but Patrick cut him off right away.

“Jesus, Jonny, you look terrible,” he said, reaching one arm out as he spoke, pulling Jonny in towards him. Jonny tripped, feet heavy with exhaustion, but Pat supported him like it was nothing. “You’re still a terrible actor, man. You were messed up last night, don’t even try to lie.”

Jonny didn’t know what to say to that, brain moving too slowly. Patrick was here. The Hawks had a three day break, their last one of the shortened season, and instead of getting some rest, or maybe seeing his family, Patrick was here. He wasn’t even sure how Patrick had managed to get here this early in the morning.

“How,” he tried again, but Patrick just tugged him in tighter.

“Shhh, Jonny,” he said, stroking one hand over Jonny’s neck. “You look like you’re about to fall asleep on your feet. Let’s just get you to bed.” Patrick started walking Jonny back towards the bedroom, steering with the weight of his hand on Jonny’s neck.

They stripped quietly, not bothering with pajamas. Patrick settled them on their sides, facing each other, foreheads almost touching. Jonny finally felt his body relax, muscles sinking into the bed. Here in this space, sharing breath with Patrick, he let the tears come.

#blackhawks fic #1988 #kazer #o captain my captain #angst #just to be safe #tw: depression #jonny is having a rough time #pat is here to make it better #get well soon jonny

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