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ponderingmoonlight · 7 months

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Shibuya Arc scenarios that live in my head rent free pt l

Getting sealed along with Gojo

Geto awakening by the sound of your voice

Word Count: 3,1k

Warnings: these hurt pretty bad; language

Getting sealed along with Gojo

It wasn’t the easiest task to get this far. The curtains of these fucking curses were not that easy to overcome, let alone unnoticed. But now you’re here. You finally made it to the train track where Satoru Gojo should be found. Satoru, your precious boyfriend of three years. Satoru, the jerk who left you alone at home without telling you a single damn word about Shibuya getting flooded by curses.

Your face is screwed up in nothing but anger while you scan the area for him. He has some fucking nerve. You’re a grade 1 sorcerer, very much needed in times like these. Who does he think he is to simply leave you in the unknown?

It isn’t hard to sense his immense powers. Without any effort, you smoothly glide over what looks like a crime scene. So many corpses of not only curses, but humans. What the hell happened here? And who did all of this?

Time seems to stand still when you finally catch a glimpse of him. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. This isn’t really happening, right? Your souls seems to leave your body behind, empty shell staring at the scene in front of you.

“Oh, look who decided to join us on this lovely day! Nice to see you again, (y/n)!”

It’s Geto’s voice and his so painful familiar appearance. Salty tears start to sting your eyes, memories of your last encounter begin to flood your mind uncontrollably. As much as you wished this was true, this has to be a cruel joke, an optical illusion.

“What the hell are you doing here, (y/n)? Get out of this place right now”, Gojo yells at you with an aggression in his voice that you’ve never heard before.

You flinch for a second, too overwhelmed by the act in front of you. Why on earth is your boyfriend tied into place and who was even able to do so? What is this thing with Geto’s appearance? What the hell is going on here?

“Oh, don’t be a spoilsport, Satoru. Let (y/n) watch while I seal you. Too bad you won’t see here die then…Well, you can’t have everything at once I guess”, the shell of Geto comments.

“Sealed?”, you repeat incredulously.

Panic crawls through your veins, for a second you feel like fainting. You know all too well what that means. Getting sealed is another definition for getting killed. Even Satoru, the strongest of all…

What if he won’t make it? What if you’ll never see your boyfriend again? The sheer thought of being forced to live without him kills you from the inside and makes your former anger vanish in thin air. You’ve been through hell and back, grieved over Suguru when he died, fought battle over battle on each other’s side, taught the young ones with all your heart. But most importantly, you loved each other dearly every time your hearts beat, in good and bad times.

“Don’t worry about me, I’ll be back”, Gojo assures you, a cheeky smile plastered on his face.

��Do you know what getting sealed means, idiot?”, you cry out, tears now staining your face.

“She’s kinda right, Satoru…”

“It means we might never see again, it means you would’ve left me home alone knowing that this might be the last time you’re stepping through our door.”

The pain that is dripping from your voice is hard to bear for Satoru. He knows you have every right to be absolutely furious at him, that getting sealed is a challenge even for him he isn’t 100% sure about.

“But I couldn’t afford to live with the thought of losing you, (y/n)”, he replies, eyes locking with yours.

“I can’t let you go like that. It simply can’t end like this. I…I won’t let this happen!”, you scream on top of your lungs.

“As much as I enjoyed the show, it’s over now. Good night, Satoru Gojo. Let us meet again in the new world”, Geto speaks out.

Your mind races while the sealing begins to tighten itself around your boyfriend. What are you supposed to do? Are you able to stop it? No, absolutely not. If Satoru can’t stop himself from getting sealed, there is no chance that you can. Pictures of your precious shared moments, of his striking smile and his tight hugs linger through your mind. You can’t afford to lose him, a life without Satoru would be useless. You need to make a decision.

Satoru isn’t even able to react when you start sprinting towards him, vision clouded by pure determination. Just the split of a second before your limbs get cut off by the seal, you are able to press your body against his and get soaked up in the innocent dice along with him.

“(y/n)”, he breathes out.

Slowly but surely, he opens up his eyes. No, this can’t be true, this has to be a bad dream, right? You can’t be with him in this prison, not trapped for eternity. But the way your arms are tightly wrapped around him is proof enough for your presence. You are here. You’ve got sealed along with him.

“Why on earth did you do that?”

“I can’t be without you. I’d rather die by your side than live without you!”, you bawl, pressing yourself against his body as hard as you can.

“(y/n), why didn’t you do what I told you, why did you come to Shibuya in the first place? You shouldn’t be here, especially because you know what being sealed means. I…I don’t have a definite plan on how I’m getting out of here yet! Why did you have to hold onto me!?”, he insists, grabbing your face roughly and forcing you to look at him while the violent tone in his loud voice shatters your heart.

Your whole life was ahead of you. Sure, Satoru would have missed you every time his heart beats, but missing you doesn’t hurt as much as destroying your whole damn life. He would have never asked such a thing from you. Never. And even though he himself wants so spend his so desperately by your side, this surely isn’t what he wanted.

“Because I love you, Satoru!”, you scream out.

He breathes heavy, eyes completely lost in yours while you cry your heart out. Fuck, you shouldn’t be here, this didn’t go as planned at all. He knew about the risks, that this mission will cost countless lives and yours definitely shouldn’t be one of them. He’d rather die himself than taking your life away from you. But now you’re here, sealed along with him.

“I love you too, (y/n). That’s why I wanted to protect you. That’s why I wanted you to stay in our apartment”, he murmurs.

Satoru can’t hold it back any longer. Without thinking twice, he wraps his strong arms around you, holds you close against his chest, strokes your head gently just like you deserve it. This was dumb, this was reckless, this might cost you your life.

But you did it for him. You did it because your love for him is greater than your fear of dying. And that’s probably the biggest proof of love that exists.

“I’ll promise you we’ll make it out of here, okay?”

“That doesn’t matter to me. As long as you are here, I’m happy”, you reply without thinking twice.

He pulls you in for a passionate kiss. Maybe love is the most twisted curse of all, but you’ll make it out together, he just knows it.

Your sacrifice won't be useless.

Suguru awakening by the sound of your voice

You heard rumors in the underground for a while now – rumors about Geto Suguru suddenly being alive again. And even though you would give your very own life for that being true, you just know it can’t be possible. After all, you were there. Back then, when he died through the hands of fucking Satoru Gojo and his student.

You know you shouldn’t be here, that searching at Shibuya is dumb and reckless considering the fact that you’re not bonding with the other jujutsu sorcerers, but also definitely not with the curses that roam around this area either. It’s stupid, but you simply can’t help yourself.

The little spark of hope that the love of your life might still be around haunts you down the crowded streets of Shibuya. You never really had the time to say goodbye to Suguru. After all the things you’ve been through together, building an empire to get rid of all those monkeys, building your very own life together and growing on each other, you could only stare in disbelief at his dead body. So many years. So many years he stood by your side, lifted you up when you were down, cuddled you into sleep, treated you like the most precious treasure on earth.

Maybe he did make it somehow, though. Maybe it was his plan all this time that everyone around him thinks he’s dead. If you haven’t seen it with your very own eyes, you’ll simply refuse to give up the idea of him still walking on this earth.

You just want your Suguru back.

Your ears perk up when you hear his familiar voice and you can’t help but sign in annoyance. Of course Satoru Gojo has to be here, trying to save as many monkeys as possible. But where he is, there’s action. And where action is you’ll probably find Suguru.

With neckbreaking speed you run down the underground tracks, screams and cries of pain and grief ringing louder and louder. Shivers run down your spine before you can stop them, a scenery of absolute horror reveals itself in front of your eyes. Deformed and dead curses plastered on the floor along with a few corpses of humans here and there. You can tell by the look in their frightened eyes that they’ve seen some horrible things. Huh, you couldn’t care less though. After all, you’re only here for Suguru. You don’t give a damn about some monkeys.

“I don’t know who you are, but you’re not Suguru Geto!”

Your feet pick up their pace immediately, heart starting to hammer against your chest. That was Satoru. And he said his name. Is it really possible that your Suguru is here? Are rumors true after all? Until this moment, you never allowed yourself a single spark of excitement. But now that even Satoru said it you can’t help but grin from ear to ear, literally levitating into the direction of Satoru’s voice.

And then you hear it, loud and clearly. The sweet voice of your boyfriend, the love of your life. The voice you never imagined to ever hear again.

“Suguru?”, you cry out.

Time stands still when you catch a glimpse of him. Oh, he looks as handsome as ever, a wide grin plastered on his face while talking to Satoru. But something about his appearance makes your heart drop. You can sense that it’s his cursed technique, your eyes tell you clearly that this is Geto Suguru.

But your heart just knows this isn’t him.

“Is that really you, (y/n)?”, he questions when his brown eyes meet yours.

But they aren’t glimmering in excitement like they used to, his smile isn’t as wide as it was when you last saw him. No, everything inside of you screams in your face that it can’t be him, that this is the shell of the man you used to love. You want to break down and cry, to grieve losing the love of your life again.

But you swallow the lump in your throat away. Whoever this is needs to pay for using Geto’s legacy. And you’ll make sure he will.

“So it’s true, you really are still alive!”, you breathe out while running towards him.

Oh, you want nothing more than to die when he embraces you in a hug, his arms feeling just like they did back then. His smells tingles in your nose, reminds you of the countless nights you wore his shirts to bed and how you always sniffed on his clothing before washing it. You loved this man with every fiber of your being.

“Life itself, darling”, the voice of Suguru confirms, his hand stroking your hair just how you like it.

“This isn’t him, (y/n)! This is not your boyfriend!”, Gojo shouts in your direction, making you almost lose your cool.

You want to scream into his face, want to break down in tears. But instead, you burry your face in Suguru’s neck to stop yourself from crying.

“Shut up, Satoru. You’re ruining the moment.”

Whoever controls Suguru needs to truly believe that you’re on his side, that you are convinced he’s in fact Suguru. If that thing is able to control his body, it might as well be capable of using his cursed technique. And you know that you can’t stand a chance against him.

“I thought you were dead”, you hush, his hand gently lifts your head.

“But as you see, I’m clearly alive. I’m so sorry for not reaching out to you, my love. But this is a part of my plan. I couldn’t afford to get you involved into this mess”, he explains briefly, a warm smile playing around his lips while his eyes lock with yours.

“I’m so glad you’re back…”

“Did I tell you how much I love you already?”

“Go to bed darling, it’s way too late for you to be up.”

“Don’t worry my love, I’ll be back by your side as soon as I killed that boy. Have fun at the night parade.”

You blink away the tears that form in your eyes when memories begin to flood your mind over and over again. This has to end right here and now.

One last hug. You need to hug his body one final time. Just one sweet moment of pretending that Suguru is actually here, that you’re not talking with his empty shell.

“But you aren’t the man I loved.”

With a swift motion, you pull out your cursed gun and aim for his head, ready to shoot the man you love.

But you can’t.

Faster than you are able to react, he grabs your wrist so roughly that your gun falls deafeningly to the ground. Your heart sinks into your chest, sight clouded by thick anger and hot tears.

“Nice try. But I know you’re usually smarter than that, (y/n).”

“How dare you to use his body like that…I will make you pay for every damn minute that you defile him! Get out of his body!”, you scream on top of your lungs.

Over and over, you fight against his firm grip, try to escape his cruel laughter while his eyes seem to pierce right through you. But he’s too damn strong and you weren’t prepared for something like this.

Violently, he grabs you by the throat, feet floating in the air while it feels as if your windpipe is going to rip every minute. You can’t catch your breath. With every passing second, your body refuses to fight back, vision already starting to get blurry by the lack of oxygen and blood pumping through your veins.

Is this really how it ends? Are you really dying through the hands of your former lover? How pathetic, how bittersweet. At least you’ll be by his side when you meet again, with your Suguru.

“I always loved you, Suguru”, you cough out.

Suddenly, his firm grip loosens and before you can catch yourself, you fall to the ground, gasping for air like a fish on land. What the hell happened? Why did he let go? Through watery eyes, you stare at the scenery unfolding in front of you. Suguru’s hand is wrapped around is very own neck, strangling himself so violently that he gasps for air.

“How interesting, that never happened!”, Suguru’s voice announces.

And then he stretches out his other hand. Into your direction, as if he’s trying to lift you off the ground. Tears start to swell up your eyes all over again as you take it. His fingers gently intertwine with yours, just like they always used to.

“I love the way your hands fit in mine.”

“The whole world should know that you are mine, darling.”

“Suguru”, you whisper with trembling voice.

It’s him. It just has to be him, you can feel it. Tenderly, he caresses your thumb while you completely break down. Fuck, you miss him so much. You want nothing more than your Suguru back. Why? Why did he have to die? Why did you even hope that he might be back? What a cruel joke all of this is, ripping open your party healed wounds all over again.

“I want you back”, you cry out, making even Satoru swallow heavy.

His index finger shakes telling you no before his hand swallows yours one last time.

You know that you can’t stay here like this forever, that Suguru’s remaining won’t be able to fight back too long, so you make the decision that tears you apart.

With one last loving press of his hands, you let him go forever even though it shatters your heart. The man in front of you might have Suguru’s voice, appearance and memories, but this isn’t him. You have to accept that the love of your life is gone.

“If you really think you can control Suguru like that you have to be a little dumb. He’s way too strong to get overpowers by some parasite. I will come back. And I will kill you for what you did to him”, you hiss.

“I’ll be waiting for you, darling.”

Darling. Yes, you’ll always be Suguru’s darling. But that won’t stop you from ripping his body apart if you have to. At least know you know that he’ll always be by your side.

Always.

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becauseicantthinkwritings · 1 year

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Teeth

Part 11

Masterlist

Warnings: Canon typical themes, Billy mentioning his past, voyeurism/exhibitionism, masturbation, *slow nod* dumbasses.

A/N: Apologies if you're vegan/vegetarian/don't eat beef, I usually try to make these things neutral, but in this case, panthers are carnivores and that had a factor in the meal I chose.

Special dedication to @blanchedelioncourt for those two cute checkmarks you see beside my name. Thank you so much my love 💖

He liked meat.

He'd confessed to you on the drive home that he could never pass up an opportunity to indulge on a nice piece of steak, or even fish.

You liked the idea of preparing a filet mignon for him, but with no cuts at home, you'd quickly ordered from the nearest meat supplier, thankful that with today's technology, same day delivery was possible.

You'd agreed on a plan, he had to go to his place to get cleaned up, and he'd be at your door around seven.

Since he wasn't a fan of green beans or broccoli, you decided to do sautéed potatoes, and maybe a few glazed vegetables.

It was exciting, preparing a meal for him, you found enjoyment in the planning process.

The meat arrives at your place at the same time you do, and you examine it, making sure it's high quality, desperate to impress your boss, coming over to your home.

My friend, you correct with a smile, pulling out ingredients and beginning prep work as you close the door behind you.

You spot him, moving around in his place while you work, and you're happy that you decided to have your curtains open, even if to just catch tiny glimpses of him on occasion. Seeing more of him could never be a downfall.

Your mind jumps to the panther, and you let out a blissful sigh, feeling so unbelivably safe for the first time in a long while.

You've just finished with the potatoes and vegetables when there's a knock on your door.

Calm down, you tell yourself, when you realise your hands are clammy with anxiety.

"Hey." You say to him easily, letting him in. He's dressed down in a long sleeve burgundy sweater and jeans, and you definitely try your hardest not to devour him with your eyes.

You'd been able to shower too, tugging on one of your more casual dresses, the comfort and length of it managing to emphasize how much this was not a date. If it were a date, you'd be more inclined to wear something shorter, maybe tighter, but your loose dress hopefully showcased just enough without advertising too much.

"You look nice." He follows up, after saying hello, and you smile and return the compliment...casually... like friends would.

"I'm almost finished. How would you like your steak done?" You ask him, while busy fussing over your potatoes.

"Rare, but, you know you don't have to, right? I would have been fine with pasta."

You have to look away from him, bite your tongue so that you don't say something snarky or flirtatious.

"I wanted to." You respond easily, heating up your cast iron pan.

"Where did you learn to cook?" He asks, coming up next to you to study the little layout beside your stovetop, the garlic and rosemary prepped and ready to go.

"Online," You admit, looking up at him with a little smile, "It wasn't too hard to pick up, I really like eating."

"Good," He murmurs, reaching for a rosemary stem, breaking it in half and bringing it up to his nose to take a deep inhale. Your insides curling tight at how close he is, you want to lean in and press your head to his chest.

"You're so good at so many things." He murmurs absentmindedly, and it's not the heat of the pan that warms your face this time.

The steaks smell delicious as they cook, and Billy hovers over your shoulder, asking questions that you're very happy to answer. You even explain to him the steak finger test, explaining by touching his hands, how you'd know the meat is at the desired readiness.

He takes in information easily, doesn't get defensive, or act as if he already knows. If he has a question, he isn't afraid to ask you.

You might love that about him the most, how easy it is to be around him. There's no condescention or ego in the way, there's just him, and you, and conversation enough to fill the room.

When everything is plated, you reach for the cast iron pan to place it in the sink.

You grab a cloth, wrapping in around the handle, picking up the pan easily.

On the way into the sink, the hot handle grazes your fingers.

You hiss before your body even registers the pain, your fingertips screaming in brutal betrayal at being scorched.

He's beside you instantly, opening the tap to pull your hand under the cool stream.

"Ow, oh f-" You stop yourself, humming in pain.

One of his broad hands is against your back, rubbing in an attempt to soothe as he tries to care for your hand.

You try hard to resist swearing, and eventually he notices.

"You can say 'fuck' if you want, I don't mind."

You look up with him, a pained smile of resistance plasterd onto your face.

"Come on, say 'fuck' for me."

"Fuuuucccckkk." You draw out, letting the frustration of your pain out in one breath.

He laughs, you find yourself smiling along.

"See? We're friends, you can swear in front of me, I'll even go first so that you don't feel shy about it."

After a moment of baited anticipation, he opens his mouth.

"Shit." He says.

"Bitch." You respond, making a game out of the crude words.

"Asshole." He follows up.

You giggle, speaking without too much thought.

"Cock."

The air seems to freeze, holding still, ever patient to pass judgement on whether you've gone too far.

He leans in a little, till your noses are near touching, you can feel your body coiled tight at his proximity.

"Pussy." He whispers, and you feel the ascension of your soul to high heaven.

He doesn't allow the atmosphere to grow awkward with your stunned silence, he pulls your fingers from under the cool water to examine them. There's no pain anymore, and definitely no real damage done.

"Do they still hurt?" he asks.

"N-no," you answer, "It was nothing serious."

Billy nods in understanding.

"We should eat." You utter, doing your very best not to stutter and succeeding.

You offer him a glass of zinfandel, and you take one for yourself before sitting across from him. The wine is ruby red, and though it's advertised as a sweet wine, you don't find it very sweet at all.

You cut your meat slowly, waiting patiently for him to cut into his.

You sigh happily when you see the inside of his steak is an almost perfect rare, appreciating that you came very near the desired colour.

You try not to stare at him, or make him uncomfortable as he brings the first piece up to his mouth.

You're vibrating with worry as he takes his first bite, looking politely down at your own plate and waiting for a response.

A low groan spills from him.

You look up in surprise at his face as your toes curl at the rough sound. It goes right down to your cunt, pulsing with desire since he looked into your eyes and whispered that filthy word earlier.

His eyes are closed, his fingers wrapped tightly around the fork as he chews. Your heart pounds as you realise that his current state of bliss has been caused by you.

He opens his eyes, fixes them right on you.

"That is fucking delicious." He says, his voice low and gravelly as he picks up a piece of potato this time.

You sigh in relief, cutting into your piece next, excited to taste what he does.

It is good, you hum in appreciation as you eat it, relieved, that you managed not to mess this up.

It's only been one meal, and yet somehow, Billy has found himself captivated by you.

No other relationship had ever blossomed so quickly, or made him feel this safe in his vulnerabilities.

Being around you was as easy as breathing, he could laugh, and say the first thing that came to mind and not have to second guess himself because you were so welcoming.

He wonders if all of you would be welcoming to him.

The panther takes the opportunity to insert vivid thoughts of your parted thighs, images of your slick cunt ready for him to take.

He could scent it, between the savoury notes of the meal, was the sweet call of your arousal.

You wanted him, he knew it, and he wanted you too.

He holds himself back from acting on it, doesn't want to destroy the little pieces of friendship he's managed to gather with you. He doesn't want you to think that any of this was motivated by just sex.

"Will you tell me more about growing up?" You ask, three-quarter way into the meal.

He almost chokes on a carrot.

"It's.... not the best story." He responds.

"Oh, it's fine if you don't want to talk about it. I didn't mean to pry."

But he wants to. He wants to tell you about it.

"My mother dropped me off at a fire station when I was born. I have no idea who my father is."

"I'm sorry."

He shakes his head.

"Don't be, she was an addict from what I understand, might have been worse for me if she kept me."

You smile sadly at him, reaching across and covering his hand. He looks down at the touch, before turning his hand upwards so that your hands are clasped together.

"The group home wasn't all bad, just lacking you know? A decent family, but with all the important parts missing."

You squeeze his hand, and he squeezes back.

"I ran away when I was fifteen, kind of just jumped from place to place, living off scraps, sleeping wherever was safest, and then I met Frank a couple of years later."

Billy grins.

"Frank saved my life, and then we joined the military together. Gave me a rough brotherhood I didn't know I needed. Served for ten years and here I am."

"Wow, that's quite a story," you murmur, looking deep in thought.

"Why did you run away?"

He swallows, looks away from your inquisitive eyes.

"You know, I just got tired of them."

"Oh."

He shrugs.

"Yeah, well I hope your childhood was better."

You smile.

"Maybe so, I mean, comparatively, but not without its own problems."

He nods in understanding, eager to hear more.

You're almost done with the story of your childhood when there's an odd knock on your door.

Nine taps, with a short pause each third tap.

Your eyebrows draw together in confusion.

"I hope you don't mind, I ordered dessert." He says, standing up, and walking to your door.

He opens it, and you watch him accept a little cloth parcel from the person on the other side of the door with a nod of his head.

Curiously, you slip off your seat and approach him as he closes your door. When he turns, he finds you right before him, examining the item in his hands.

"You ordered dessert?" You ask, confused beyond measure.

"I wanted to surprise you, and I couldn't pick it up before coming here, so I had it delivered downstairs and brought up. I hope that's okay?"

Surprise me? You think, an odd feeling of delight swimming inside of you.

You smile, reaching for the box that he gives easily, and you place it onto your counter, taking care to unwrap it gently.

Your mouth parts when you catch sight of it. It's a lemon meringue, with a strawberry layer beneath the toasted marshmallow fluff, and a beautiful strawberry topping all of it off.

There's only one pie, but it's about the size of your hand, definitely large enough for the two of you to share.

"It looks amazing." You comment, tilting your head to examine the toasted brown waves of the marshmallow fluff.

"It is, I got it from one of my favourite dessert places. The chef's ex-marine, like me."

You smile up at him, grabbing two spoons from your kitchenette and taking the pie into one hand.

"Couch?" You offer, no room for arguement, you ease yourself onto the soft seat, trying your best not to topple the dessert.

He sits beside you, and you turn to face him, offering a spoon in his direction.

"I've never had a meringue before, but I always wanted to try it."

"Is that what you call it?" He responds, "I usually just ask for the lemon pie."

A sound of humour mixed with pain leaves the back of your throat.

"You're lucky they get your order right," you say with a laugh, "One day, you might just get an actual lemon pie."

He hums, taking a small spoonful of the meringue and tapping it against your spoonful.

"Well, here's to getting what you want."

It's an odd toast, but you follow his lead and put the spoonful of dessert into your mouth.

The first flavour you get is the delicious sweetness of the marshmallow and strawberry, the sweet citrus tang of the lemon follows next and the crust rounds all the flavours up into a delicious and fruity finish.

"Fuck." You sigh, closing your eyes for a long moment and simply basking in the flavours that melt right into your mouth.

You don't look up at him, taking another hasty spoonful before sinking right back into your circle of bliss.

You hum at the flavour, the tangy strawberry slices below the marshmallow fluff adds a very interesting taste.

"Sorry." You murmur, absentmindedly to Billy, lost in the flavour.

"For what now?" He asks and you smile.

"For being weird."

He hums.

"Honestly, I'd say the dessert had the desired effect."

"Yeah, if making me fall in love with a pie was the goal."

"So you admit it's a pie, then?"

You let out a little chuckle, looking up at him. He raises his eyebrows at you as he takes another spoonful into his mouth.

"I never said it wasn't a pie!" You shoot at him, "I'm just saying, there's a difference between what you ask for and what this is."

He leans in, teasingly, your heart stutters as he gets closer.

"And yet somehow, I always get what I want." He comments, and you gulp.

Up close, he notices that a few strands of your hair a clinging to your face and are almost in your mouth.

The raises a hand, it hovers over your cheek and you try to keep breathing and not drool while you're at it.

"May I?" He asks, and you nod your head quickly, before he even has a chance to decide against it.

His fingertips are gentle on your cheek, brushing away the strands in small swipes. You sigh at the relief of subtle irritation, giving him a small smile.

Your breath finally stops when he cups your face in his hand, and you feel your eyelids droop. His hand is warm, against your feverish cheek and he's so close that your noses brush.

You mind is screaming at him, with urgency, the words kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me, are chanted inside your head.

He does not kiss you.

Instead, he pulls back, rough palm slipping from your cheek leaving a coolness that wasn't there before.

He checks his watch.

"It's getting late, I should go."

You try to curb the disappointment inside of you by eating the last spoonful of tart.

"Yeah, sure." you say after, standing and piling the spoons onto the few dishes in your sink before washing your hands.

You open the door of your aparment for him.

"I'll see you in the morning?" He asks.

"Mhmm," You hum the affirmative, "Take care." You add in after a moment.

He gives you a nod, and then he's gone.

You wait, back pressed to the door till you hear the elevator outside ding as it reaches your floor. You're patient for a few more moments before you move, grabbing a throw pillow from your couch and screaming into it out of frustration.

Panting, you give the pillow a little punch for good measure.

What an infuriating man he was, tormenting you this way.

You lie there, with the pillow over your face for a few minutes after the frustration has left your body in a fatigued mess.

The lights clicking on in his home catches your attention.

You hated him.

He made your blood boil, he made your body ache, he made you wet and he took no acknowledgement of his actions.

You reach up, under your dress, tugging your panties off in one swift move, kicking it away to be worried about later.

You groan when your fingers meet the soft edges of your dripping cunt, ready and eager for the pleasure it so deserves.

You suck in a deep breath, arching your back and reaching up to unclasp your bra with sticky fingers, pulling it from below your dress before tugging the straps of your dress down.

You sigh happily, breasts exposed to the open air as your fingers meet your cunt once more, sliding up to brush against your clit, you gasp in surprise, truly unaware of how aroused you really were until now.

You wished he would have kissed you, you think about the filthy way he'd dip his tongue into your mouth and explore. His mouth would taste like the lemon meringue you were sharing, he'd groan into your mouth hopefully, like he was tasting something worthwhile, the way he groaned over your cooking earlier.

You sigh, one hand worrying your swollen bud, while you raise the other to pinch at an unsuspecting nipple. Your breath hitches, losing sight of your surroundings as a sharp wave of bliss overtakes for a moment.

The pillow near your face slips off the couch in your shaking frenzy, and it opens up your line of sight to the windows of his apartment.

You groan, imagines him looking at you while you play with yourself, imagining the filthy words he'd say if he could see you.

You turn your head from your exposed window, facing the couch instead so that you can imagine more clearly that he's watching you.

You tug your dress higher, the wetness between your thighs threatening to spill over and stain your couch.

You think about the way he'd hold you to his body, tight, without any room to breathe or pull away.

What would it feel like to sink down onto his cock? Your breath hitches at the thought. Of having him rock you slowly on his lap, his teeth in your shoulder, your dress undone and barely hanging onto you.

You want to cry from how badly you need him.

You turn your head back to your open window.

There he is.

You shudder out a sigh, working your hand faster between your legs.

You can't see much, the lights behind him casting a shadow over his frame so that you can't see much more than his silhouette.

You know he can see you clearly though, your lights are still on, and you're sure every inch of your body is illuminated for him.

You gasp, tilting your head back, the hand on your breast moving to fist the soft couch tightly as you slowly reach your peak.

Your back arches, and your orgasm slams into you. Your thighs tremble, your entire body shaking, all you can focus on is your clit, circling it just right to prolong the orgasm.

Your nipples tighten further, and you only hesitate for a second before you push two fingers into yourself.

You almost scream, automatically clapping your hand over your mouth as you rock two fingers inside of you.

You remember the way he'd said the word 'pussy' not too long ago.

You turn your head, he's still there.

Enjoying the show? You think in his direction, and when you focus a bit more on his shadow, you notice very subtle movements of his arm. You raise your head to focus on him.

Oh god, is he-

Fuck, he is.

He's touching himself while he looks at you.

You hiss, the very thought of him encourages your hand to move faster, with more force between your legs.

Fuck me, you beg in his direction, I don't want to be your friend anymore.

You let out a long sigh, your fingertips just grazing that blissful spot inside of you.

You lose focus of everything the next time you cum, gasping, trembling, struggling to do anything more than feel the absolute bliss flooding your system, so much pent up frustration caused by being around him being released from you on each breath you take.

You sigh, pulling your fingers out of your dripping center, turning in his direction to look over at him.

One hand pressed to his window, you watch his head drop, his open palm fold into a tight fist, the fast movement of his arm slowing into soft strokes.

He must have orgasmed too.

You smile, tugging your dress up to hide your breasts from his view. You know you should move to clean up soon, the wetness of your arousal growing uncomfortable between your thighs, but your eyelids droop instead, looking at him as he looks at you as you drift off to sleep right there on your couch.

You wake up maybe an hour later, sitting up, and yawning, glancing at his dark window for a second before ambling your way to your bathroom.

You go to bed naked, sheets wrapped around you, too drowsy to worry about your modesty.

A/N: Happy Friday! Here is a photo reference for the dessert.

#werepanther!billy russo #monster!billy #monster!billyrusso #monster!billy russo #billy russo #billy russo x reader #ben barnes #billy russo x female reader #my writings #the punisher #billy russo smut

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inklore · 2 years

Note

suddenly thinking sooooo hard about shower sex with hangman kajdkshfks

veracious.

series masterlist

pairing: jake ‘hangman’ seresin x (f)reader

word count: 977

warnings: eighteen+ content, shower sex, dirty talk, porn with feelings i guess, established enemies with benefits, pilot reader, secret relationship, mentions of phoenix and bob.

etc: wrote this in mind with it being a part of this piece but you don’t have to read it to read this. i might write a bigger piece with these two since that tgm brain rot is still going strong, depending on if anyone would want it or not lmao.

i do not give anyone permission to translate or repost my work, please be respectful — if you enjoyed please comment or reblog!

“If you don’t be quiet they’re going to hear you.” His tone is laced in arrogance. Even with his hand over your mouth muffling your moans—even if his large palm wasn’t over your mouth—you both knew it wouldn't be any dent on his ego if anyone was to hear you.

It would be another win for him to get off on. Another way for him to make it more than obvious, without words, just how great Jake Seresin is.

You really need to stop boosting his ego. It’s sickening to watch him smirk after, or during, your little escapades; like he is now. Hangman’s lips at your ear, one hand over your mouth, the other gripping your hip, chest pressed into your back as he fucks you against the tiled wall.

The tiled walls—shower room—you share with your fellow aviators.

Anyone could walk in right now and catch a glimpse of the two of you fucking behind the flimsy curtain. No doubt everyone in a mile radius has heard your moans already.

“You didn’t..” Phoenix’s voice is laced in just as much disgust as her expression is.

“Didn’t what?”

“Fuck Seresin.” Her face scrunches into a grimace. Looks like she might actually be sick.

“I’d rather die!”

“Oh, yeah? Is that why he keeps eye fucking you from across the room,” she states, argues. “And why Bob said he saw the two of you leaving the deck like your asses were on fire, Seresin’s hands on said ass.”

Fuck, Bob. You’re searching the bar to send him a threatening scowl. That little shit. And fuck Hangman for not being able to keep his hands to himself—in most cases you could have chalked it up to the endless banter and arguments the two of you always found yourselves in. Keeping that facade of pure hatred going for the masses.

“Sweets,” she says your call sign like it’s a warning. Look turning from grossed out to serious, “getting involved with him is the last thing you need on your conscience.”

“We’re not involved!” You huff, “like I said, I’d rather die.”

After all of you had come back from the bar, you’d waited until the halls were pilot free to set on an angry march to Hangman’s room. Only to have Coyote answering his door with a “he’s in the showers” paired with a smirk you wanted to smack off of his face.

And that’s where you found him, naked and soaping his chest as you yanked back the curtain.

“We need to stop this,” hands crossed over your chest, eyes trying to stay focused on his face and not…further…down.

“Well, good evening to you too, Sweets.” Now was not the time for his aggravating smirk because you really might punch him for it.

“Bob saw us!”

“Did he?” He’s completely unphased, turning his back to the faucet to rinse it.

“Yes! And I’d rather no one else know-”

“Think you and I both know it’s too late for that.”

You scowl at him, even though you knew he was right. Fuck him for being right, fuck Bob, and fuck you for falling for those pretentious pretty boy charms in the first place.

“Mine as well keep giving them something to talk about.” His smirk grew, showing off those perfect white teeth of his, before he grabbed the back of your neck and pulled you into the shower with him, pressing your lips together in a rough kiss.

Which is how you got here.

The hard snap of his hips making your ass ripple, your thighs pressed together in a way that makes it feel like Hangman’s cock is tearing you in two.

“Would you like that, baby?” You want to gag at the pet name, want to elbow him in the ribs. Want to do a lot of things but he’s rolling his hips in that way that has the tip of his cock touching that spot inside of you that makes stars blur your vision. “Everyone already knows you’re mine. Even you know it.” His teeth bite at your ear, his heavy pants filling your eardrums when he’s not. So all you can hear is him—the sounds of his skin slapping yours, his grunts, pants, your wetness drowning out the run of the water hitting the tile—all you can feel is him.

A trend of the way Hangman fucks, lives. Center of attention, in the sky, on land, in the bedroom. Wants everyone to know he’s the one they're admiring or pissed off at.

In your case: the one fucking you. The one who drives you insane but you can’t get enough off.

And you’d hate him for it, should hate him for it. Should have let the embarrassment of Phoenix finding out ward you off of him for the rest of your life. If this was a year ago you know you’d still despise him and be giving him shit right now. But so much time has passed. A tension come and gone and only resolved between the two of you by fucking.

His thrusts pick up speed, his grunts echoing deeper in his chest. The hand on your hip falls between your legs to rub the pad of his index finger against your clit, “you’re my girl, right?”

The strangled moan you let out as you nod frantically is something you’ll deny later. Know your cheeks will burn when he passes you in the rec room, putting on your big show of hating him in front of everyone; “thought you were my girl” he’ll whisper against your ear and it’ll simultaneously make you scowl and flutter between your legs.

Because yeah, maybe you were his girl and maybe you didn’t care who knew—you cared a whole lot actually—but just as long as he kept fucking you like this, it lightened the blow of everyone knowing.

#jake hangman seresin #jake seresin x reader #hangman x reader #jake hangman seresin x reader #hangman smut #jake seresin x y/n #jake hangman seresin smut #jake seresin smut #jake seresin one shot #hangman x y/n #jake seresin fic #hangman #jake seresin x f!reader #hangman x f!reader #jake seresin x you #top gun #thots !#green light series

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tyredyre · 2 years

Text

YOU SLEEP, I EAT — SUGURU GETOU

TW // mature contents

After working away for a whole week, he was finally at home.

All the lights were off. The dim moon light and the blip of neon sign outside seeped in through the windows and curtain of the bedroom—your bedroom. A petite figure inside the blanket looked warm. You seemed unbothered with your messy hair when you care about it in the morning. A little purr like kitten, the soft motion of your chest breathe the air, the small gap in between your lips, he found them cute.

He was there for a good couple minutes. He twirled the strands of your silky hair before he positioned himself snuggling you. His nose nuzzled your exposed nape, planting a gentle kiss at first. A little did he knew he was greedy to suck more of your scents—it was your favorite fresh tangerine.

All those loving gestures twitched your eyes and nose. He beamed a smile feeling intrigued then brushed his lips against your shoulder and neck.

"Y/n..." A small whisper of your name slipped out his tongue, right behind your left ear.

"Umm... Suguru..." Still half-asleep you murmured.

"Yes, doll. Miss me?" Suguru stroked your hair in slow motion.

"Is that really you....?" You shifted your body to face him. Your eyes were half-closed but you were sure you caught a glimpse of his tender face. You didn't realize that the grip of your fingers on his shirt was tightening. "How?"

"Caught the last train for you, hun. Couldn't wait to meet my sugar plum."

"Mhm... miss you too, Sugu..." You would jump out of your bed if you weren't sleepy. A week without his presence around, the thirst and hunger of it, all mixed in a hug. You sank your head in his chest. Even in your half-asleep state you were elated to even hear his heart beating.

The feelings were mutual. Suguru couldn't wait to meet you, to embrace you, to feel every inch of you. He wrapped his arms around you, placing his palms on your back to pull you closer to him.

Faintly you questioned, "You came so late tho. What time is it now....?"

"Hmm.... 2 am?" Suguru responded after peeking the clock on the nightstand.

"You must be tired, right? Let's sleep together then." You nudged your head back to his rib.

"A little bit more, 'kay? I'm going to eat first."

"Eating? What are you going to eat? Ramen?"

"Nope," he replied before bending over your ear. "I'm going to eat you so good till you can't get enough of me."

"S-Suguru what are you..."

Suguru shut your lips with his. He sucked more of your air and twirled your tongue, no intention to let go of you. He was eager, he was passionate, he was wild to mess up your sleep with his hungry kiss. Not to mention his wandering hand that slipped under the fabric of your pajamas, untying your bra and fondle the mound of your breast. It was intoxicating. You were half-asleep to even stop him from doing it, to even pause and gasp for more air, to even halt him only to call out of his name.

"S-Sugu..."

"Shh, quiet. You sleep, I eat."

The next moment the pajamas were nowhere to be found and you had Suguru in between your legs, brushing his lips against your inner tighs. It was overwhelming.

"B-but S-Sugu... I have to go to work in hours..."

"I'll have Shoko send the sick leave letter to the office so no worries, princess. Just relax and enjoy, 'kay?"

"F-fuck S-Sugu..." You jolted when he blew the bundle of nerves outside your panties.

"Yes I will fuck you to the brim, baby."

#suguru geto x you #suguru geto #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru x you #suguru geto x reader #suguru geto smut #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen #geto suguru #getou suguru x y/n

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fanfiction101 · 2 months

Text

Jareth x fem! reader

Hey everyone this is my first fanfic hope ya'll like it. If you have any ideas don't be afraid to comment or message me.

Warnings: PURE FLUFFFFFFFFFFFF

I hummed as I walked through the halls of the castle. It was unusually quiet in these halls, although i don't mind. There was often chaos outside the castle and in the throne room thanks to the unruly goblins trying to impress my husband with stupid pranks and tricks.

I moved towards a door that led to a garden and my eyes squinted in the new light. I stood in the doorway, taking in the scenery.

I smiled. This was one of my favorite places here in the goblin city. Jareth made it for me when I first came here. I made a hard choice to leave my old life behind for this.

But, really I didn't have much of a choice.

It was only 3 years ago that I ran the Labyrinth to try to win my younger brother, Matthew, back. I had failed at the last minute. But Jareth gave me a choice- to either go back to my old life and he keeps Matthew or to stay with him and send Matthew back safe and sound.

I suppose that I did the righteous thing. I reasoned that Matthew has more of a future than I so I sent him back and hoped that one day I would find a way to escape back to the normal world.

I did everything to do the opposite of what Jareth wanted. I stayed in my room except to shower and use the bathroom. I destroyed the curtains and blankets. I ate very little and refused to talk to Jareth until one day I fell ill.

I never felt worse. My entire body ached, chills, nausea, and I could barely stay awake. Despite the way i treated him, Jareth stayed with me everyday. I would catch glimpses of him as I went in and out of sleep, covering me in blankets and washing my face.

After a week, I was feeling better. I woke up one day and had enough energy to get out of bed. I drew myself a bed and got dressed.

I wandered around the castle until a goblin spotted me and led me to the throne room of chaos that I have somehow come to love.

As the goblin opened the door, I spotted Jareth sitting on his throne and he perked up as soon as he spotted me.

The goblins started to hush down, eagerly staring at us. He took my hand and said that he had something for me. He then led me to the garden that I love to much today.

it is always in bloom and the plants always bear ripe fruit with a stone patio with a small table and two chairs in the middle.

I sat down in one of the chairs and smiled and closed my eyes.

"Hello darling." a voice that I knew so well, spoke.

i gasped in surprise and opened my eyes. I started to laugh when I saw Jareth in the other chair. "Oh my goodness Jareth. You scared me."

He smiled and walked over to me as I stood up. he grabbed my hips and i wrapped my arms around his neck and I lightly kissed him. I pulled away and Jareth rested his head on my shoulder.

"Good morning to you too." I joked.

i could feel Jareth smiling into my shoulder. he pulled away, keeping one hand on my waist and one hand dramatically extending his hand towards the castle. "Would you like breakfast my queen?"

"Of course my king."

#jareth x reader #labyrinth 1986 #jareth the goblin king

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thatone-brightstar · 9 months

Text

Before You (Carmen Berzatto X Fem!OC)

It was Isaac before Carmy, and it was Ross before you.

Part I. // Part II.

Part III: February.

words: 5.8k

a/n: I'll be gone for a while. Enjoy this ferewell gift. Not proofread, couldn't bother to.

“What’s Vygotsky’s theory?”

“Uhm… the one where a child’s cognitive development and learning ability is guided by their social interactions?”

“Yes, good.” Carmy whispers back with a gentle smile. “Okay, now gimme the four stages of Piaget’s cognitive development.”

Sensorimotor… preoperational, concrete operational and… shit.”

Her head goes blank, lids heavy with the weight of the day and the darkness. The only source of light coming in from the green neon light continuously strobing behind his flimsy curtains.

“C’mon, you know it…” He reassures from his space in the mattress, legs crossed and bare back resting against the wall.

Ross throws herself face forward and groans against the plushness. School and her job had extended the day longer than usual, and now with the post-sex study session not being part of her plan, all she wanted was to finally give her drained body a rest.

“Formal-” She jolts her head up from the bed, hair an even bigger mess around her. “- formal operational!”

Carmy nods, his own messy hair swaying to the rhythm of his soft movements. “Fuck yes- see, told you you could do it.”

She falls back against the covers with a pleased smile and stretches her limbs out in a way that reminds him of a cat- confident and graceful. His shirt feathers delicately around her upper thighs, cotton taking the place of where his lips had met the tender skin not so long ago and he can still feel her soft flesh rub over them again.

“Last one-” He tries to say but is interrupted by her groan. “-it’s the easiest one c’mon, first rule of patient confidentiality?”

“ ...snitches get stitches?” She whispers, doe eyes boring deep into his from her laid down position.

Her answer yanks a chuckle from his overworked chest and he nods down to her, repeating the phrase back. “Yeah that’s… actually correct- snitches do get stitches.”

He contemplates her closed eyes and relaxing features for a couple seconds, how every slow breath takes her deeper into her subconscious and away from him, before closing her binder and standing to turn off the bathroom light.

Ross stirs in place, slight frown forming when the mattress dips heavily beside her, and the weight of his body has hers rotating a few inches to his side. Carmy remains still, hands by his sides and making little effort to move or even breathe as the act of sharing his bed is still one of novelty. Ross hadn’t spent too many nights over, always creating an excuse to exempt herself from the situation.

On days like these, though, when she’s too worked out to make the drive back home and the warmth radiating off her is enough to chase the winter chill away, Carmen feels an unnerving sensation flourish deep in his chest. He would associate it as melancholy, although he doesn’t know what he’s melancholic for exactly.

Maybe for being given a glimpse of something that had been unknown to him until now, something he knew wouldn’t last him long. Like mourning the death of a loved one long before it happens, the inevitable loss.

“What’s the original beef?” She mumbles half asleep, pulling him from his head and he swallows back down the thick goo bubbling in his stomach once again.

“Hmm?”

“There’s like… five shirts of ‘em in your drawer.” Her voice is thick, mostly speaking past the veil of sleep. “Is it like a band?”

He breathes out a thin laugh- a lighthearted sigh- and remembers the multiple blue shirts hiding in the bottom of the drawer he let her pull a shirt from. “No… it’s uh- the family restaurant.”

“Hmm, that sounds really cool…”

“A restaurant?” He scoffs. “You work in one…”

The girl’s voice is such a quiet whisper, that he can hear the light crinkles and whistles of the vowels forming on her tongue. “No… a family one.”

The warmth of her hand slides timidly over the sheets, pointer finger wrapping shakily over his cold pinky and eradicating the few inches left of the glacier wall she had been unknowingly calving at since before New Years. With her euphonic laughs invading the service area anytime she walked to the back; and with her short temper terribly disguised behind expressive eyes.

With a shuddering exhale and eyes glued shut behind a creased brow, he hooks his finger around hers and gently drapes her limp hand over his abdomen. His other palm and volatile pulse cradle it tenderly, rubbing a calloused thumb over the velvet knuckles until he drifts peacefully asleep.

It felt almost like slipping into a warm bath. Comfortable, fragrant, embraceful. His kind words flickered bright on the wicks of the candles he lit just for her, painting the steam across a matted gold.

It felt like soft kisses over shoulder blades, uneven digits tracing goosebumps across a bare back, hair brushed to the side. The sweet mumbles pouring from her lips fall on paper boats, rocking on the choppy water over their joined thighs.

It was soft and slow and silky. Like the taste of roses and soap invading her mouth with each gentle stroke of his tongue and the gasps she takes when his hips snap up. Her hand slips from the edge of the tub, wrapping instead over golden tendrils catching the lowlights. One of his arms circles her waist while the other has disappeared between them, past the pink shimmering liquid.

She braces herself for the wave of shivers the contact will arise, but it never comes. Instead, the walls seem to be growing taller, making space for the water that’s beginning to surpass her waist.

Ross pulls around the tightening arm to make an escape but it’s useless against the growing strength of Carmy’s hold, almost pushing the last bit of air from her lungs. She wants to scream at his face- beg with burning tears that he let her go- as the water rapidly bubbles around the shoulders he once sweetly kissed. There’s rocks in her mouth, thick and heavy ones that roll down her esophagus and ground her back to the porcelain floor.

With a blurry sight and tear stained cheeks, she tries to quickly read his hardened expression for any trace of apathy or remorse, but any of it is gone. He sees through her, past her ghost, like you would a glass window in a café while awaiting the arrival of somebody else.

It’s the haunting expression of nothingness that breaks her out right after the water devours them both.

The strobing green neon light outside his window flashes in her widened eyes once awake, though not fully conscious. She pries the deadweight of his arm off her waist with all her strength and rolls to the side in a heaving fit of dry coughs that will surely wake him up. Throat burning dry, Ross reaches an arm back to his chest, feeling the accelerated rhythm of his breath and while her coughs subside, she turns to catch the pained expression looming over a sweaty brow.

A croak similar to his name scratches the walls of her throat as she aimlessly crawls over the covers to his tense form. She grazes her trembling hands over his face and pushes back the strands sticking to his cold forehead. “Carmy- hey, c’mon wake up-”

His words are a mumbling mess, mixed between sighs and desperate inhales failing to pass through his tightened jaw. Strained tendons bulge from the sides of his neck and the scattered movement of his eyes behind the thin lids raises her panic even higher. Her logic hangs off the window railing, next to the flashing sign, as she moves above him and pulls his head to rest on the soft of her thighs.

The room is silent, apart from his struggling breaths. “Carmen, please… c’mon hun, you gotta wake up-” She mutters close to his face.

Ross leans down to press her lips over his temple, repeating his name over and over while rocking him side to side. She does it until the salt in her tears combines with the one on his hair and the messy sheet has ribbed her sensitive knees.

In a short instant, Carmy takes in a sharp breath, catapulting his upper body off the mattress. Ross pushes back with a hand flying over her stammering heart as her eyes scan over him. His look is wild, unstable as he searches around the darkened room. With a shaking hand, she barely graces her fingertips over the tense muscle of his shoulder.

“Hey-It’s okay-”

He flinches back as if her skin stung his own and he whips his head back with the sound of her voice. His scattered gaze flickers over her face, eyes wide in fear, as if he’s still stuck inside his nightmare and doesn’t recognize her. Her hand hovers inches away from him, not daring to move any closer.

“You’re okay, Carmen.” She pulls her hand back, down onto her folded thighs and guides him with the best blank tone she can manage. “You’re safe. Breathe…”

He follows the rising movements of her chest, unblinking eyes orbiting back into reality with every inhale. She sneaks a tender ‘You’re okay’ in each exhale. She doesn’t stop her words until she sees his heaves have gone down to slow intakes and his brow isn’t as pinched together anymore.

Carmy mumbles a ‘sorry’ that muffles with the skin of his palm. He takes another inhale, rubbing harshly over his features, then finally opens his eyes to hers. “So-sorry…”

Ross immediately shakes her head. “It’s okay.”

“Are- are you okay? I didn’t hurt your or anythin’- right?”

The bruise forming over her stomach is beginning to hurt, though not as much as the hole his preoccupation for her creates. Despite waking up from what appears to be the worst of night terrors, he still asks her if she’s alright, and she’d rather conceal the aching palpitation over her abdomen with a lie than break him any further.

“No-no. I’m… I’m good. You did scare the shit out of me though…”

“Good… good.” He adds, absent minded and following her nods with his own, then he winces at his response, “Sorry- I mean, good that you’re okay- not that I scared you- that’s… fucked.”

All she can do is offer a thin smile and another low “It’s okay.” because she’s not sure of what to say or even if she should say anything at all.

The silence grows long and heavy. His eyes unfocus to an empty space on his wall, past her head, where he’s probably recreating fragments of his nightmare once again, trying hard to tell reality apart.

Ross swallows hard- the action nipping at her sensitive abdomen for only a moment- then she moves her cramped legs from under her and lays on the space by Carmy again. With a gentle tug to his wrist, she’s able to draw his attention back to her and it doesn’t take much convincing to have him sprawled out back at her side.

“Do you know how to make pasta from scratch?” She asks in the silence, both sets of eyes holding up the ceiling with their unwavering stare. Ross feels him nod beside her and she can tell his head is still clouded with the mirage of his subconscious.

“Tell me how?” She whispers again, turning to his side with an arm tucked under the pillow and drinking in the strong silhouette of his nose and jaw.

Carmen swallows to alleviate the thin ache the scream left in its wake before he answers.

“It’s, uh, kinda easy…” He begins to list the ingredients by heart, unaware of the subtle drowsiness behind his voice as he reaches the kneading process; or the lulling motion of her nails raking along the inside of his arm. Soon, his pauses grow longer and his tone lighter, until his soft snores fill the room one after another.

He goes dreamless for the rest of the night, at least the few hours he had left before his alarm blares from somewhere in the bed. Once he finds it and turns it off, an arm instinctively reaches to her side, but finds only the messy sheets and a lack of warmth in its wake. The cold covers let him know Ross has been gone long before he even woke up, maybe even hours ago. He searches around for a discarded note or his phone for a text, but there’s nothing when he remembers he doesn’t have her contact, and his chest is once again constricted with the stinging sense of melancholy that replaces her absence.

**********

Ross hadn’t been able to hold anything in all day. The sole idea of food was a passing thought that couldn’t stick to the anxiety ridden walls of her brain. Her last try had taken place that morning, under fluorescent lights and dawn barely breaking past the skyline. Through a caffeine induced awareness and a heavy sleep deprived haze, she managed to drag her way across the exam, though not really remembering any of the questions soon after. She tried to concentrate, truly did- it was her future in the form of paper after all-, but each segment seemed to be written in Simlish and no amount of re reading helped getting the information in.

It also didn’t help that in each microsecond of her tired blinks, all she saw was a haunted stare behind baby blue eyes. The lines had blurred too far, too deep, too out of her grasp and control and now the idea of the unknown occupied her every thought.

To leave him in the middle of the night, with the fear that he might have another nightmare and she wouldn’t be there for him, was a hard decision to take. She had swayed on the balls of her feet for minutes, just staring at his puffing chest from the corner of the bed like some sort of creep, before quickly padding forward and planting a goodbye kiss on the center of his forehead. She felt the stress of being suspended over a tightrope with only a flimsy string tied at the waist each time the idea that it might not be just a fling slithered into her mind.

Seeing him the way she did, almost in agony, would naturally have her cutting ties with anyone else, ghosting them without a second glance. But she couldn't do that to him, not sweet Carmen. Not to him, who asked her if she was alright seconds after having what looked like the worst of night terrors. To him who made her dinner after a long night of cooking for others and still explained every step with patience.

“-you just gotta keep stirring so it doesn’t stick-” He commented from the other side of the tiny unused kitchen, curls bowed over the bubbling pot of mac & cheese. “-are you even listening?”

She nodded out of habit, though her thoughts were flooded by the view of tight veins trailing up his arm as he slowly moved the wooden spoon around. Carmy couldn’t help the small grin pulling at the corner of his mouth when his eyes found hers on his body.

“Totally listening…” Ross added, then blinked a few times to chase away the dirty thoughts. “I know how to make mac & cheese y’know, it’s not rocket science.”

“It’s also no Kraft’s” He joked back and followed her movements with his eyes, how she rounded the small island then hopped to sit on the surface beside him, the slick skirt rising higher up and exposing her thighs.

“Hey, don’t shit on Kraft like that-” She responded with a small laugh that pulled his gaze up to her face instead. “-it’s easy and delicious. Plus it’s the first thing I ever learnt to cook.”

“Oh, yeah?” Carmy asked and she nodded with a proud smile. “How old?”

“Uh… four, I think.”

“Damn, that’s young. How’d you reach the stove?” He asked, taking his eyes off her only to turn off the flames. then leaning on his hip and giving her his full attention.

“I had a uh, milk crate, that I’d drag around the house.” Ross tried to hide the drop of her lips behind her palm by rubbing her finger over her cupid’s bow, but the slight sadness in her tone didn’t go unnoticed to his ears. “You?” She asked suddenly.

He contemplated her question for a long moment. “A… step stool.”

“Ooh, fancy.” She mouthed, pulling a chuckle from him.

“Very self-sufficient of us, huh?” He praised after a few seconds of silence,

“Had to be.” The girl said with a shrug and a forced smile.

It was the way he was looking at her that gave her a sense of solace, the silent comprehension between two people bonded by similar childhood experiences. His eyes bore big and weighted over her for an eternity, under the dim light bulb above his stove. It’s not like he’s never looked at her before, but the glow behind them was different the closer he moved towards her still form.

“So is it done?” Ross whispered, no need to speak any higher in their limited space.

“What?”

A slow smile unrolled over her lips at the way his eyes flickered down. “...the mac & cheese, Carm.”

Carmen blinked a few times and cleared his throat with a choked laugh. “Right, ye-yeah it’s done.” He pushed off his side and pulled open a drawer to take out a spoon. “So… I uh, only have one spoon.” He reached up to rub his neck embarrassed.

“You’re one person.” She teased back, making the tint on his skin grow darker. “It’s fine, we’ll share-” She shrugged. “- it’s not like I haven’t tasted your spit before…”

Her insides flutter at last night’s memory. It was the first time she had ever felt a single doubt about someone, it was uncharted territory and it made her absolutely fucking terrified. It was the reason why she had been avoiding the back of house all night, filling her bottle at the bar instead and passing any requests through Meg, who couldn’t stop huffing with every ticket her way.

“Hey- ‘member there’s a birthday on 32, please.” She calls out to Meg, seeing her pass through her peripheral vision, then throw her head back with a groan.

“Dude just go in yourself, I’m swamped-”

“I can’t, my scores will be up any minute and this is the only place with good wifi.”

She snatches the paper from her outstretched hand. “Test scores my ass- just admit you don’t wanna see him and move on.”

Meg leans slightly on the wooden desk that separates the entrance hall as she keeps her eyes on the bustling dining room.

“Thought you were swamped…”

“I lied.” She shrugs and leans her head in closer. “So what, did he give you the ick? Called you baby girl or some shit?”

“No…”

“Then what, is his dick all wonkey lookin’? Y’know, like when it curves to the side?”

Ross keeps tapping at the tablet in faux concentration, hoping that the lack of an answer will drive her friend away.

“Oh my god, of course- it’s not him is it?” The almost blind tension in her jaw is enough of a response. “You actually like him!”

“Shutthefuckup Megan-” Ross snaps, turning her head back to her friend who couldn’t seem to hide the gleam on her face.

“Oh god- you so do!” She whisper-cheers, throwing a hand up to cover the wide smile threatening to burst at the seams. “Dude, I thought it was just a fling!”

“It still is… I think- I’m not sure anymore-” She shakes her head a bit too hard and closes her eyes to erase the little spots beginning to form. “I’m just gonna cut it off tonight. I don’t have time for that shit.”

“Oh c’mon, seriously? How ‘bout you tie your laces together while you’re at it.”

“What?”

“If you wanna self-sabotage that’s easier, don't you think?” Meg explains and Ross rolls her eyes, turning back to the tablet.

“Well what would you rather I do then?!”

“I dunno, take ‘em and run! Ross, he seems actually decent- better than anyone else I’ve ever met you-, plus he’s really cute…” She teases, both hands wrapped around her forearm and shaking excitedly.

With a heavy-hearted sigh, Ross shuts her eyes hard enough that the stars behind her lids block out the deep blue.

“I can’t.”

“Yes you can-”

“No I can’t- you don’t get it Meg. He- he’s really good, like too good-” She can faintly hear Martin's voice travel towards them behind her rambling, but that doesn’t make it stop. “-he makes me food n’ he’s sweet and-”

There’s sweat beginning to accumulate on the palm of her hands, making the pen she’s constantly tapping on the desk extra slippery.

“-what if I fuck it up?” She finally admits, eyes screwed shut. “What if he doesn’t feel the same, or- or he does- and I end up fuckin’ it up catastrophically cause I’m just like them and I don’t know how to properly show it”

“Okay, chill and breathe or you’ll puke on yourself-“

Ross shakes her head a bit too hard as her breath comes out in short gasps. “Can’t- there’s nothing to puke out.”

“What? When’s the last time you ate?” Meg asks again, ignoring Martin’s second call.

“Last night, I think. I was too nervous- couldn’t eat.”

Despite knowing this, her mouth begins to develop the excess saliva that comes with the contractions of sickness. A thin layer of cold sweat forms over her forehead and through the light haze, Ross can hear Martin’s consistent stomps move in their direction.

“Megan, did you not hear me?! 37’s been waiting for their third course for almost ten minutes-” He stops shouting long enough to spot Ross’ disorbiting gaze. “What the hell’s wrong with you?”

“Sorry Martin, Ross isn’t feeling well and I’ve been trying to help her-” She half lies, heavy hand dramatically palming around the moisture on her friend’s face.

“I’m good- probably just need some air.” Ross puffs out her cheeks and swallows down the thick liquid in her mouth.

“Alright, you heard her- she’s fine, go watch your tables.” Martin shoos her off with a motion of his hand then turns back to his hostess with a creased frown. “You, go to the back and take a breath, I’ll keep watch here. Maybe drink somethin’ sweet- you look like shit.”

“Yeah, thanks.” She mumbles, too tired to make a sarcastic comment, and moves blindly around the perimeter of the room to avoid bumping into any of the servers.

The sensation only intensifies once she crosses to the back of house, as hundred different smells bombard her senses and twist at the already tight knot invading her stomach. She doesn’t stop or look up from the non-slip matts while crossing the narrow hallway to the back.

She’s crouching and heaving dryly by the wall before the door even finishes closing. There’s just the repeating sound of hard contractions leaving her throat, but nothing other than that exits her body. It’s still torture, but the fresh bruise decorating her midrift distracts her enough from the multiple shakes. When her gut finally stops, Ross spits out the bile coating her tongue, wipes her mouth and leans back against the cold wall, all puffy-eyed and sniffles.

Her hard puffs materialize in the February breeze, little clouds of vapor that caress her reddened cheeks only momentarily, then disappear into nothing, almost poetically. She stays glued to the cold bricks while her pulse de-escalates, only to spike up again at the sound of the door slamming hard beside her and another figure running out a few feet away.

She watches immobile how he paces in the small space, hands shaking by his sides then raking painfully hard through his hair. He’s breathing hard enough that she can hear it from her space by the entrance and despite the alarms ringing in her head, she can’t stop her feet from moving forward.

“Hey, you good?”

He stops abruptly at the sound of her voice, head turning in her direction for only a second, but it’s enough for her to see the fierce emotion bubbling behind his eyes, a more somber one than what she’s used to.

“Not now, okay-” He snaps still pacing, hands moving wildly because the anxiety coursing through him doesn’t allow a second of peace.

She stops a few feet behind and tries hard to ignore her own bubbling stress. “You gotta breath, okay-”

Carmy shakes his head again, gaze still lost. “I’m fine.” He shuts his eyes hard enough to crease his forehead.

“Carm, you’re not-”

“Jesus fuck, Roslyn- can you just leave me the fuck alone for one minute!”

The strength in his voice makes her take a step back. “I know you’re pissed but-”

“Can you not fuckin’ psychoanalyze me right now-”

“-I’m not.” Ross cuts in immediately. “I’m not- I-I just wanna help-”

“- well, I don’t need your fuckin’ help, okay?” He spits. “I said I’m fine.”

“Yeah, clearly.” Her mumble drips with sarcasm as she straightens her posture and moves back.

“What- what’s that supposed to mean?” She can hear the edge in his voice as she stares down at the gravel under her feet. “Ross-”

“Nothing- you’re right, it’s- you’re totally fucking normal…”

Her shoes turn on the crushing gravel as she takes a step towards the exit, but his anger moves him faster, stepping in between her and the door, heaving chests almost touching. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean, Roslyn?”

His eyes grow cold, anger clinging with its nails onto the last bit of sensibility.

“Nothing.”

Carmen takes a step in her direction and the gravel creaks again as she takes another back. Once her eyes meet his face, she can see the tightness of his jaw and the way his shoulder square tall, like an animal ready to pounce.

“No, go ahead- you got somethin’ to say, go ahead and fuckin’ say it-”

“You’re being a dick.” She finally snaps.

“What?”

“I said you’re a dick! I spent all of fuckin’ last night trying to stop you from choking on your own breath, Carmen. So maybe a fuckin’ thank you would be nice instead of tryin’ to pick a fight.” She rolls her eyes and pushes past him, reaching for the door, but he takes another step and once again blocks her way.

“That’s the fuckin’ problem? Shit- well thanks for the fuckin’ breathing exercises.”

Her head snaps up to his face and tilts with a hardened expression. “Y’know, what- next time, I’ll just let you choke on your own tongue, how ‘bout that, huh?”

“Nobody asked you to do it, y’know?” There’s no space between their puffing chests as they stare each other down, flight no longer an option.

“I was trying to help you, asshole-”

“I don’t need you’re fuckin help, alright!” He shouts back. The words pierce her skin, like falling knees first over sharp glass, each letter digging into the frail skin. “D’you think just cause we fuck around that makes you my fuckin girlfriend or somethin? Cause it doesn’t, so just- back the fuck off.”

The force following his words hit harder than the bruise and knocks the last bits of composure from her. “You know what- thank fuck for that, because why would I ever want to be stuck with some egotistical jagoff with seriously rooted mommy issues-”

“-You don’t know shit about me.”

“Oh, I know enough. I know you’re too fuckin’ stuck trying to prove your worth to others, but you don’t really believe it yourself-” Carmy’s jaw grows even harder, hooded eyes drilling a hole on hers.

“Stop-”

“You can’t really believe you deserve anyone that actually likes you so you do this-” She says, hand pointing between them. “Push anyone away with hurtful remarks and a shitty attitude, then wallow in self pity because that’s what you’re comfortable with.”

The city is eerily silent, or maybe it’s the anger ringing behind her ears that deafens the noise around her. Whatever it is, seems to drag on forever in the narrow space.

“You’ll find someone one day, Carmen. Not me, of course-” She dismisses with a wave and a bitter taste that she’d never let herself admit. “-but you will. And if you never learn to let go of all the crappy traits that make you a crappy person, you’ll end up just another sad and bitterly lonely man,”

Ross doesn’t wait for an answer back, not even just to hear a last ‘Fuck you’. She brushes past his side for the third time, but this time he doesn’t try to block the door and she makes no effort to stop. At least not until the warm air circles her and the sound of the pans grounds her again. The knot left back on her throat resembles the rocks from her nightmare and she’s quick to painfully swallow it back down before anyone can catch her.

There’s a small tickle over her cheekbone, one that travels slowly down her skin. She swats away the tear with the back of her hand, sniffling, then takes a deep breath before moving forward and out the back of house. She tries to resume her shift as best she can, counting down the hours left until closing and busying herself drawing flowers at the bottom of a discarded ticket while saying goodbye to the diners.

The phone rang at around 10, when most of the tables had started to clear out and she was busy collecting the menus that she almost didn’t catch it. The woman on the other line seemed worried and tired, on the verge of breaking down as she asked for her brother.

“Berzatto, I think he works there- I called his cell but he’s not picking up.” She explained through rushed words. “Please, tell him it’s urgent.”

“Uh yeah… he’s kitchen staff.” Ross answered a bit disoriented but hoping to maintain calm for the lady on the line. “I think they’re just finishing up, but I can call him over, just give me a sec-”

With her stomach in a knot and hands glued together, she called over for him, swallowing her pride. The kitchen was half empty by then and he even seemed surprised to hear her call for him after the fight.

“Someone on the phone. She says it’s urgent.” She spoke softly, leaning on the entrance.

He nodded lightly, stepping around the counter and wiping his hands on the towel he managed to keep pristine all night. Just before walking past her, he stopped as if he had something to say but couldn’t find the words.

“Can we talk later?” His tone sounded shy, eyes darting around the half empty space, then landing on hers. “Look, I know I was a dick- and I’m really sorry. It’s just… this is really nice and I don’t wanna fuck it up-”

“I’ll wait for you here, yeah?” She places a hand on his shoulder to push herself up and plant a kiss on his cheek, the anger disappearing with a look of his clear baby blues.

He whispers a sweet ‘okay’ as he watches her fully move into the room and lean on the granite bar to wait for him, a thin smile pulling at his features before turning to the swaying doors.

The wait seems infinite but she tries to pass the time by pushing at the now cracked gel on her nails. Ross turns several times towards the far wall where the clock sits, hoping he’ll show up under it. Five minutes turned to fifteen and the knot in her stomach grew again with each tick.

By the twenty minute mark, her worry was too overwhelming and she pushed herself past the doors and to her area. She expected to find him there, still on the phone, but the desk was empty. No note, no Carmy, no worried woman on the phone. There were still a few servers left as she moved again to the back to see if maybe she had missed him, but the lights in the kitchen were already off by the time Ross stepped back in.

He doesn’t reappear all night, not when she takes her bag from the lockers, nor is he standing by her car when she reaches it parked at the end of the block. He doesn’t show up to work the next day either. Or the day after that, or any of the days after.

At first she tries calling in hopes he’ll pick up with a great explanation on why he went m.i.a., but he never does. So on a saturday morning, she shows up at his place. It seems crazy and invasive in a way, but she’d rather have him think she’s crazy than not know if he’s alright, or alive.

With nervous hands, she reaches up to knock. The door beside his opens up instead, letting her see a short woman cradling a Tabby in her arms.

“He’s not there.” She answers before Ross even has a chance to ask.

“Sorry?”

“If you’re looking for the boy, he’s not there. Fled a couple days ago, in the middle of the night.”

“Fled?”

“Yes, girl, fled- slamming doors n’ all- little disregard for anyone else with a decent sleep schedule…” Is all Ross could hear before the lady slammed the door shut.

The stone steps to the entrance of his building turn her skin cold and the light wind bites over her cheeks. Her trembling hands cradle the thin phone opened up on his contact and her finger hovers over the call button one last time. A sigh escapes her chest once more as she opens her emails instead.

The approbatory message glows with the artificial light and there’s an ache in her chest that she did not expect would come with the good news. The news she had waited so long to receive, she had passed. All her effort had finally paid off.

Ross felt happy, to an extent. She tried not to think about it too much. Because everytime she did, the memory was polluted by late night dinners, sleepy study sessions and a wave of nauseating blue that reminded her of him.

She stands off the dirty staircase and wipes off the dust from the back of her jeans. Then she readjusts the zipper over the washed out blue shirt and pushes her cold digits into the warmth of her pockets. Ross throws a last glance at the neon sign flashing just beside his empty window and sighs deeply, slowly making her way back to her car with an empty chest.

*********

Taglist: @pearlstiare @teteminne, @beebslebobs, @harrysmatcha, @yum-yahgurt, @pussy-f41ry, @kirakombat, @redsakura101 , @hobisunshine13 and that’s it lmao

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cosmicbucky · 8 months

Text

with charcoal hands and spoken dreams, we escaped together

part two, a summary: unable to keep your thoughts on anything but each other, the two of you find yourselves cracking open the door to the world of getting to know one another pairings: bucky barnes x female reader word count: 3036

warnings: minor swearing, awkward yet adorable flirting (that's not really flirting), first date but it's not actually a date, fluff, two already smitten idiots

part: two/?

⇠ part one

《《《《 ♡ 》》》》

The sun filtered through the window, your curtains billowing in the breeze. The familiar sounds of shouting and car horns honking pulled you from your sleep, and you stretched with a loud groan. You stared at the ceiling, hating the fact that the first thing to cross your mind were pastel sapphires accentuated by long dark hair, and pearly whites framed by pretty pink lips. You scolded yourself, quickly throwing the blankets off and standing up, feeling weird and guilty for thinking about a complete stranger in such a way.

You got ready for the day in your comfiest clothes, making yourself your favourite morning drink and enjoying your go-to breakfast, taking the time to wake up and enjoy the morning before bringing your drink to your desk, sitting down at your computer for another day of work.

You let your mind wander as you wrote, but the problem with that was this time it always went to the same place - the smell of old pages, the aroma of soil, gorgeous white cats, browns and greens and golds and oh, such pretty blues. This carried on for a few hours, and you barely got half the amount of work done that you usually do, not able to stick to the task at hand as you let yourself enjoy your daydreams a little too much, and for a little too long.

You felt like you were going insane, and you made the perfectly reasonable decision to go back and see the man again - you needed to thank him for letting you take refuge there, anyway. The problem, though, was that you had no idea if he was there again or not - you remember him implying that he owns the place, but did that mean he was always there? You had no idea, but being the completely sane and normal person you are, you searched up the store and decided to call, seeing if maybe he would answer.

The line rang out, and you felt yourself regretting the decision almost immediately. By the time you realized you had no idea what you would even say, and that it would be a good idea to just hang up, a voice was heard.

"This is James from The Planted Pages, how can I help you?"

Silk and whiskey, rough and tender. James.

You knew it was him immediately, and yes, you hated that you did, but how could anyone forget a voice like that? Your heart hammered in your chest and your brain lost track of all the vocabulary you used to know - you panicked.

"Oh. Hi, uh - James," you forced yourself to say, silently loving the feeling of his name rolling off your tongue. "I'm so sorry, I- I called the wrong number. Have a nice day!" you finished lamely, quickly hanging up and groaning, holding your head in your hands. You stayed there for a few moments, collecting yourself and calming your nerves before getting up to execute your plan.

Though you had no way to know, James was standing behind the counter of his shop, the phone still against his ear.

He had been driving himself crazy all morning. He hoped to catch a glimpse of you in all the passersby whenever he looked out the window. Every time the door opened, he hoped it was you he saw standing there when he looked up to greet whoever it was.

He shook the thoughts away when they would surface - he needed to accept that he didn't know you. That you were a stranger, a one time reprieve from his mundane life. He had no right to let you cross his mind so often; though you did. You crossed his mind so much he was starting to piss himself off, and he couldn't have been more thankful when the phone rang, giving him a distraction.

He happily made his way to the counter, glancing down at the caller ID (he had no way to know it was your name staring back at him) before quickly answering with his standard greeting of "This is James from The Planted Pages, how can I help you?”

"Oh. Hi, uh - James," you had replied, causing him to stand up straighter, feeling a sense of recognition when he heard your voice. No, it couldn't be. "I'm so sorry, I- I called the wrong number. Have a nice day!"

Oh, but it was. The softness, the shyness, the underlying awkwardness. It had to be you.

He smiled to himself, chuckling softly as he hung up the phone. He felt satisfied, in a strange way. Hearing your voice again let him know he didn't just imagine you, that it wasn't some vivid and twisted dream he had last night - after all, it wouldn't have been the first time he fell asleep in the shop after closing, waking up to Alpine purring and meowing in his ear.

He let his mind wander once more with fleeting thoughts of you and why you called - if it really was you - as he returned to his work; re-alphabetizing books, tending to the plants, dusting the shelves, and his most important task of the day - playing with Alpine. He was too caught up in dangling the toy high above her to hear the door open, too amused to notice the approaching footsteps.

"Um, hi," a soft voice cut through the air, causing him to whip his head up, tucking his hair behind his ear as he came face to face with - you.

"Hi," he replied softly, a grin forming on his lips as drank you in. He didn't understand why he felt so relieved to see you. Maybe it was because this meant he wasn't crazy, and this was further proof that you really were real. Maybe it was because the day was slow, and he was happy to see even the most vaguely familiar face. Or, maybe because it was you, and he had been hoping to see you again the second you left his shop.

You, on the other hand, knew exactly why you were relieved to see him again - you just wouldn't admit it to yourself. He captivated you. He was beautiful, a seemingly perfect mix of open and mysterious, a magnetizing being that pulled you in without warning like a current on a sunny beach. You knew exactly why you wanted to come back today, but the reason would never leave the vault tucked away in your mind - you didn't know him, and you needed to be careful. This you knew, this you told yourself. The only problem was that you never fucking listen.

You stood there before him for a moment, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you thought over your words, before finally breaking the silence. "I just… wanted to thank you again. You know, for last night. I know it wasn’t a crazy big deal, but you were nice, and I-... well, I really appreciate it."

You gave him a small, lopsided smile as you stood there uncomfortably, realizing it may have been a dumb idea to come back here.

"You really didn't need to do this, you know," he told you gently, a smile still on his lips. “Come back here, I mean. Just for that.”

"No, I know. I just… wanted to," you replied with a shy smile, shrugging your shoulders a little.

He chuckled, making music for your ears. "Well, again, you’re welcome. It was a nice change of pace compared to how I usually close up shop."

A laugh slipped past your lips, and he perked up at the sound, taking an unintentional step forward as though he was literally being pulled in by you.

"Well.. glad I could provide that, then," you told him, an amused smile dancing on your lips.

He smiled at you, a question lingering on his tongue as curiosity danced in his eyes. Though as he opened his mouth to speak, the courage left him and he let out a breathy chuckle, looking down at the cat toy still in his hands - and you noticed for the first time one of them was a prosthetic, the black and gold a stark contrast to the pink flirt pole it held within its grasp.

“I’m James, by the way,” he said softly, looking back at you with a sheepish smile.

The words ‘I know’ were so close to tumbling out of your mouth you had to laugh quietly to keep them in, giving him a smile and your name in return.

His smile grew a little, his eyes lighting up as if the sun was shining down on the sea as he realized it was you that called - the words ‘I know’ dancing around in his mind, too.

“It’s nice to meet you,” he decided to say instead, though his amusement was not lost on you.

Chuckling nervously, you venture a guess as to why: “You have caller ID, don’t you?”

A hearty laugh escaped him as he nodded, a grin splitting across his face as he spoke a playful “I thought you called the wrong number.”

“Oh, my god,” you groaned, completely mortified. “I’m so sorry, that was my super not subtle way of finding out if you were here or not.”

Upon seeing the humoured look on his face and the arch of his eyebrow at your words, you widened your eyes and carried on rambling: “No! I just meant - well I wanted to thank you, right? So I had to make sure you were actually here so I could do that, so I called - as you know, and then-”

“Do you like coffee?” he asked unexpectedly, cutting you off. He had to cut you off because you were too freaking adorable in the way you jabbered, your eyes wide and cheeks flushed and he was teetering so close to the edge already that he was afraid he’d topple completely head first if he didn’t stop you.

“What?” you questioned after a brief pause, realizing what he asked.

“Do you like coffee?” he repeated, a faint smile on his face as he took in your dazed expression.

“Uh, yeah… yeah, I like coffee,” you told him with a chuckle, both amused and confused.

“Any chance you feel like grabbing one?” he asked, the silent invitation louder than ever.

You smiled with a titter, nodding your head. “Yeah, I do. There’s a really great place just up the street - this can be my thank you.”

He shook his head, entertained by your persistence to show him thanks for something he thought to be a simple act. If anything, he felt as though he should be thanking the universe for bringing you to him.

“Alright, alright. It’s a deal,” he chortled, finally acceding.

《《《《 ♡ 》》》》

Before you knew it, the two of you were sitting by the window of your favourite coffee shop, Metal and Moss, sharing comfortable silences and embarrassing tidbits. Neither of you had any clue as to why you felt so comfortable sharing these things with each other, but neither of you wanted to dwell on it.

"So," he spoke, breaking the momentary lapse in conversation as the two you silently mused over the other, stealing glances when the other looked away. "You said you were a poet?"

You smiled, shaking your head as you recalled saying this last night. "I said kind of a poet," you corrected playfully.

"Oh, please forgive me," he joked, holding a hand to his heart. "So, you said you were kind of a poet?"

You giggled, smiling in satisfaction. "I'm a writer. I've been trying to delve into different styles, so I took a new piece to the open mic last night to test it out, see how I felt about it."

"How did it go?" he inquired, genuinely curious about the experience.

Grimacing slightly, you shrugged. "It… well, it seemed to be well received, but I'm still not sure about it."

He nodded thoughtfully, taking in your response. "Not comfortable with it?"

"Not at all," you sighed, laughing a little. "I think that's a good thing, though. It's always good to step out of your comfort zone, right?"

He hummed in response, a knowing smirk on his lips. This was something out of both your comfort zones, yet at the same time, the two of you were perfectly comfortable with each other's company.

"Yeah," he agreed. "You're most definitely correct."

"What about you?" you questioned, raising your eyebrows curiously. "You said you're not an artist, but from what I could see those pieces of yours looked rather impressive."

A nervous laugh left him as heat flooded his cheeks; he tried to hide it by taking a drink from his coffee mug, but it did not go unnoticed by you. You had to force yourself to look away, not able to believe how pretty this man before you was.

"It's just… something I do for fun," he muttered sheepishly.

"You didn't go to school for it or anything?" you questioned curiously.

He shook his head, shifting in his seat. "No, I-... I did, actually. The world had other plans for me, though."

Though it was subtle, you saw the way his eyes fleeted down towards his left hand before meeting yours again, heard how the next breath he took was a little deeper and shakier than his last.

"Story for another time?" you offered lightly, not wanting to make him uncomfortable.

Giving you a grateful smile, he nodded slightly. "Another time."

"Before we left, you mentioned you were gonna tell Steve to watch the shop while you were gone. Do you guys run the place together?" you asked, trying to change the topic.

"No, not at all," he said with a laugh. "Well, actually… I guess we kind of do - but not officially. He doesn't work there or anything, he's just around a lot."

Giving him a quizzical look, you nodded slowly. "Did he… come with the shop like Alpine did?" you had asked, attempting to make a joke of it while still trying to get information.

Snorting in response and almost choking on his coffee, he broke into a fit of laughter so jovial that you couldn't help but laugh along with him for a minute.

"Fuck, that was good," he admitted, still laughing softly. "Him and I have been friends since we were kids, so he helps out a lot."

"Oh, that's really nice, actually. You're both from around here?" you replied, suddenly itching to know more about him.

"Brooklyn," he supplied. "We met in school - grade 3, I think. Most annoying punk you'll ever meet."

The undertone of affection in his words made you smile, and a comfortable silence fell between you once more.

You both had so much more you wanted to ask, needed to know, but neither of you wanted to pry too much right off the bat like this. He did, however, return the question of where you were from, allowing you to happily tell him the story of where you grew up. He listened to you wholly, his attention never once straying - how could it? How could something be more captivating than the sparkle in your eyes as you told him about your hometown, or more adorable than the smile on your face as you spoke of family and friends? He realized with a start that he could listen to you talk for hours; and though you were a normally reserved person, you realized you couldn't seem to shut up around him. Neither of you cared about these revelations though, and you eagerly rambled on while he contentedly listened, adding in a question or story of his own from time to time.

The light began to shift outside the window, ever changing between casting the two of you in candescence and silhouettes as the sun drifted out of sight, afternoon turning into evening. Neither of you noticed the time passing by - or, maybe you did and just didn’t care. It was hard to care about anything else besides pulling a laugh from the lips of the man across from you, relishing in the way it made his eyes crinkle and butterflies erupt in your gut. It was hard for him to think about anything else besides the way your cheeks blossomed with colour every time he threw you a cheesy line, or the soft giggles you tried to stifle.

It was with great difficulty that you managed to say the words: “We should probably get back to our work, now.”

Though a laugh accompanied your statement, the heaviness of it was still felt. It was strange, this sense of ease and familiarity you two felt with each other; but it was nice. It was fun. It was exciting.

“Yeah, you’re right,” he agreed with a small sigh. “Well, thank you for the ‘thank you’ coffee,” he added with a chuckle.

A soft giggle left you as you smiled softly. “My pleasure, James.”

“You can call me Bucky,” he informed you amiably. “All my friends do.”

“Alright then. My pleasure, Bucky,” you said with a nod, reiterating your previous statement to match his declaration.

He grinned in satisfaction, and it took everything in you to not beam in response to how stupidly adorable he looked.

“You know, as great as this was, I’m afraid we may have a problem on our hands,” he declared breezily, leaning back in his chair with a smirk.

“Really? What would that be?” you asked curiously, mirroring his body language.

“I think we may just find ourselves in a cycle. ‘Cause I’m gonna have to thank you this coffee now,” he told you with a smile. “If you’ll let me, that is.”

You did your best to not pay attention to the fluttering in your stomach as you thought about it, tried to ignore the pounding of your heart. Instead, you succumbed to the smile that was fighting its way across your lips and looked at him with rosy cheeks - and he prayed to anyone who would listen that you wouldn’t notice how difficult it suddenly was for him to breathe when he saw your expression.

“Yeah,” you said softly. “I’ll let you.”

#bucky barnes #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky au #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky fluff #james barnes #winter soldier #bucky fic #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes au #bucky x reader fluff #bucky x y/n #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes

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whosafraidofmarklee · 2 years

Text

about you

pairings: photographer! johnny/ arthistorian! reader

genre: established relationship, loads of fluff but also angst...

summary: johnny has successfully opened his first solo photography exhibition. however, he is secretly hoping for someone to walk through the gallery doors all day. intertwined with love from five years ago, his photographs speak louder than words.

wc: 6250 words

a/n:

hey all!!!! here's a wee bit of a johnny fic heavily inspired by the 1975's new song, about you. that song is so good it got me weeping for days as i concocted this story in my head. enjoy, don't cry :')

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

"Aren't you excited?" the curator beams, patting his fuzzy felt blazer down, composing himself.

Johnny turns his head toward the dimmed gallery behind him, the frame reflections catching the glimpses of streetlights outside. Each photograph sits nicely on the wall, proud and tall, waiting for visitors to be voyeurs into his life. He purses his lips, letting out a small "Yeah" before turning round and heading out the steps.

"Get ample sleep, alright! It's your big day tomorrow - your grand opening. I am telling you, everyone would be buzzing over your photographs. They hold so much emotions, that's precisely why I chose you," the curator closes the door behind him and spins back toward Johnny. "Be proud of yourself, your exhibition is going to be spectacular."

"Thank you so much, I appreciate it, really. I'll see you tomorrow then?" Johnny turned his heel and waved a short goodbye before speed-walking to his car. He could not take it anymore, all this holding it in.

He sits at the driver's seat and shuts his eyes. Finally, some peace and quiet after a whole month of crazy preparations. His chest expands and contracts, the warmth of his breath countering the frigid weather he just walked through. He gathers himself, or so he thinks.

"Yeah, Johnny. You'll be alright. It's your big day tomorrow, don't fuck it up," he whispers to himself.

As he places his hand on the wheel, his eyes flutter open. Under the starless winter sky, the amber streetlights embrace the white flurries falling aimlessly. One, two and suddenly, a whole gust of them make their descent onto Johnny's car. His eyes trail the flurries’ every move as they softly land on his windshield, eyes capturing the delicate intricacies of the snowflake before it begins to fade away into nothing.

In the tiny gaps of the melting snowflakes, he saw her again.

—

“So what is your new years resolution, my love?" she giggles as she wraps their thick, Rudolph-printed blanket around her body.

Johnny catches her gaze and smiles back tenderly. She looked absolutely marvellous, her hair falling all over the place having just woken up. Their curtains are fully opened, revealing the expansive city below them while the winter sun breaches its way into their abode and whose light finds refuge on her hair, illuminating her figure. He watches as she goes back to scribbling her goals onto her tattered journal, occasionally looking up and whispering to herself to perfectly articulate her desires.

“To keep loving you, of course," he replies after awhile.

“Don't be ridiculous, i already know that," she puts her pen down and reaches towards him, "we are going to be by each other's side forever and ever and ever. That's our eternal january 1 wish."

He leans forward and gives her a quick kiss, lingering over her lips as she pulls away. He does not have to look, he feels her lips curve into the same smile he fell in love with 4 years ago, the moment he walked into his introduction to art history class and saw her sitting at the end of the room. He knew from then on out, she would be etched into his life for years to come.

“Well… since it is our last year of college, I was thinking of doing a year long project where I document the events that make me feel tumultuous emotions. Sort of like cataloguing my life…into photographs…as photographers do….” Johnny finally answers her question and trails off, his hand finding the waves of her hair and habitually running his fingers through them.

“Yeah? A great big project before you get pushed into the real working world?” She asks smugly.

“Definitely that.”

She shifts under his touch and leans towards his embrace, letting herself fall into his arms. Johnny pulls the blanket over their bodies and lets himself melt into her. He could do this all day, intertwining himself with her. She was his life-force, his sun and moon.

“For me,” she breaks the silence in a whisper into his ears, “it would be to get accepted into a post-graduate course.”

“Why’d you have to whisper it like someone’s going to come running in and stop you?” he buzzes at her lingering lips on his ears, giving a little laugh.

“Because if I don’t get in, it is embarrassing. I’d rather whisper it to you so you can pretend to forget it if I don’t get accepted.”

“Are you kidding me? You are the best art historian I know, you can name every artwork off the top of your head, you’re like a walking museum,” Johnny assures as he holds her tighter under him, placing a quick kiss on her forehead.

She looks back up at him, gazing into his hazel eyes that bore into her soul. The very eyes that comfort her in her darkest nights, envelop her every morning and the one that showed more love in its little reactions to her presence. Letting her fingers trace his features, she grins slightly as she feels her heart grow fonder and fonder with every sight of him.

“I best be in all your photos this year then,” she jokes and snuggles into his warm neck.

Truly, waking up next to each other on the first day of every year has become a norm. They were renewed, rebirthed with every passing year, but they feel just the same every time their hands graze each other. Between them both, time slows and speeds but never halts. They were orbiting together, their love powering the cycles of many lifetimes.

—

The lamp switch clicks and Johnny’s room brightens. He is acutely aware of the silence in the house. Bending his head slightly, he roughly dries his wet hair on the towel. When he looks up, his eyes fall on the paper by his bedside table.

THE COMEDIAN

A Solo Exhibition by Johnny Suh

31 December-31 January

The golden text bounces itself off the sheen of velvet blue cardstock paper. His name seemed unfamiliar to him, a jumbled up word from the array of alphabets. Then again, he never felt like himself the past five years.

An inaudible sigh escapes his lips as he throws his towel to the side, climbing into the left side of the bed. That was always his side.

He turns the paper over and extends his body to turn off his lamp. Rolling over the bed, his eyes slowly adjusts to the darkness of the room.

A pillow rests untouched beside him, the white space demarcating the absence in his life. The blanket creases over his side but straightens itself as it passes his body. He takes in a sharp breath but he feels the oxygen running out. The air is heavy, damp with memories that flood to the forefront of his mind. As he blinks to compose himself, he sees her brief silhouette laying there, as it should be, as it always has been. But a silhouette could be a mirage. The brain tricks itself, as Johnny has tried to trick himself for years.

She is not there, she has not been for awhile now.

His fingers run along the cotton bedsheet, imagining the weight of her next to him as he lulls himself toward the door of dreams.

—

2:03 AM

Johnny looks up from his crumpled notes, scratching his head. Letting out an exasperated sigh, he pushes his glasses up his nose bridge and squints at her direction. There she sits, opposite him, legs tucked under her, biting her lips in anxiety while she mumbles the notes off of her laptop screen. He beams as he notices the way his sweatshirt hangs off her shoulders, too massive to fit her frame.

It was midterms season and they were cramming for an exam the following day. Well, technically, that day of. On his desk lay his scrambled astronomy notes. It is ludicrous in hindsight, that Johnny would take the time off of his photography classes to take it as an elective. But he tells no soul about the fact that it was simply because he notices her contemplating the sky every night, searching for the different stars and planets that appears with every passing season. Compelled by her devotion toward this habit, he took on the class in hopes of piquing her brain.

He pushes his notes slightly and stands up from his chair, groaning as he twists his crammed up body. He notices that she did not take her eyes off of her screen and with pursed lips, slowly walks towards her. He carefully carries the nearest chair, placing it silently next to her and sits on it, eyes on her screen too, curious to find out what she was reading about.

“Hey, that’s pretty cool,” he comments, skimming through the page, matching her speed of reading.

“What is?” she asks offhandedly, not moving her gaze one bit.

“The artwork.”

She stops scrolling and turns her head toward him, looking all frazzled. Her hair stood at weird angles and her blue-light glasses precariously on the tip of her nose. He chuckles and gently pushes the glasses up for her.

“That’s some intense dedication there, to walk from the ends of the Great Wall of China for 90 days just to meet each other in the middle. That’s such a romantic way to propose,” he muses and raises his eyebrows, “should we do that? Walk along the wall, meet each other after 3 months and I will go down on one knee?”

She laughs at his proposal and untucks her legs beneath her.

“I stopped scrolling at the wrong time then. They managed to pull off the performance but instead of getting married, they broke up in the middle instead.”

Johnny’s eyes widened, a little too invested in this, “why?”

“It started out as a passion project, they were both highly regarded performance artists whose practise involved testing the limits of the other. They had ambitions to get married but approvals from the Chinese government to walk along the perimeters of the wall took too many years to be cleared. By the time the approvals were passed, their relationship had slowly fizzled out. They had affairs and were unhappy with each other, but for the sake of their art, travelled the wall.”

She watches as his face softens at her explanation, his lips puckering slightly, a habit she noticed him doing every time he is in deep thought.

“Oh, that sucks,” he blurts out in response.

“I guess you could put it that way… I still find their dedication toward their art very fascinating. If it is of any consolation, they met years later in another performance artwork of hers.”

He takes her hand in his and shakes his head slightly. “That’s good, no? Reconciling.”

“To a certain extent, yes. It rocked the art world for months and years on end: the greatest love is back again!” she dramatises, sticking her arm out like she was in a performance, gaining a laugh from the boy in front of her.

“Now I don’t know if I should make us walk a historic wall before I pop the question, it seems so silly,” he strokes her ring finger subconsciously and traces the creases on her palm. She notices.

She leans in, kissing his cheek, “continue brainstorming then, my love.”

Johnny grins and imagines himself walking over battered bricks to get to her. The ground shifts below him but the running hills circle in around him, as if giving him comfort to persevere on. She was at the end of the wall, slowly walking toward him too. It did not matter how long it takes, where it happens or what season it was.

He knew he would walk across endless walls just to get to her.

—

Walking into the metallic frame of his hanging mirror, Johnny puts on his emerald coloured sweater, fixing his white button-up collar in place. His eyes were sunken in, tired from imagining all the possibilities of today. He sighs, proceeding to grab all his belongings and throwing them into the bag strewn on his floor.

It was his big day, he knew. But he cannot help but wish for the morning to turn out differently. His eyes catches the perfectly shaped pillow on his bed and his feet quickens its pace out of his home.

“God, it is freezing today,” he mutters to himself as he exits his car, tightening his coat around his body. Every breath of his turned into vapour, clouding his view of the gallery right in front of him. He looks up toward the sun, seeing only an obscure ray of yellow hanging in the air. There was no warmth, not even in the atmosphere and definitely not in his heart.

He checks the street for cars before dashing across, finding himself at the doorsteps of a gallery he knows too well. In the glass door, he sees his languid figure obscured by view of the gallery inside, his photographs and him merging into one incomprehensible figure.

Putting on his best smile, he opens the door and walks in.

—

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, here it is!”

She muffles a squeal as she grabs onto Johnny’s hand, pushing him into the crowd. Fishing their way through, they land in front of the very painting they were there for.

She could barely control her excitement. Bits of tears pool around the corners of her eyes as they land on her most beloved painting. It was real, in front of her, in all its delicate brushstrokes. The warm spotlight of the gallery was nothing but a halo to this painting, so she thought.

Sensing her bewilderment, Johnny wraps his arm around her waist and scoots them closer to the work, shielding her from the mass of crowds around them. He recalls her screaming when the news came in, her favourite painter of all time had a travelling show and they were miraculously showing in the gallery closest to their house. He grins every time he sees her shared calendar countdown to the number of days until the exhibition opens in the notification tab of his phone, silently counting down with her too. He made sure to purchase two tickets for the opening day, to which she kissed him tenfold when they landed in her hands, and he could still feel her hand on his chest waking him up at 6am this morning to beat the snaking queue into the gallery.

Now, they stood in front the very work they came here for. It is a little bit smaller than I thought, Johnny mused to himself. He had seen the painting countless times whenever she showed it to him on her phone screen and he felt that the years of seeing it in pixels made him grow fond of the artwork too. His breath hitched as he is pulled into the black mass of the painting, his eyes gaining refuge from the darkness with the two figures standing on the stage. He knew them by the back of his hand. The two figures stood by the stage, wearing Pierrot and Pierette costumes, in the midst of bowing toward an imagined audience. The delicate brushstrokes of the painting arrested Johnny’s gaze as he stood in awe of the piece of canvas.

“It is so beautiful,” her voice croaks, breaking the bubble of silence between them. They stood side by side, eye-level with the figures, staring so intently into the heaps of paint that they could almost see themselves in the obscurity of the figures’ features.

“Out of all his paintings, this last painting of his is arguably the most striking as it is the only time we see two figures accompanying each other but not alone in their own world. In his other paintings, even if the figures were interacting with each other, their expression still signalled isolation. But this painting is an outlier. Their hands suggests their union against the loneliness of the world, their white costumes as a resistance to the fading darkness behind them. They are in tandem, in the same performance, in the same space, sharing the same moment. How poignant that he chose to paint him and his wife as his last legacy,” she reveals in hushed tones, gesturing at the painting.

Johnny listens intently, nodding as he follows the trailing of her fingers, leading him furthering into the work.

“I love this painting because they are fools. Their quirky garb appoints them to the roles of a Pierrot and Pierrette, infecting the world with their joyous art,” she continues. “Historically, the fool is known to be the bearer of all binaries; the divine and profane, power and destruction, morning and night. Due to their ties with those in power, they enlighten others with the truth through their little whims, being the only one to merge the truth and absurd laughter, just like Hopper does with his works. The position of the fool reveals the significance of being more than ourselves, discovering our potential through such a limitless figure. That’s why this painting is called Two Comedians.”

“Most importantly, the painting reminds me of us.”

Johnny’s train of thought snaps back into reality at her words, shifting his wonder from the work to her. In this moment, as they stood in front of this timeless piece, they held many possibilities for the future. Their lives were intertwined like his hands around the hem of her skirt, their legs under the blanket after a long day apart and their riddled words of affection. They are painted in white, staring into the abyss of their future.

—

The wine in his glass sloshes side to side but never disappearing into his mouth. It has been at the same level since two hours ago, when the scarlet ribbon decorating the entrance was snipped off and people trailed in to discover his works. The wine dissolved under him, morphing into the torn ribbon, morphing into her lips, morphing into the her favourite book on his shelf, morphing into th-

“Johnny!”

His head whips upward and the curator was staring back at him, wide-eyed. Next to him stood a guy donning a navy suit, his blonde hair slicked back and his hand gripped on an empty wine glass.

“Meet Taeyong, he’s an art critic,” the curator subtly raises his brows at Johnny,” and he has expressed great interest in your work thus far. Thought I’d introduce you two.”

Johnny extends his empty-hand and gave the well-dressed guy a tight handshake. Taeyong has a wide grin on his face, returning the handshake with near excessive shaking.

“I am a big fan of your work, these photographs are extraordinary. What would you say is your inspiration for these works? I believe it was a year long project, yes?” he chides, leaning toward the artist, enunciating his questions.

Johnny lets his hand go at the word “inspiration”. He purses his lips and could feel the curator beside him anticipating a brilliant reply. It is your big day, remember that Johnny, he reminds himself.

But the only words that left his lips were: “just foolish things throughout the year.”

Throughout the entire conversation, his eyes went over Taeyong and the curator’s head. They were instead set on the rectangular door frame of the gallery, assessing every person walking in and silently praying to notice the same rosy lips he had last kissed years ago.

—

She flips through the pages of her book, aware of the dissipating feet shuffles around her. Her fingers grazes against each page, imagining each word in her mind.

This was her weekly routine, waiting for Johnny to finish his shift at the cafe while she finished her reading in one corner. By then, she has pavloved herself to associate the fragrant smell of coffee beans to this place and nowhere else. As such, Johnny too became her coffee lover.

Fleeting her eyes between the pages and her watch, she notices that he is running slightly behind time today. In her peripheral view, she sees him wiping the coffee stains off of the counter. Though it is so mundane, she fixes on this sight, scrutinising every detail of his face that she has memorised by now. She believes that love is inherently non-corporeal. But whenever she lays her eyes on her lover, she thinks about how his every physical detail is filled with so much to love. His cupid's bow draws the same curve as the back of every chair she sees. His eyelashes appear in the labryinth of twigs above her in her daily route to her classes. His hair's texture remains in the crevices of her fingers, forever part of the stitches of her hand. Everything led her back to him.

She gathers her stuff when she sees him untie his apron and disappear into the back room. Unbeknownst to her, a small smile is plastered on her red face while she was doing so.

The moment she heard the backroom door open, she turns around and watches the strides her lover takes toward her. Five, she counts. Five too many.

She reached toward his neck, bringing his lips down to hers. She feels his lips curve into a cheeky smile as he pulls away, shifting the position of his bag behind him.

"Why was your shift extended today?" she asks casually as he holds the door open for her.

His hands naturally finds their way around hers, their feet turning toward the direction of their home.

"I ran a little late because my previous class ran over," he replies her, taking a quick glance at her curious expression before focusing back on their path.

She notices that while he is holding her hand as tightly as he always does, his other hand occasionally tugs onto his bag from time to time as if making sure that the bag was there at all costs.

"Why are you holding your bag so carefully? It's not like anyone is going to steal it" she jokes, earning a nervous chuckle from him. There and then, she knew.

Johnny never answered her question. He knew better when he ran into the ring shop because his class ended earlier than usual. Occasionally, he would walk past this shop and casually survey the different rings on display but this morning, one caught his eye. Sapphire green, her favourite colour.

He talked to the jeweller and his hands trembled as he opened the velvet box to see the ring destined for her. Entranced by the beauty of it, he realised he was late for his job. Even after sweating buckets from running blocks to the cafe, his heart never faltered.

When he saw her seated at the edge of his cafe, engrossed in her book and with the warm lamp light softening her features, he knew he made the right choice.

—

Slowly, visitors filtered in and out. But none of them contented him.

His mouth hurts from forcing a smile and his feet shifted back and forth, aching from standing too long.

He listens to the hushed whispers of those viewing his work. He watches as they encounter his work, first glancing at his statement before their eyes fall on the work on the wall. After a minute or two, they turn to the person next to them and tell secrets while side-eyeing the work.

Johnny wonders if perhaps they saw his pain through the photographs. Granted, these photographs were taken 5 years ago but he wondered if they saw right through him when they look at the prints. Could they read his every thought? Could they see how much love he had? Could they sense that this time was then truncated, smashed into pieces and reglued to be the pictures they see right now?

Photography offers a look of love, he used to tell her.

He wondered if they could now see the world through his lens. If that was the case, could all their love accumulate and transcend the gallery space, bursting into the frigid air outside and somehow find their way to her, give her a little pat on the back and usher her into this gallery?

He sits and wonders.

—

"I just received exciting news!" Johnny exclaimed, hand clutching onto a ripped open envelope addressed to their address.

"What is it?" she could barely contain her excitement, the red neon light of the diner reflecting on her face outwardly expressing her anticipation.

His eyes were sharp, twinkling at her as he pulls out the letter, pushing it toward her.

"I just got accepted into a photography residency programme here, the best one in town," he grins.

She did not even skim through the letter. At his words, she lunges forward and hits her waist against the table.

"Ouch!" she exclaims as she tumbles forward clumsily, hugging her lover as tight as she could.

"I am so fucking proud of you, John," she says, "You deserve it."

Johnny pulls away and kisses her tenderly, melting under her touch. He applied the day she found out about the residency, continuously bugging him to apply every hour. She knew his ability best, knowing that he could grow better in this environment and never once did she doubt his success.

"When are you starting? When did the mail come in? Are you getting paid? Are there any other names accepted? Do you know who your mentor is going to be? God, I am asking countless questions but I am so happy for you," she feels tears welling up but blinks it away at the sight of his lit up face.

"Nothing's decided for sure yet accept that I got in, the details will slowly come in in the weeks to come" he states, "how about you? have your acceptance letters come in yet?"

She feels her face slowly fall, just like the silence between them. Slowly, reality began to dawn on her.

"No... but if they do, I am going to be halfway across the globe," she trails off, a hint of doubt in her tone.

Johnny catches it and replies, "that's not a problem, I will travel back and forth for you even though our original plans to move there altogether might not happen… I am sure we can find a way around this..."

She glances out the window for awhile and watched the sun glare down on the walking passersby. The heat was unbearable at the height of summer. She watches as people struggle under the heat, occassionally waving a paper fan on themselves to alleviate the heat.

Brought back by the sound of the diner's bell, she notices Johnny's gaze still on her.

"Yeah, we will figure it out," she smiles and feels guilty. This was his big day, there was no use worrying about her acceptances and their future. All that matters is this moment.

"I love you, John."

He opens his mouth to speak but was interrupted by the waiter bringing their food, clanking the dishes against the cold marble table. The retro music drowns her words out and she stares into the hashbrown on her end of the plate, picking on it until it falls apart.

—

Johnny's stomach rumbled loudly, breaking the silence of the gallery. His eyes widened as he awkwardly shifts himself away, finding himself a chair in a hidden corner to nibble on some snacks.

From the glass door, he gathered that it was late into the night. He watched endless cars pass by this street and the disappearing winter sun.

Hope is scary. It manifested in everything he saw that day, creeping up on him with every ding of the doorbell.

As he looks at his watch, he sighed. It was 5 minutes before closing and still, his wildest dreams were not realised.

He watches as the last visitor headed toward the door, silently bowing to him and opening the door to the world outside.

A gust of freezing air rushed into the gallery, penetrating through Johnny's exposed fingers and straight into his heart. He shudders.

It was about time he gave up. It was never going to happen. He had hoped endlessly for the past years but to no avail. It was selfish of him to expect more, to want her right next to him like nothing ever happened. He was the one that sent her off, he knew that all too well.

Leaning against the wall and closing his eyes, he relents.

A second after, he hears the sudden ding of the door.

—

"We could try, but I do not think it is particularly feasible," she thinks out loud as she paces around their living room.

Johnny is sat on the couch, head heavy in his hands as he ran through many solutions. In front of him, her acceptance letter lays bare on the table.

While the initial reaction to the letter was utmost joy, the two of them slowly came to realise the prospect of the future ahead of them. Where they were previously of the same bubble, with every passing second, each of them could feel the glass breaking.

"Yeah, we could do long-distance," Johnny voices out, reaffirming her thoughts, only to be met with her sigh.

"But I will be gone for 4 years, John, that is a.. ho- horridly long time," she chokes on her words and stops her pacing. Her hands were placed firmly on her hips as she tilts her head back to prevent her tears from falling.

"That's no worry, is it? I will fly to you every time I have a break, and you could do the same for me, we could keep this apartment together and we could still be together," he tries to convince her, hands shaking at the thought of them possibly separating. His words hung uncomfortably in the air.

He looks up at the home they have built together for the past 4 years. Their books are mixed on a single bookshelf, their selves undiscernable from the other. His camera collection sits on the floating shelf above the tv, right next to her gigantic painting she first finished the week they moved in. Her pink and blue pillows rests against his grey striped ones, creating a disjunct of colours in their mint green living room - but it was intrinsically them.

Everything they have built in the past 4 years was slowly crumbling. It seemed irrational, it seems. Long-distance could definitely work out. Many couples have done it and it was successful, what makes them different?

Despite desperately trying to rationalise their decision, each of them felt it deep in their hearts. The inevitable rift. The intimacy that gets lost in the endless flights. The conversations that get lost in timezones and sleep schedules. The love that gets jumbled up in the array of their pursuits.

"You know that we have to," she says finally.

Johnny doesn't meet her eye. He would love to live in denial, reject this all and suddenly wake up to find out that this is just a dream but he doesn't. The overwhelming pain in his heart grounded him in reality, with nowhere to run.

"We could always find each other again, right?" he manages his words out, concealing the quiver in his voice to not scare her.

"One day."

Their bodies are turned away from each other, their gazes fixed on different things. The place that they came home to everyday for the past few years suddenly feels constricting. The walls were collapsing onto them and the oxygen was being pumped right out. But both of them stayed, watching the walls slowly crumble, crackle and disintegrate.

They sat and stared, waiting through the whole duration of the damage until their house was unrecognisable and turned into bits of ashy rubble. Amidst the dull ruins and dust, a glinter of sapphire glows.

—

She walks in. Her hair was cut shorter than when he last saw her, shaping her face perfectly. Her cheeks were the shade of freshly planted roses, matching the mauve tint on her lips. Her neck that he has kissed time and time again was wrapped snuggly with a red and blue plaid scarf, shielding it from his view. Her hands slowly untucked itself from the deep pockets of her black coloured coat, revealing the veins that used to course through her body with her endless love.

Johnny felt his breath knocked out of him. There she was, in flesh and blood. She aged, as he did, but she looked more beautiful than ever, he thought. She looked better than when he last saw her, she looked like the person he knew yet not at all. She looked at him with rekindled fire behind her eyes, letting the warmth of the gallery welcome her into the space.

"Y/n."

Her name left his lips for the first time in years. It sounded, felt and tasted unfamiliar but the moment the word lingered in the air, he remembered why it was his favourite word.

"Hi Johnny," she responded, managing her breaths between each word, controlling her emotions at the sight of her beloved.

He did not know how to react. He was overcome with many conflicting thoughts and emotions. He wanted to hug her tightly and never let go. He wanted to shun her away for showing up so late and letting him wake up alone this morning. He wanted to kiss her eagerly and remember the taste of her mouth. He wanted to spit out all the pain he felt throughout the years, letting her know exactly what he struggled with all this time. He wanted to ask her a billion questions about the years that eluded them. He wanted to curse her for never reaching out even once, even though it was the pact made, he supposed that she would somehow break it but she did not.

She lets her eyes fall on the photos scattered around the gallery. Every photo, a sight too familiar to her.

"So this was your one year project, hm?" she hums, eyes landing back on the bamboozled Johnny.

"Yeah, it was" he manages out.

Silently, they made their round around the gallery. She led the way and he trailed behind her, occasionally smelling a whiff of her perfume that used to sit on their dressing table. He watches as her face barely changes with every passing photo. She remained silent, her lips pursed together and her eyes non-judgemental.

They made their way through photos of their empty bed, disordered bookshelf, dusty shelves full of collectibles, colourful tupperwares of food in their fridge, brown oak front door, creaky silver chair they found near their garbage disposal, frayed bohemian carpet and the mismatched sock pile in their drawers. All scenes that are engraved in their memory. As they walked further, the sight of the last painting halted them in their tracks.

Finally, Johnny watches as her eyebrows twitch and fall. Her eyes softened. Her lips steadily parts.

"Was that the ring?"

Johnny remained silent. He remembers taking the photo, the day he bought the ring. After they returned from the cafe, she rushed off to bathe and he sneakily took the box out, quietly opening it and marvelling at its sight. He grabbed his camera when he heard her shower stop running. Taking a quick shot, he buried the box behind the shelf full of art books.

"Yeah."

"It's beautiful."

Silence penetrates the room once more. They were turned away from each other, bodies drawn toward the photograph. They could hear each other's laboured breath bubbling up the room until Johnny pricks it.

"Would you have said yes?"

She lightly shifts toward him, meeting his eye for the second time since she entered. The same eyes that he looked into every morning and night. The same eyes that saw him in the lecture room years ago and the same eyes that bade him goodbye in the departure hall.

"Of course, John."

Her response washed over him like flowers blooming in place of melted snow. He held her gaze.

"Well, we've made our journey across the wall, haven't we?" she chuckles, making Johnny reveal a slight smile.

She takes a step closer.

"After looking at endless artworks the past few years, I came to realise something. I see you in all of them. The greats, the worsts, the ones portraying the highest moments of humanity and the lowest. The ones encased with grief, anger, fury and the ones with joy, love and fondness. Beyond every frame, form, brushstroke or performance, you were there. You were everywhere."

"I realised after awhile that just as I am cataloguing these works and granting them significance, I was doing the same for all our memories. I have never, not for a single second, forgotten you."

Outside, people were gathering and gearing for the year end fireworks. Screams of excitement filled the streets, anticipating the looming new year. They huddled together, their bodies emanating warmth that the night could not offer. They wait, staring at the sky.

Inside, two figures stand beside each other, framed by the dark photograph. They bow forward, stumbling on each other’s shoes as they clumsily announce their musings of each other, stepping forth from the peeling curtains. Their clothes glimmer in their pure whiteness, illuminating their path into the unknown.

At last, the clock struck midnight.

#nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct au #nct angst #nct fluff #nct oneshot #johnny suh #johnny suh fluff #johnny suh angst #nct drabbles

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ikemenomegas · 1 year

Text

Rock Paper Scissors

It's been almost six years since bsd started airing, and I decided to go back to season 1 after watching the season 4 premier last night and reading the latest chapter (best Wednesday of 2023 so far).

It's been so long I forgot that Atsushi's entrance exam starts with Kunikida and Dazai playing rock-paper-scissors

Where Dazai wins every on of the three rounds and sends Kunikida to crawl around on tables and tackle Tanizaki. We don't assume from this point that it's a manipulation, only that it's typical comedy or maybe someone being very good at guessing the other person's body language.

By chapter 105, we've seen Dazai manipulate his way into impossible situations before, and once again playing a game with a partner in front of a supposed life or death situation.

This arc has exposed a lot more of what is Dazai's more serious and less performative side of his personality than the other arcs before. We know he, through Mori's training, is a master at game theory and pragmatic strategies. Even after working with the ADA for nearly three years by this point* Dazai manipulations in preference to explaining, even distracting his own coworkers from what work he does behind the scenes in order to prevent them from worrying and/or keep his movements free from scrutiny.

*(time gets wishy washy in bsd, but Atsushi has been with the agency for quite a few months by where we are in the manga and all the light novel things apparently take place between what we've seen from the anime and manga so far. With the events of even the Hunting Dog arc to now stretching nearly a month or so, I estimate at least eight to nine** months since Atsushi's recruitment to now, even without much seasonal change, simply because there is otherwise too much going on with the light novel missions included, but that's not necessary for the meta)

**amendment after reviewing events through overthinking, it's more like 5-6 months max given Akutagawa's promise, which I forgot about. The timeline does make Dazai trying so hard to save Atsushi's life in the Guild arc more poignant, it's really a mentor choosing a new apprentice to take care of and it makes how the rest of the agency operates around Atsushi during the cannibalism arc also make more sense)

It's sort of fun to realize that in the first few chapters, Dazai's hand was hidden. What's maybe even more fun is getting a "glimpse behind the curtain" of Dazai's scheming. We know he plans for a lot of scenarios, he reads the flow of things in Yokohama and predicts likely scenarios from small bits of information.

Even Ranpo says that he's hard to deal with. Ranpo sees a lot more than most people do, he probably has most of the same information Dazai does a lot of the time, even if he doesn't necessarily have the context for it (having not spend time in the city's underworld).

Which maybe again begs the question of why Ranpo and the Agency have struggled so much against the Decay of the Angel. Fukuchi might have more resources, but so did the Port Mafia and the Guild. Dazai technically beat Dostoevsky during the Corruption arc even if Dostoevsky might have been expecting the scenario.

Fukuchi's sword sort of means he can see a few seconds into the future, but he still has a harder time beating Fukuzawa, who from what we've seen is probably the better swordsman in every sense of the word since Fukuzawa's way of the sword has a lot more to do with lifestyle and Plot Themes than with simple martial capability.

The last few pages of chapter 105 lay out clearly that what Dazai and Dostoevsky do is this illusionist type manipulating and misdirection, practiced and subtle enough that no one around them really realizes they're doing it. At this point, I wonder if they even notice.

In the way that young Ranpo and his genius parents didn't notice that the rest of the world is not lying, they just don't make deductions the way Ranpo does. Dazai and Dostoevsky feel isolated from other people not just because of their abilities but perhaps in part because the redirection is almost second nature. Dazai's power generally distances him from exactly the kinds of people who might be able to understand what it's like to live as an ability user. I suspect Dostoevsky's power has something to do with causing proportional harm to people who want to hurt him, but it's possible he determines what "hurt" means, or that he's unable to control whether his ability reacts to someone wanting to hurt him versus whether they intend to act on it (ie Ango's subordinate who tried to handcuff him and ended up dead? likely dead).

I don't know why Dazai says this to Sigma, of all people. They've never met before, despite Sigma having some similarity to both of his protege's backgrounds, or maybe because if Dazai gets his hands on the Page, there's every possibility Sigma will just disappear. Or I suppose, there is something I do understand in that Sigma is considered the epitome of the "average human" even though Dazai is right and there is technically no such thing.

This is a story that tells uses the names and backgrounds of story writers. One of my favorite things to read, and which I myself have a difficult time emulating, are short stories about the lives of normal people - how they perceive the successes and failures of their small day to day actions, how they invent or experience grand cause and effect even when there is likely no such thing, how they lie to themselves and how they invent truth.

I think a lot of people who relate to Dazai, both the character and the author, can understand having a fear of people. Humans are unpredictable, and those moments of unpredictability are what make things dangerous.

If you can predict someone's actions or even entice them into going the way you expect, it can make things safer. It can also make them very very lonely. Dazai is also smart enough to see how things might go if he didn't manipulate things, leading him to wonder when is anyone being genuine with him if he can himself alter most situations. It's a self perpetuating problem that others around him can sometimes insert themselves into, but it's not easy. Dazai's level of intelligence, his sense of humor or habitual "clowning", and his depression each have served to isolate him in different ways from "normal" people.

And yet:

"I am not a superhuman beyond the limits of human wisdom."

I think he knows that members of the Agency are starting to see him for who is is, but more importantly, Dazai himself is finally acknowledging that despite the layer upon layer of facade, despite the fact that he may not be understood at every single moment, he's not completely unknowable.

In the context of his ability, his recently killing Chuuya (maybe for real and maybe for good but we hope not, we hope that the water tank is maybe part of the "tension and timing") and a lot of other people, this undeniably dark part of him that we've never seen before, Dazai is somehow more transparent than at any other time. He's a human who likes playing games, who is resentful of this nearly month long imprisonment, whose bandages stop before his elbow, who is angry with other people and what they represent to him, and who is trying to show someone who has only seen how people can use him that maybe there's some way to protect himself, some way to become individual and break out of the meaningless tale Fyodor has tried to write them into, that no person's way of being human can ever be average.

Then again, everything is one hand or the other, so who knows what lies behind this confession yet.

#bsd meta #bsd spoilers #bsd manga spoilers #bsd 105 #major spoilers #dazai osamu

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