#and it’s shitty! it’s fucking shitty!
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saw trap recording but jigsaw’s cat hasn’t been fed even though it’s 6 pm so it’s really hard to focus on the instructions because of the yowling
#shitty saw traps#saw franchise#mod amanda#hello welcome to your personal (MEOW) hell. you stole money from a charity and got off (MEOW) Scott-free. Will you (MEOW)— FUCK
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I love how season 3-5 for us has been a solid 2 years of events but for Arthur it's been just a really bad six days
#malevolent#a really shitty week or so#you wouldn't fucking believe the week I had#arthur lester#arthur malevolent#malevolent arthur#malevolent podcast
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˗ˏˋ My Love Note ´ˎ˗
1 | Something about you
❧ Synopsis | In which Choso Kamo, your asshole of a best friend, starts to change after you get involved with a rather cheeky cashier, Gojo Satoru.
❧ Content | flirting, language, suggestiveness, fluff, & faint sexual tension.
❧ Word Count | 7.1k (we're starting off strong it seems...)
❧ Pairings | Choso Kamo x f!reader & Gojo Satoru x f!reader.
| Chapters mlist |
——Congratulations, you’ve nearly escaped hell— not-so-happily entering your final year of university as time stands currently. And y’know what, you think you’ve coasted through most of your college years drama-free. Well, aside from freshman year you suppose, everyone fucks up around that time…
But that’s a tale for another day, right now, you’re finding yourself waltzing into an entirely different plotline— with your head held high as you waltz toward a newfound cafe that you haven’t had the pleasure of finding for the past four years. Up until today, you’ve just barely been stomaching dining hall caffeine. Which, to say the least, isn’t nearly as savory or energizing as coffee from your local cafe.
Four years you’ve been going to this school and yet here you were walking right into an establishment you swear simply spawned out of nowhere because you pass this street all the damn time and you don’t remember this place being here a week ago. Yet, when you enter the cafe and spot a sign that says they’ve been there for the past three years, you begin to realize that maybe you should start going out a bit more…
Nonetheless, you mentally claimed that if the coffee here was bad, you’d walk right out and return to never acknowledging the place. But hey, when you do push past those double doors, fingers wrapped around a warm metal handle, a waft of smoky coffee aromas simmering into your nose, and spot a rather attractive cashier first thing, you’re quick to tell yourself that maybe shitty coffee might be worth a few things.
Especially seeing as six staggering feet of height, fluffy bright white locks of hair, and the most dazzling set of blue eyes take notice of your entering seconds after you’ve stepped inside— how could you not tell yourself that terrible coffee may be worth digesting so long as you get to drink in this tall, fine man whose name you note as Gojo as you near him and read the tag on his apron.
“Suguru, it seems the gods have finally answered my prayers,” Gojo yells back to someone you can’t quite see yet. His eyes were all over you, drinking you in just as you were him. The tall man receives a laugh from somewhere further behind him before he redirects his words to you, “To what do I have the pleasure of serving you today, sweetheart?”
Your lips parted as you approached the counter fully, your eyes lingering on his far longer than they should’ve. “Uh,” And you were making a fool out of yourself already, great, “It’s my first time here, so I’m not too sure…” Okay, that’s a decent enough save considering how your words earn a half smile from the man in front of you who tilts his head and eyes you down.
And fuck if he wasn’t every bit of intimidating looking down at you like that. He places a single hand onto the counter space in front of him, leaning forward just a bit before turning his head back to take a glance at the menu hanging up, as if he didn’t have it memorized already, “Well, for first-timers I usually recommend anything but our coffee.”
You bat your lashes at the man for a moment as he returns his attention to you, “Seriously? That’s the one thing I came in here for…”
“Ah, well,” Gojo clicks his tongue and shrugs a bit, leaning toward you just to whisper, “Y’gotta come here when I’m in the back.”
You lean forward, intrigued by his words, “…Why?”
“Cause’ Suguru doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing,” Gojo chuckles a bit and you reciprocate before pushing your brows together questioningly. “Suguru, my best fr-, my coworker.” He clarifies quickly.
“Ohh,” You nod, “So should I come back another time, or…?”
“Nono, you caught me a few minutes before rush hour,” Gojo says rather cheerfully before he leans away from you and flashes a smile, “I can run back there ‘nd make ya’ somethin’ since we’re not too busy?”
At that, you take a moment to glance around the cafe interior, spotting one, maybe two people sitting on their laptops and languidly sipping or munching away at their breakfast. You’re glad you came in when you did.
Not only did you get the chance to talk to Gojo, who you turn back to seconds later with a nod, but you also got the chance to get not-so-shitty coffee according to the man. “Yeah, actually. That’d be nice,” You hum to him.
Gojo dramatically moves to stretch his arms, clasping his hands together before extending them out with a heavy sigh, as if he were preparing to do such a difficult task. “Alrighty then, is there any specific kinda coffee you’re lookin’ for?”
“Still my first time here, Gojo. So, no…” The way you say his name so suddenly has him wondering if you knew him from somewhere. But, you quickly smile a little and nod your chin to his name tag, to which he looks down and laughs at himself. “Surprise me,” You then say moments later.
“Surprise you?” Gojo echoes.
You shrug sheepishly, “If that’s not too much work for you-“
“No, I don’t mind. I can surprise ya’,” His smile at you deepens and you catch the slightest dip in his cheeks as the most enamoring set of dimples pops out to your gaze. “Buuut, before I do… Do you have any allergies or dislikes I should be wary of?”
You hum, “Uh, no I don’t think so? I’m feeling rather open-minded today so, just bring me something good enough to have me returning for more.”
“Yeah? I mean, I’m sure you’ll come back for somethin’ else aside from jus’ coffee,” Gojo laughs to himself at his own comment and your eyes simply widen, a cute lil’ tilt of your head catching his attention.
You chuckle nervously, “What else would I come back for if not coffee?”
He shrugs before slowly turning away, “Oh, I dunno… Perhaps a certain handsome cashier that’s caught your eye?”
Oh, you see where he’s going with this. It may have been a while but, you know what flirting looks like. “Is this handsome cashier in the room with us, or…?” You tease with a smile on your face, watching the way Gojo freezes and he sends you this look that you have to try your hardest not to laugh at.
He nearly pouts, “W-Well, yeah, obviously. You’re lookin’ at him.”
Your brows lift, “Am I?”
Gojo narrows those pretty blue eyes of his at you, “Do you not find me handsome?”
“Say I didn’t,” You murmur tauntingly, “Wouldn’t you be really embarrassed?”
The corner of his lips twitch before he scoffs playfully, “What are you, some kinda masochist?”
You giggle, “No, but seein’ that pout on your face was kinda cute.”
“Pout?” Gojo gasps dramatically, “Hah, what pout?” He scoffs again before straightening his face and attempting to be serious with you, “I didn’t pout-“
“You totally did,” You cut off, peering right into those mesmerizing eyes of his— damn, it was almost like you couldn’t get yourself to look away.
“I did not,” Gojo corrects your statement, lower lip poking out once more into a pout.
You shrug and finally get yourself to glance off to the side, “It was cute.”
He instantly tilts his head at that, ears perking up, “Y’think I’m cute?”
“I do.” You hum simply with your eyes wandering right back over to his face.
There’s this little moment between the two of you, a spark if you will, where you both just meet one another’s eyes and admire each other. Is this what mutual attraction feels like?
Perhaps if you squinted, you would’ve noticed the faintest shade of pink decorating his cheeks, “I-,” Gojo swallows suddenly, “Why thank you, sweetheart,” He utters suavely, as if to save himself from embarrassment. After which, he clears his throat, “That aside, we’ve got about six minutes before people start rushin’ in here ‘nd it’ll take two for me to prepare that coffee of yours so, do you mind givin’ me a name?”
You blink, “A name…?”
“Your name,” Gojo clarifies.
“Oh! Sorry,” You’re quick to apologize for your moment of daze, giving him your name seconds later to make up for it.
He starts to smile again, “That’s your name?”
“Yes?” You utter almost confusedly. Was there something wrong-
“It’s pretty,” Gojo interrupts your thoughts completely and your eyes go all wide all over again, a small feature in which he finds absolutely adorable.
“T-Thank you,” You stammer out, turning away to now avoid the eye contact you once couldn’t tear yourself away from.
“Uhuh,” His eyes scan you up and down once more before he sighs, “I’ll be back in a sec’, sweets,” Gojo says finally.
God, you think the nickname he threw out has your heart racing because it made your face so utterly hot. Almost as if you don’t hear nicknames like that on a daily basis…
Aside from that, you gave Gojo one last nod before looking back over your shoulder to see if anyone was coming yet. He’d told you that there was only a few minutes until rush hour so you were a bit wary that people would appear out of nowhere in the next-
“So you’re the girl that’s got Satoru all giggly, huh?” A voice purrs from somewhere in front of you.
Quickly, you return your gaze forward and spot a man, equally as tall as Gojo, with long dark hair, slim eyes, and a really pretty face— holy shit, how many hot guys work here??
“Uh,” You’re stuttering again, tipping your head to the side, “…Satoru?” You repeat, confused by the person he’s referring to.
The man chuckles, “Gojo,” He tells you, “Satoru Gojo,” You nod at the clarification and he grins warmly.
“Oh, then yeah I guess so,” You shrug sheepishly before flashing a smile, “So then that means you must be Suguru-“
“Geto,” He’s so quick to correct you that you almost immediately shut up, swallowing down your words as if you’d said something wrong. “Sorry, I assume Satoru told you my first name?”
You steadily nod, avoiding eye contact with him out of embarrassment, “He did…”
“As expected,” Geto hums before letting out a long sigh, “Just call me by me last, I don’t know you too well so I’m sure you understand.”
You hum, “Right, sorry.”
It’s a tad bit awkward for the next few seconds after that mild conversation but when you hear Gojo yelling from somewhere in the back, the awkwardness quickly subsides.
You even spot Gojo popping his head out from around the corner just to speak to his coworker, “Suguru don’t scare her off jus’ cause you have a girlfriend-“
“I don’t have a girlfriend,” Geto interrupts, sharp with his correction as he glances back over his shoulder.
Gojo snorts, “Fine then, girl who’s a friend that you like-“
“I don't-,” A sigh leaves Geto’s lips before he’s moving to pinch the bridge of his nose, groaning afterward, “Just hurry up with the damn coffee before people start comin’ in.”
Your eyes somehow find Gojo’s and you watch him mouth out something to you, “He’s grouchy because his girlfriend’s ignorin’ him-“
“Satoru,” Geto says scoldingly, causing Gojo to flinch dramatically.
Then you see the white-haired man laugh before winking at you and dipping back around the corner. After which, you don’t even realize you’re smiling until you meet Geto’s gaze and feel your expression drop at the glare he’s giving you.
“What?” You murmur warrily, raising a brow at his plain look.
Geto tilts his head and studies your face for a mere moment, “You new around here or somethin’?”
“New to this cafe, yeah,” You explain, “Why?”
He shrugs, “I’ve learned most of our customer’s faces and majority of them live around the area but I’ve never seen you before.”
“I live not too far from campus but I wasn’t aware this cafe was here until today…” You explain steadily, earning somewhat of an intrigued expression from the man.
“Damn, really?”
You nod, “Mhm.”
“So, wait,” Geto scoffs a little at the thought, “Don’t tell me you’ve been stomaching dining hall caffeine all this time.”
You chuckle and glance off to the side, “Well…”
“If you live near campus, how the hell are you just now finding us??” Geto questions, he seems genuinely confused by your cluelessness.
Your shoulders lift into a shrug, “I don’t go out much.”
“Maybe you should,” He tells you.
A thin lipped smile tugs at your lips, “Starting to realize that now, thanks.”
The man opens his mouth to say something but he’s cut off by Gojo returning from the back and placing a hand on his shoulder, to which Geto glances down at.
“Alrighty Suguru, thanks for not scaring the pretty lady away!” Gojo says cheerfully as he pushes past his friend and makes eye contact with you.
Geto’s brows push together, “You’re welcome? I don’t know how I would’ve scared her, I-“
Gojo unintentionally cuts him off with a laugh, “You’ve been kinda grouchy towards women ever since you met-“
“Fuck off,” He grumbles, brushing off Gojo’s hand on his shoulder and turning to make his way to the back once more.
“See what I mean?” Gojo hums to himself.
Then Geto laughs, “You’re not a woman are you?”
“Suguruuu,” Gojo whines, turning his head back to his friend who’s already disappeared from his line of vision. Then, Gojo sighs and looks to you again, “Ah whatever, ignore him, he sucks sometimes.”
You grin, “You guys are best friends, aren’t you?”
The way Gojo tilts his head almost innocently is kinda cute, “How can you tell?”
“Mine acts similarly,” You explain, thinking of your best friend who’s not the nicest person in the world.
“Yeah?” Gojo hums, “An asshole once they get into a relationship?”
“I’m not in a relationship, Satoru!” Geto calls out from the back.
You watch as Gojo rolls his eyes at his friend's refutation of his claims. Looking somewhat off to the side, your thoughts wander more so toward your best friend, “Well, no, he’s kinda just an asshole all around.”
“Really? Why’re you his best friend then?” You’ve always found this question funny considering most people are confused about how you and your best friend are even friends when most times you two don’t get along.
Instead of really answering Gojo’s question, you look up at him and smile, “I could ask you the same thing, no?”
His brows furrow and he scoffs, “What? No, Suguru’s just grouchy today, I promise he’s usually better than that.”
You nod, “I see…”
“Anyway,” Gojo extends his hand out to you, “Here, give this a try,” He offers, handing a decently sized cold drink to you.
You receive the item and look down at it, “You’re not trying to poison me right?”
Gojo laughs, “Aaand why ever would I do that?”
The cup is steadily lifted to your lips as you lift your eyes to him once more, “I dunno, men are weird.”
“That they are,” He chuckles, “But no, that’d be illegal and I have no intentions of harming you.”
Again, you just nod at that and then take that first sip of the surprise drink he’d given you. A strong taste of vanilla and a nearly overwhelming amount of coffee creamer hits your tastebuds. You smile but you’re a bit taken back by how sweet it is. One, it’s way better than any cup of coffee you’ve ever had from the dining hall and two, it’s a lot sweeter than you were expecting.
“Holy fuck, how much sugar did you put in this thing?” You utter in surprise as you move the cup away from your mouth and glance at it as if that’ll give you the answer to your question.
Gojo lets out a laugh, “You said to surprise you.”
“Yeah but this is sweet as hell,” You tell him, your eyes raking over the cup in your hand.
“Sweet drink for a sweet girl, I don’t see a problem,” He responds with a little lean toward you.
“Right and-,” You scoff, eyes narrowing at the very lousy print of your name on the cup, “Who’s…” You almost laugh, “Christ, your handwriting is shit.”
Gojo lets out a huff, “Okay, first off, my handwriting is not that bad. And secondly-”
You’re quick to turn the cup to him and lift it, “Look at it!”
“Oh.” He squints his eyes at it, “Shit, that is kinda bad…” Gojo mumbles with an amused little smile on his face.
“Yeah, I can’t even read this…” You laugh, returning the cup to yourself, “But that’s okay, I appreciate the effort,” His smile grows at your comforting words as you then look up at him once more, “How much?”
“Since my handwriting’s so shit,” He starts, tilting his head at you and shrugging, “Consider it on the house.”
Your eyes seem to light up, “Yeah?”
“Mhm,” Gojo hums.
“Aw, thank you,” Who would you be to ever pass up something free? Especially given by this cheeky cashier before you.
“Anytime-”
Geto’s voice intrudes from the back, “Satoru I thought I told you to change these filters? And why’d you leave such a big mess, holy shit.”
Gojo yells back to his coworker, slightly looking over his shoulder, “The mess isn’t that bad is it?”
You snort, “If it’s anything like your handwriting then uh…”
“Alright,” Gojo’s quick to look at you once more, “You just got a free drink out of me so I don’t wanna hear anything from you.”
“Satoru, these filters aren’t gonna change themselves,” Geto nags further.
You watch as Gojo rolls his eyes and yells back to his friend yet again, “You’re literally back there already, change them yourself.”
“Nope, it’s your turn,” Geto argues.
Gojo frowns, “But-”
“The girl’s not goin’ anywhere anytime soon,” At that, you blink in surprise. How does he know you’re not ready to leave just yet? “Get your ass back here,” Geto orders.
Gojo turns his head and looks at you almost pleadingly.
You giggle, “What? Sounds like you’ve got some filters to change, Gojo…”
“Y’know what,” He scoffs and nods his chin to the cup in your hand, “$5.45.”
Your head cocks back a little and your brows go up, “I’m sorry?”
“The drink,” Gojo hums simply, looking back to make sure Geto wasn’t on his way out to scold him some more just yet, “Since you wanna take his side over mine…”
The way you frown misses Gojo’s eyes up until he turns to look at you one last time, his eyes going wide as you try to defend yourself, “I wasn’t-”
“S’fine, I got it,” An entirely different voice grumbles from your right, causing you to nearly jump out of your skin. So close to you, an arm slips right past your face and you watch as an all too familiar man extends a card out to Gojo.
Your lashes bat a few times as an annoyingly familiar scent of cologne rushes into your nose. You’d literally just escaped said smell a few hours ago after leaving your apartment and yet here it was all over again, directly in your nose and you met the side profile of your best friend, “Choso?” You utter.
Whatever light and fluffy banter that was in the air seconds ago seems to die at the mere presence of Choso standing so closely beside you. Ignoring you, he urges Gojo to take his card and Gojo soon does so with a scoff— he was going to keep flirting and teasing you but here comes this all-too-serious-looking man taking your vacant side as if it were second nature.
The smile Gojo once had on his face simmered down and his expression became a lot more neutral as he quietly moved to charge Choso’s card.
After which, your best friend finally looks down at you, his eyes pointed in a glare that would make anyone feel unloved despite you knowing he feels quite the opposite (to some extent at least), “Don’t you have class in an hour?” Choso asks you in a dull monotone.
Your face scrunches up slightly before you shrug, “I was thirsty…”
Choso stares at you for a long moment, glances at Gojo, then back to you with a scoff, “Yeah, clearly.”
“What’s that supposed to mean-,” You’re cut off by Choso taking his eyes off of you and receiving his card back from Gojo, the two men making eye contact once more and both looking as if the other had done something to offend them. Your best friend openly scoffs in Gojo’s face before pocketing his card and turning away, quickly walking out of the establishment.
Your eyes go wide, “Choso, wait!” You call out as your eyes followed him walking away from you. Only to be ignored again, you let out a huff and start to walk after him but turn back to Gojo one last time, “Sorry about him.”
Gojo’s expression seems to light back up a bit and he shrugs, “You’re fine.”
You nod and start turning away before remembering something and looking at Gojo yet again, slightly pointing at him, “You owe me a free drink by the way,” You remind him playfully.
His face is twisting right back up into that intrigued expression from earlier, “Do I now? And what for?”
“Your shitty handwriting of course,” You hum.
"Hm," He takes a second to think before letting out a slight huff. You then feel and watch the way his eyes glide up and down your body before he responds to you, "Alright."
And with that, both of you smile at one another one last time before you go running off to catch up with Choso. Gojo watches you almost in some kinda trance as you leave, spotting more customers approaching but ignoring them for the most part as his gaze remains glued to you until you’re completely out of his line of vision.
Then, he lets out this breathy little sigh, “Fuck…” Moving to wipe his face off as if that’ll rid himself of whatever the hell he’s feeling after talking to you.
He didn’t even get to ask you for your number like he wanted to…
With perfect timing, “Satoru, the-”
“Filters, yeah yeah, I got it,” Gojo cuts Geto off completely, turning around to see his friend emerging from the back as they both swap places due to the approaching rush hour.
· · ─────── · ꨄ · ─────── · ·
Outside, you were met with a slap of heat as soon as you exited the cafe, your eyes searching the area for Choso. A slight breeze of refreshing wind brushes over your skin as you finally spot the man having not gotten too far away.
Barely managing to catch up to him, you nudge Choso on his arm as soon as you meet his side, “Why’d you pay for my drink? I could’ve done that myself.”
Just as he did earlier inside the cafe, he acts as though you’re not even there, keeping his gaze forward and pretending he didn’t hear a single thing you just said.
“Choso? Hello??” You huff out, nudging him on his arm again.
His lip twitches into a scowl and he just barely side-eyes you, “What?”
You ignore all of his attitude, as you typically do, “Why’d you pay?”
“You’re a walking charity case,” Choso hums all too casually.
Your head goes back and you scoff, “I-, what? No, I’m not!” Then the back of your hand is landing on his arm as you hit him and he almost smiles.
Finding amusement in your reaction, he shrugs, “Yeah you are,” And before you can even try to get a response out, the cup of coffee in your hand is stripped from your grasp faster than you could blink. Choso removes the top and takes a sip, “Ew, you like this shit?” He scowls, placing the top right back on and handing you your drink back.
You blink, struggling to process a logical reasoning behind his action, “First off, no one told your ass to take a sip. And secondly-”
“I wanted to know what you got,” Choso cuts off, glancing at you to watch how quickly you get annoyed by him.
You groan, “You could’ve asked if that was the case.” He shrugs your words off and you roll your eyes at him, “And how the hell did you know I was in there anyway?”
“I didn’t,” Choso tells you, “I always go in there but today I happened to see your short ass at the counter when I walked in.”
You’re quick to shoot him a glare, “Stop that, I’m not short.”
He’s got this arrogant little grin on his face, “Look short t’me.”
“That’s because you’re taller than me, which doesn’t make you tall in general nor does it make me short.” You explain to the man simply with your eyes shooting daggers into the side of his face.
Choso continues to act as though you’re not even looking at him, “Being shorter than me makes you short-”
“And y’know what,” You cut off, tearing your eyes off of your overly bothersome friend, “You’re annoying.”
He cocks his head back, “Annoying? I’m annoying?” Finally, he looks at you, now searching the side of your face for answers.
“Yeah, very.” You hum.
Choso scoffs and then sizes you up and down, “Says the one who was gawkin’ over Gojo Satoru of all people.”
You nearly laugh, “Fucks’ that supposed to mean? How would that make me annoying?”
“He’s a weirdo,” Choso shrugs, pocketing his hands as he faces forward once more, “I can’t understand what you could possibly find attractive about him.”
You blink and both of you slow down in the pace of your steps, “I talked to him for less than ten minutes, how was I supposed to know he’s weird. And wait-, how does me finding him attractive even annoy you?”
Your best friend sighs and his words come out all too casually for them to be so offensive, “Cause when he breaks your heart,” Choso looks at you, “You’ll come bitchin’ to me about it.”
At that, you freeze, quickly turning to meet his gaze, “Who says he’ll break my heart? And bitching? Is that what you call me talking to you about my relationship issues?? Bitching? Seriously?” With your eyes narrowed and brows tightly knit together, Choso should’ve sensed that he struck a nerve there.
Yet, he seems to not care in the slightest, blinking as if he’d said nothing wrong, “Fuck else am I supposed to call it? I warn you about every guy you date but you don’t ever listen to me.”
Your face twists up, “That doesn’t make my complaints ‘bitching’…”
“Well, it makes it fucking annoying,” He hums before pulling his lips into a thin smile— mocking you through facial expressions.
Your brows go up, “Really? Okay then, sorry for ever confiding in you,” You set your eyes straight once more, “I’ll just go find someone else to-”
“You know no one else is gonna put up with your shit the same way I do,” He’s so quick to dismiss your little statement, almost as if the implication of you ever leaving him, in a sense, bothered him.
You scoff matter-of-factly, “That’s not true.”
“It literally is though,” Choso deadpans, “You have one friend and that’s me. Who the hell else are you gonna go rant to, hm?”
“Someone that doesn’t call my rants bitching.” You huff, crossing your arms over one another.
Choso scales his eyes down to your arms and he smiles, “Are you seriously mad about that?”
“Maybe,” You shrug.
His feet come to a stop and you follow suit, turning to avoid his eyes as much as possible. Choso stares at you for a moment before leaning toward you, tilting his head and angling his lips toward your ear.
All of which done so he could whisper to you, “M’sorry, princess,” Choso murmurs to you affectionately, “Y’know I didn’t mean that seriously, I’m jus’ fuckin’ with you.”
You remain unphased for a mere moment more before the constant brush of his breath against your skin makes you shudder, your hands moving to his chest to push him away, “Yeah, whatever… And stop calling me that.”
Choso blinks, feeling confused since you act as if he hadn’t been calling you such a thing for years, “Why?”
“Cause I don’t like it…” You so clearly lie— not that you enjoyed the nickname but more so that you’ve always felt indifferent to it. Or, almost always.
He smirks, “Your face is telling me an entirely different story.”
“Yeah?” You chuckle, moving to shoot your middle finger at him, “And what story does this tell you?’
Choso stares into your eyes for a long period of time before looking to your finger, smiling fully and tilting his head again, “…You wanna fuck me?”
Immediately putting your finger down, your brows tense, “What? No!” You exclaim, groaning as you return to your walking, “God, I cannot stand you.”
He laughs and follows right alongside you, “You’re so easy to annoy, holy shit.”
“And you’re insufferable,” You huff.
Choso shrugs simply, “You love me though.”
You glance at him, “Debatable.”
He pouts and pretends to clutch his heart, “Ouch-”
“Anyway,” Returning your attention to someone much less annoying than the man beside you, you nod your head back toward the cafe, “Do you know if he’s single?”
Choso nearly trips over his steps at the sound of that, letting out a cough, “Who-, Gojo??”
You nod, “Mhm.”
“Why?” Choso’s lips twitch, “You lookin’ to get rejected?”
Pausing, you look to him with a quirked brow, “Excuse me? What makes you think I’ll get rejected?”
“You’re uh…” He trails off a little, eyes lingering down your frame before he smiles and speaks to you in this faux gentle whisper, “Not his type, sweetie.”
Your eyes roll at that, “Okay, first of all, fuck you. Secondly, how do you know?”
“Uh, I’ve seen the kinda girls he’s into so trust me when I say…” Choso’s eyes shift to peer directly into yours, “It ain’t you.”
You stare back for a moment before shaking your head and looking off, “Whatever, you’re just saying that.”
“Yeah because I’m gonna lie to you about something like that,” He snickers to himself before rolling his eyes. Within seconds, he goes to look at you again only to see you heading in a different direction, “Hey! Where’re you goin’?”
“Away from you!” You call back.
He laughs yet again, “What, you can’t handle the truth now?”
Glancing back to him, “I’m gonna prove you wrong asshole.”
Choso flashes you a shit-eating grin as if he’s already begun praying on your downfall, “Sure you will.”
He then watches as you further away from him, his smile steadily fading as he catches himself a bit too happy at the sight of you so determined. Choso shrugs off whatever feeling the topic of Gojo Satoru had brought up within him, dismissing the entire thing as he truly believed you’d never really get yourself too involved with that guy.
Unfortunately for him, he didn’t see the way you were taking to Gojo before he walked in so, Choso had no idea of how things were about to play out within the next few hours.
· · ─────── · ꨄ · ─────── · ·
As such, after that morning class of yours that extended decently into the afternoon, you found yourself rushing back to the cafe as soon as you could.
You knew not of Gojo’s working hours so you had no clue whether or not he’d still be there but you sure as hell hoped so. Choso had really ticked you off with his claims.
You not being Gojo’s type? Yeah right, he didn’t see the way that cashier was looking at you, nor did he hear all the banter that took place. Given that, you were determined to prove your dear friend wrong and yourself right. You know flirting when you see it and that’s exactly what Gojo was doing.
So to say he wasn’t at least intrigued by you would be a blatant lie you had every hope on exposing to Choso.
When you finally find yourself entering that lovely little cafe, it’s a lot more busy in comparison to earlier— something you take note of for your possible future visits. The line wasn’t exactly too long but quite a few people were hanging out or studying throughout the establishment.
That aside, your eyes were quick to search for a certain white-haired barista, gaze lighting up the very second it meets the man it questions.
Gojo had a weary smile on his face as he handed some girl a coffee and you could tell based on his eyes alone that he was tired of the chick rambling to him. He nodded and nodded, trying to keep himself appearing entertained by whatever she was saying but when he glances over and spots you, all his attention is diverted.
Those pretty blue eyes of his fixate on you and you watch as he finally dismisses the girl, nodding toward you as if to say he had another customer to tend to. She shrugs and finally leaves, to which you take place in standing where she’d been seconds ago, sending a smile to Gojo.
“Long day?” You suggest with a slight tilt of your head, to which he nods.
“You have no idea,” Gojo sighs out to you, “You’re back sooner than I expected though.”
He didn’t know what it was about you, perhaps the way you gaze at him, but there was something that kept his eyes lingering on yours far longer than normal— something that genuinely lulled him in. Perhaps it was the natural flow of conversation and how even from earlier, you didn’t really feel like a mere customer but instead just a person, a woman at that-, a very pretty woman, might he add.
“You owe me a free drink, remember?” You remind him, earning a different reaction than expected.
Gojo pauses, “Ohh… About that…” He hums, moving to scratch the back of his neck, “Yeah see, that offer no longer stands…”
You blink, “I’m not sure I understand…”
He lets out a sigh, then moves to lean forward against the counter, bending down and crossing his arms as he rests on his elbows and comes much closer to your eye level, “Another cute girl came in ‘nd got it before you,” Gojo whispers.
You couldn’t tell if he was joking or not and your brows pinch together, “Seriously?”
“Mmhmm,” He hums tauntingly with this smug look on his face as if to say giving away your promised drink was to get back at you for something.
“Well,” You click your tongue, “I think you owe me a free drink now more than before, maybe two.”
Gojo smiles, feeling amused, “Yeah? I mean, my number’s free. Y’want that instead?”
Your voice gets caught in your throat at how ridiculously smooth that was, trying your hardest not to give in and return a smile. “I… What am I supposed to do with that?” You end up asking.
He snickers, “Perhaps text me? Or call? Y’know, the thing you do with phones-“
“Alright smart ass,” You scoff playfully, grinning as you move to pull out your phone, “What’s your number then?”
Gojo smiles triumphantly and extends his hand out, “Here, lemme put it in for ya’.”
You glance at him, eyes meeting and yet another moment passing before you hand him your phone, to which he takes a second to look down at the device in his hands. Then, he enters his number and a contact name for himself.
After which, your cell is quickly returned to you and you look to see what he’s put in. Studying the name closely, you tilt your head, “Satoru?”
“Mhm, tha’s me, sweetheart,” He purrs, moving to rest his cheek against his knuckles.
You look up from your phone, “You want me to call you Satoru?”
Gojo shrugs, “If you don’t mind, yeah.”
“We’re on a first-name basis already?” You tease, eyes narrowing at the man.
“It seems we are,” He utters. His voice was a bit lower with you now, much more casual and playful. “That alright with you, pretty girl?”
Unknowingly, your face flushes, “Yeah, that’s uh, that’s fine.”
Gojo lets out a hum, “Good.” Then, the two of you do that thing yet again, peering into one another's eyes, unmoving, nearly frozen and dazed for a moment longer than intended before Gojo snaps out of it by almost awkwardly clearing his throat, “So uh, you still want that free drink or…?”
You blink out of your own stupor and shake your head, “No, I’ll come back for it tomorrow.”
“Oh?” His brows shoot up in surprise, “You’re coming back tomorrow?”
“It seems I am, yes,” A smile graces your face and he can’t help but stare.
Gojo mirrors your expression, “Just for coffee?”
Your eyes wander off to the side cheekily, “Perhaps for a certain handsome cashier too…”
He thinks his heart is fluttering. Is this normal? To experience such a genuine infatuation with a woman’s words within less than twenty-four hours? It was unusual for Gojo, that’s for damn sure. Hence why his head is tipping to the side, “Really? Have my charms worked so soon?” He teases.
You return your gaze to him, “Just a little, yeah.”
Mesmerized by you, Gojo nods, “Good to know.”
“Mhm,” After a slight hum, you glance down at your phone and check the time, “Well uh, I actually have another class so I should probably go.”
“Yes… Yes, you should,” He voices out slowly, again entangled into that daze of his until you lift your head once more, “But uh, make sure you text me later, yeah?” Gojo reminds you.
To which you chuckle and start turning away toward the exit, “No promises.”
He’s left in a mere awe of you, not even knowing what to say, and left utterly speechless from such an intriguing yet simple conversation with you. As you wave bye, Gojo had to feel for his heart the very second you leave just to see if it was working correctly because he’s not sure what the hell that was just now.
Whatever it may have been, he knows it was much more genuine and raw than what he’s typically used to. And it came so naturally too, the banter, the gazes, the flirting… Gojo was longing for more already and he’d only just met you a few hours ago.
· · ─────── · ꨄ · ─────── · ·
All the while you’re just as cheerful at the interaction you just had, beyond ready to brag to your doubtful best friend of your most recent accomplishments.
Which is exactly why you’re facetiming said friend as soon as you leave the cafe. The call rings for less than a second before it’s answered and you’re met with a visibly displayed and… shirtless Choso.
Before you get the chance to even try and take in his naked torso, he’s already scowling at you, “The fuck are you facetiming me for?” He grumbles, taking the smile right off of your lips, “I’ve seen your face enough for one day. Why don’t you ever call like a normal person??”
You bat your eyelashes at the man, “Cho, we just got on the phone and you’re already souring the mood…”
He ignores your complaint, “What do you want?”
Steadily, your smile returns, “Guess who got a certain someone’s number,” You utter cheerfully, voice light in a little sing-song tone.
Choso gives his phone a blank stare, not saying a single word in response to that.
Which confused you, “Well? Are you gonna guess-“
“You could’ve texted me this shit,” He cuts off before you watch as your screen is soon met with the ceiling as he places his phone down.
You pout, “Well, yeah but then I wouldn’t have been able to see your reaction…”
He scoffs and pops his face into the camera for a second, eyes dull, smile nonexistent, eye bags heavy, and tattoo running across his nose the only thing giving some form of expression despite it being nothing more than a dark black line. “Does it look like I give two shits about you gettin’ some asshole’s number?”
You let out a long sigh, “Remind me why we’re friends again?”
And that’s when Choso seems to smirk, “Cause’ you won’t leave me alone.”
“I’m hanging up,” You groan.
His laughter, albeit somewhat of a rare sound, fills your ears, “Okay, okay, I’m sorry.”
You send him a look, “Are you?”
“Mhm, good job on gettin’ his number, princess,” Choso coos, making your eyes widen, “I’m proud of you.”
Your mouth opens to say something to that but your throat runs oddly dry. Instead, you gulp down his sudden praise and ignore how warm his words make you feel. “…Thank you.” You eventually say.
“Uhuh,” Choso nods before removing himself from the camera again, “Pretty sure he’s just trying to fuck though.” He says bluntly.
Instead of choking like he expected you to, you only scoff, “Fine by me.”
Your best friend is quiet for a moment, feeling almost silenced before he sighs, “Oh… But you told me no-“
“That was entirely different, Choso.” You cut off.
He shuts up again.
“You were drunk, and…” Your voice dies out.
To which he raises a brow at his phone, “And what?”
“And things were different back then,” You sigh, trying not to recall the entirety of your past with Choso at the present moment, “…You were an even bigger asshole, remember?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Choso sighs, moving to dismiss the topic, “Anyway, let me know how things go with your new albino boyfriend.”
You scoff, smiling at the suggestion itself, “He’s not even my-“
The call disconnects. Oh how you just love your best friend and his antics. You wouldn’t trade your friendship with him for anything.
Or at least, that’s what you told yourself anyway. What exactly does a new man in your life bring if not drama? This right here was but the beginning of a very interesting journey toward such a fickle emotion we know as; love.
mlist | next chapter |
Tags 1/2; @siriusblackswankourtzeyy @eternaltpaoe @moonsgravee @sooshisweet @looking4hina
@blognicole @designerpvssy @andyfasia @shytragedybluefox @papigotwap
@senseifupa @gojoslefttoenail @juliiizh @gojos-cumslutt @lovergirl65
@sydlunamoon-blog @gojstrulxvezx @gigiipeaches @kivrumi @urunclesbottomlip
@iseeyouuu @annieleonhardtsbitch @lwkykiyo @itsbellablue-blog @gorouenjoyer
@mua-for-now @bee3l0v3r @scarletteyuno @lilablogsblog @lolznoelle
@madaqueue @keriaonmarz @parakisssss @aniniyah @trx-xrt
@sxnkuna @chocolatecheer @unibrow-yzz @lovely-lady-tits @woofzz2
@pineapplepan7 @janrcrosssing @hauntedchoso @linksylove @lemonninq
@littlemug00 @namjoonie17717 @notjustagirlinthisworld @moonneversleeps @k4rma1sntd3ad
#my love note#choso#choso x you#choso smut#choso x y/n#kamo choso#choso kamo#choso x reader#jjk choso#jujutsu kaisen choso#reader x gojo#gojo angst#satoru gojo x reader#gojo satoru x reader#jujutsu gojo#jjk gojo#gojo x reader#gojo smut#gojo satoru#satoru gojo#gojo x you#gojou satoru x reader#gojo x y/n#gojo fluff#choso jjk#choso fluff#choso x female reader#smut#anime smut
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So.
Re: tumblr bans of transfemmes.
Let's ignore PhotoMatt for a moment. Manbaby tech CEO doubling down on a stupid decision and making himself look like more of an ass doing so is not a new phenomena.
Tumblr has consistently said, in both public statements and leaked internal communication, that they're essentially running a skeleton crew.
They keep saying that they don't have the resources to moderate, manually review posts, have any kind of appeal process, or anything. So, as people have widely received communications about, they seemed to have automated a significant portion of the moderation to operate solely on the quantity of reports (probably with a basic filter, eg quantity of reports regarding a certain post, within a certain timeframe) to automatically ban or shadowban accounts.
And so, they wipe their hands, both to the users, the public, and their own consciousness, and go about their automated operations.
All of this is likely true. Tumblr, at this point, is essentially abandonware internally, a kind of weird vanity project/dumpster ground for server infrastructure for Automattic. Likely, they don't want the bad press of "shutting down" fully. Or maybe the trickle of revenue they get here just barely exceeds operating costs, so why not keep it around?
Whatever is the case, the bans are a result of an automated process working in the background. I'm giving them some benefit of the doubt here, of course, we can't know anything for certain- but it seems like the individual bans are not based on any specific, manual action.
And that doesn't fucking excuse anything.
Because at some point, multiple people sat down at tumblr, and decided how to cut costs.
And they decided that the bare minimum of report abuse prevention was one of the first things on the chopping block.
Before the boops. Before GUI reconfigures.
They decided to cut something that is necessary to manage online communities.
They decided to cut something that ensures any targeted group will have any kind of community online.
And then, after all of that, the only manual intervention is doubling down on the shitty decisions that the automated systems make, and plucking reasons out of their ass for why they were the right decisions all along.
It's pure silicon valley brain. Blame the computer often and always. Use it to shield the active decisions you made when designing the computer that way. Treat it as a fact of life as opposed to something they actively made decisions for.
Is tumblr staff hitting the banhammer on each transfemme one by one? No.
Is tumblr staff deliberately crafting a system that allows TERFs and other conservative bigots to get rid of the "undesirables" for them? Yup. But they sure as hell are trying to not say the quiet part out loud. If they can always point the finger somewhere else, to the advertisers, to the automated systems, to the TERFs, then they can always have juuusssttt enough plausible deniability.
But being the "queerest place on the internet" requires concious acknowledgement that queer people will be targets of harassment, and you will have to protect against that.
Side note, this is why I do try to keep my blog at least somewhat SFW. Its one of the main reasons why I choose not to reblog all of the posts I'm tagged in- if the post is overtly NSFW, I've probably seen it, appreciated it, and consciously decided my level of interaction with it mostly based on how "tumblr friendly" it is. Is that bowing down to them? A little. It's also my choice. I value the community I have here. The pushes that y'all have given me gave me the strength to transition, and honestly gives me a lot of motivation to research HRT biology as much as I can, among many other things.
Yeah, I post pictures that are clearly meant to be found attractive in ways that are generally not socially acceptable , but never actual NSFW. I would like to think that I'm pretty safe from bans, but hey. Who knows. I don't want to lose my follower base, and the community around it.
And yeah, I'm gonna annoyingly remind you of the other places to find me, make sure to check my pin. If you don't know where to go, just find me on reddit and go from there, I'll post about it if anything happens.
#I hope this rant is at least somewhat intelligible#im in lab late night and typing this out as fast as i can in between experiment steps#stay safe out there yall
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and i hope it's so fucking shitty in the stupid ass black dog right now
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wait happy pride time to share this fanart i have of kris' iconic post
#limbus company#queemael#hm i need to leave now so i hope the image isnt actually as compressed and shitty as it looks rn cuz i wont be able to fix it#shades art#btw qq would tell her shes salty which will make ishma fall to her knees all embarrassed like fuck its true.#and then she goes on to say its salty like the beautiful open sea etc etc you know how she is
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Simon Riley is (not so) secretly a huge sap | Part 1
Part 2 here!
Simon Riley is the kind of man that says he’s not good at expressing his emotions, that acts stiff and awkward when giving or receiving affection, and he won’t hesitate to tell you so. He’s just not a romantic guy, he says.
But then this RAT BASTARD will do something unbelievably heartfelt and sweet without even realizing, acting all nonchalant about it while you’re standing there so full of love for him that it makes you want to start screaming and hitting things.
For example, the first several deployments he went on after you got together, he’d get off his last plane or train back, then call a cab to take him back to his flat. You had called once while he was still waiting for his luggage, offering to pick him up, but he’d declined.
“These places are fuckin’ maddening to deal with, turns everyone into an arsehole. Or an even bigger arsehole, in my case.” He’d explained, causing you to laugh.
His voice was distorted over the phone, but you could still make out that little snicker of his, the one he did whenever he was pleased with himself for saying something funny.
“Wouldn’t want any of that to spoil the one part of the day i’m lookin’ forward to, right?” He’d continued.
After teasing him for having a crush on you (a running gag that you two had), you said okay and instead decided to get food from his favorite takeout place and wait at his flat. That way, he’d have dinner and dessert (AKA you) waiting for him when he arrived.
When he opened the door and saw you, the tension bled from his body within seconds, a soft exhale leaving his lungs. Which was pretty much Simon’s version of jumping up and down with glee. There was no dramatic reunion, no tears of joy. He simply closed the door behind him and took off his mask, tossing it onto the floor before closing the distance between you and gathering you into his arms.
"Fuck, s’good to be home," He murmured, his face pressed into your hair.
The rest of the night was spent eating as much takeout as possible and making fun of shitty old movies before you got ready for bed.
This became your regular routine for when he came back from deployment. Wait at his place with takeout and have a sleepover. But one day, that changed. The night Simon was supposed to return, he called you.
“Hey, lovie. Everythin’s fine, me an’ the lads are safe…” He began, knowing his unexpected call would cause you to worry.
“…I just wanted to tell you not to bother with the takeout this time around. Turns out i’ll be a lot later than I thought. My flight’s delayed, so I’ll probably be back at…I dunno, around three in the morning? So, yeah, it-“
You cut him off then, insisting that you would pick him up from the airport so that he wouldn’t have to go through the trouble of finding a ride for himself.
So, there you were, at the airport in the wee hours of the morning. You gave Simon a big hug as soon as you spotted him, then helped load his things into the trunk of your vehicle and gestured for him to get in the passenger seat.
As soon as everyone was buckled in, you pulled out of your parking space and drove off. Simon sighed and rested his head against the window.
“S’good to be home.” He said, just like always.
“We’re not even back yet, Si.” You teased. To your surprise, he scoffed quietly and gave a dismissive wave of his hand.
“You’re talkin’ about my flat? That’s not home, lovie, it’s just where I live. You’re home.” He mumbled before letting his eyes fall shut and dozing off.
You were stunned into silence, torn between wanting to squeal at the sheer cuteness of what had just happened and wanting to start yelling at him because he can’t just say something like that so casually and just…go to sleep after!! What the fuck!??
#call of duty#cod mwii#ghost x reader#cod x you#simon ghost x you#simon riley x you#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost x reader#simon riley x reader#simon riley#simon ghost riley#mwii#ghost mw2#ghost mwii
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You spur Art onto a rougher persona in the bedroom, and in turn make Patrick a very jealous man.
cw; voyeurism, f receiving oral, public sex.
Art Donaldson, Patrick Zweig x fem!reader | The Rule of Thirds masterlist | talk to me!
Art Donaldson is good with his tongue.
He speaks well, calls you nice things and praises your every action. You’ve learnt over the past month that he’s glad to have someone to coo over, someone who isn’t there to correct him but rather be connected to him— you sit and watch his games in supportive adoration rather than in scrutiny. He isn’t afraid to fuck up, isn’t afraid of your loss of attention, isn’t afraid of you. He thanks you for your companionship with his tongue; whether it's a sweet word rolled off the length of it, or a deep kiss in which he traverses your mouth with it, or a solid few hours spent lapping at your pussy like a thirst-driven man.
You thank him for his tongue with a memento to keep, a photo or three of his devotion to you. He keeps them in his bedside drawer, all titled differently, all of depraved things that should never see the light lest he wants to lose any chance at publicity.
Though some of the photos are sweet. There’s one in particular pinned to a posterboard in his dorm room, one you let him take of you after he had taken you out for food one night, your face messy with dinner and your grin wide at Art’s proposal of ice-cream for dessert. It’s a blurred photo, but he’s getting better at capturing you in the right light, he enjoys it, even. Some days you’ll return from class to find a new pack of film on your bed, Art almost more eager than you to fall subject to your artform.
He takes care of you, he’s sweet beyond belief. You aren’t dating, you don’t think so at least, but he treats you like his girlfriend— holds your hand as you walk through campus, holds your hand as you cum on his dick, holds your hand as you cuddle after the fact. He loves your hands, how they fit in his, and he loves your eyes too, and your voice and your ass and your—
“I’ll be there tomorrow morning, we can go eat before your match.”
Patrick’s voice is a little static through Art’s phone, especially with it being on loudspeaker. Art struggles to hear his friend through the phone that sits on his bedside table, he blames the shitty service he gets from his dorm room, but the fact that you’re sitting on his cock and biting at his ear might also be the cause of his hard hearing.
“Sorrywhatwasthat?” Art manages, furrowing his eyebrows as he tries to focus on Patrick’s voice rather than the roll of your hips atop his and the feel of your hands on his chest and your tongue trailing across his jawline.
“I’m in Stanford tomorrow. For your match. Are you okay?” There’s a tone that laces his voice even through the static, Art can hear the growing smile on his lips.
“Yeah. Sorry, uh,” Art has to use both hands to hold you down on his cock to stop your incessant bouncing so he can think for a moment. “Shitty service.”
You frown against his neck, where you kiss languidly, and lean up a little to whisper lowly into his ear, “I want you to cum on my tits and take a photo.”
“Fuck,” Art bites his tongue only after the words spilt from his lips.
There’s silence, and then a sudden burst of laughter from the phone. “Are you jerking off right now?”
“No.”
“You are. You’re jerking off, I could fucking hear you.”
You grin, but Art cups a hand over your mouth before a word falls from your lips. He clears his throat and blinks a few times. “I’m not jerking off, Patrick, I’m just tired. I’ve been training all day.”
“It’s lunchtime, Art.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Art says, giving you a look as you dart your tongue out to lick the palm of his hand that covers your mouth. You try and roll your hips some more, find some friction you desperately need with Art’s cock, but all it does is make his grip on you tighten. With you still, he's able to focus on Patricks words and muster up something that resembles a conversation. "What time will you get here?"
"Early," you can hear Patrick shuffling around through the phone. "Do you know if Tashi's busy? We could meet for breakfast, make it a double date."
Art catches the furrow of your eyebrows and uncovers your mouth to lean forward and give you a kiss in lieu of the distraction your tongue is offering. You almost let yourself get lost in the kiss, you almost let your mind empty, but Patrick’s words ring in your ears and within a moment you’re turning your head and plucking Art’s phone from the bedside table.
“You’re dating Tashi Duncan?” You speak into the phone, very suddenly making your presence known. Art tries to grab at his phone, but you hold it away from him and frown at his attempts.
“You didn’t tell her?” Patrick speaks to Art rather than you, and you can imagine the dumbstruck look on his face.
Art takes a moment to look between you and his phone, silently debating whether he should try and reach for it again, but ultimately decides against it. Instead, he shrugs, sweat sticks his hair to his forehead— “It never came up. She’s been away for like… two weeks now.”
“Wow,” you and Patrick say in unison, though Patrick adds a ‘hi, by the way’ on to the end for good measure.
“Hi, Zweig,” you speak into the phone.
“Are you mad? Tashi is fine with me seeing other people if that’s—”
You cut him off with a laugh as Art's hands wrap around you and roam over the expanse of your back. “I’m not mad,” you say. “More like jealous: Tashi Duncan is the hottest woman I’ve ever seen. I’d kill someone to know what she tastes like. God, the photos I could take…”
There’s silence on the other end of the line. You wonder if Patrick is blushing pink like Art is right now, lips curled into an almost relieved smile. You wonder what runs through their heads, whether they too are imagining the sight; Tashi Duncan in front of your lens, something angelic.
“Wait, are you two fucking right now?”
Art chokes out a laugh, forehead falling to rest on your shoulder as you grin, despite Patrick’s inability to see it. You had almost gotten so used to the feeling of cockwarming Art that it felt natural, like chasing a climax is unnecessary when you feel so full and whole just sitting on his cock.
“Yes, and I was close to finishing before you called, so thanks for that.”
You’re about to click Arts phone off and return to business when you hear a shuffle from the other end of the line, and then Patrick speaks. “Leave the phone on.”
A moment of contemplation, Arts eyes meeting yours. He shrugs, unopposed to letting his best friend listen in on your intimacies— the ball is in your court.
“No,” you click your tongue against the roof of your mouth. “You’re in time out, you should have told me about Tashi— bye!”
“Hey wait don’t—”
The line dies and Art’s phone is thrown haphazardly onto the bedside table. He smiles when you turn back to him, those pretty lips of his curled upwards in amusement at your ways.
“You’re evil,” he smiles into the kiss he gives you, sweet as always. “He’s probably rock hard and hating life.”
“Hope so,” you joke, leaning into Art and rolling your hips again, relighting the burning need in both of your chests. Art groans as you hold onto his shoulders, slide up on his cock and then push your weight back down. Your movements are halted, however, by Art’s hands on your waist.
“Wait,” his words are breathless. “I’m sorry for not telling you about Tashi. I didn’t want you to—”
“I’m not mad,” you roll your hips. "It's not like you're the one dating her, and I'd assume you aren't thinking about her rather than me right now—" you pause. "Unless you are doing that. Is that why you're apologi—”
“Jesus Christ no,” Art chuckles, shaking his head slightly. “It's just.... we had something last year, me and Patrick... with Tashi. Now it's just them."
"Oh," you raise your brows in curiosity. "Lucky you. So you have a habit of fucking the same girl then?"
Art rolls his eyes, catching on to your teasing tone. "We didn't fuck," he assures you. "We just... made out. We had a match the next day, Tashi gave her number to the winner."
You nod and hum quietly, biting your lip to keep yourself from laughing out loud. You can hear Art's stuttered laugh exhaling through his nose and almost break into laughter at the thought of his face losing a match with stakes like those. "I'm sorry," you cover your mouth with your hand to try and stifle your laughter. "I'm not laughing at you I just, that must have been the worst fucking day of your life."
Art laughs even harder than you do. "Don't rub it in, I'm over it."
"So you aren't in love with Tashi Duncan?"
Art shakes his head. He pauses, his laughter subsiding. "...No."
"She's hot, Art. Hot like the sun," you sing Tashi's praises. "Who wouldn't be infatuated? How could you resist her? She's sexy."
Art swallows, his grip on you tightens. There it is, that warmth in your chest, that tightening in your stomach. Art tries to hide his face, press a kiss to your shoulder, but you card your fingers through his hair and pull his gaze back to meet yours. "You're too sweet on me, Art. I'm hurt," you tease, watching as his eyes flit from yours to your lips, to your tits and rolling hips. You test the waters; "do you think Patrick is this sweet on Tashi?"
"What?" Art's eyebrows furrow, but you can feel his cock twitch inside of you at the image forming in his head.
"Patrick isn't a sweetheart," you shake your head. "I'd know. I think he fucks Tashi how he fucked me; mean. Mean and selfish. And I think she's worse in return."
Art bites back a moan, lets you start moving up and down on his cock again, closes his eyes, relishes in the thought. It makes him ache, that image in his mind, but he can see it so clearly: Patricks pace, the possessive grip he has, that way he groans when he's breathless and nearing the edge. Fuck, he can hear it, he can hear her, he can hear you.
"Do you think he fucks better knowing he has what you don't?” you ask, your voice dropping lower, your hips moving quicker. “That you lost?"
"Shh," Art whispers desperately. He starts to rock his hips up into you, "just shut up."
You grin, "you like this, don’t you? This jealousy. You like knowing that if you got the chance, you'd change her mind— I've never seen you like this."
"Well I am—" Art mumbles, pressing wet kisses to your throat, to your collarbone, "—with you, not her, not him."
"Are you with me?" you breathe, arching your back as Art continues to grind into you. "Where are you in that pretty head of yours? Here, or with them?"
He looks up, eyes hooded, and his expression is unreadable. It's like he's searching your eyes for the answer you want him to give you.
“I’m not your girlfriend, Art. You don’t have to pretend to only have eyes for me, Patrick fucks good and Tashi probably fucks better.”
"Fuck you," his words are sudden, less angry than desperate. He's wrapping an arm around your waist and rolling you onto your back in just a second flat, pushing himself deep into you as presses your body into his innerspring mattress. He pushes forward and his thrusts are harsh, powerful and unforgiving. You gasp at the change of pace, but don't protest. You want this: the burning passion, the anger, the newfound pulsing in your cunt as Art drills into you. The heat of him is intoxicating, and it feels almost foreign at this pace. Like a new sensation and a forbidden thrill: it fills your whole body, every single vein, every single cell, every single inch of skin until there's nothing left behind but Art. His name on your lips and his sweat on your skin, his body heavy atop you. All encompassing, all consuming.
You're not sure if it's him or you who comes first, but Art is ordering his name from your lips like it's the only thing keeping him tethered to this earth, to reality. He fucks you senseless, near bruises your cervix with the way his hips snap into yours even through your shared orgasms. Still, though, through the heavy-weighted feelings and sinful fantasies you share, Art takes your hand in his and holds it tight as you come undone. He may be acting like Patrick, but he's far from.
He stays seated deep inside of you once the waves of ecstasy wash away from the two of you, his chest heaving against your own. He doesn't move his hand from yours, his thumb rubbing gentle circles on the side of your knuckles as he catches his breath.
"God, Art," you mutter, running a finger down his spine with your free hand. "I need to poke at your jealous side more often."
Art snorts, briefly into your eyes. "You want me to think of other people as I fuck you? Cuck."
"Cuck?" you parrot, smirking. You tilt your head towards him and lick your lips with interest before kissing him. The kiss is fleeting and chaste, yet still somehow filled with everything you've felt since he pulled your legs around his waist and buried his throbbing cock into you. "I'm not the cuck," you breathe against his lips. "Patrick is."
"What do you mean?" Art presses an unknowing kiss to the corner of your lips. You laugh breathily as he slides out of you gently, allowing your thighs to fall off from his hips. You hold his gaze still, the ghost of mischief pulling at the corners of your lips, and Art slowly puts the pieces together in his head. His eyes snap to his phone on the bedside table, screen still lit; ONGOING CALL.
"You hung up though?" Art scrambles to grab his phone and hold it to his ear. He's met with songs of Patrick's laughter, along with the sound of rustling clothes as he moves. "Patrick? Seriously? Did you jerk off to that?"
"What makes you think that?" Patrick replies through the phone, voice breathy and husky, the low timbre sending shivers down Art's spine despite his embarrassment. "I'm not a perv."
Art has to bite his lip to stop laughter from breaking out of his chest. "You absolutely are a fucking perv."
"Sorry, what was that? I thought I heard you say 'Patrick, I just came to the thought of fucking my girl as good as you fuck yours', my mistake."
"I took him off speaker," you loll your head to the side, watching him for any signs of genuine anger. Besides the pink tint to his cheeks, something tells you that he's enjoying this, maybe the fact that his cock is already growing hard again. You can feel a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips when Art gives you a look of hushed approval.
"Goodbye Patrick," he speaks sternly into the phone, and then hangs up before his friend can beg to bear witness to round two. Art sighs, looks at you for a moment and then grins, "you're evil."
You shrug, biting your lip to try and contain yourself. You push some of your hair from your face and watch Art turn to rummage around next to the bed. You wonder for a moment if he's actually mad, if you've crossed a line you didn't know existed, but a sudden flash cures your racing mind. Art is smiling, your camera in hand as he looks at the image he had just taken.
"Hey that's my good camera," you huff as he tosses your Canon onto the mattress next to you.
"I know," Art grunts a little as he lowers himself to his knees between your legs. "I want him to know I've tasted more of you, and you can't email Polaroids.”
"But—"
Art bites the inside of your thigh, hard. "Shut up and take your photos, baby.”
SIX YEARS LATER
"I'm sorry, but we've decided to go with Rikki. We saw the shots she took for the Donaldsons’ wedding and just fell in love; have you seen them? Such a photogenic couple, we're hoping Rikki will capture us half as well."
You don't realise there's a sour look on your face until the couple standing in front of you both frown. Their faces match each other, but not in a cute married-couple sense: they look like siblings. The same nose, the same boring eyes and shit-smearing obsession with the fucking Donaldson's and their stupid fucking destination wedding shoot you've flicked through thirty times in the last two days.
"So I drove an hour to get fired," you say, rather than ask.
The wife, who wears a frilly top with so many sequins stuck onto the hem that they're starting to fall off in patches, nods. "Oh honey," she pouts. "Don't be sad! You aren't even a wedding photographer, are you? You wouldn't understand how exciting these things can be!" She grabs her fiancé by the elbow. "Right, darling?"
Her fiancé replies in a grunt of agreement, though you doubt he had much say (or interest) in who takes the photos as long as they can get the right angles to slim him down a bit. You try not to roll your eyes, fingers drumming on the café table that separates you and the soon-to-be-weds.
"So have you seen them?" The woman looks giddy, smiling at you from across the table.
"Seen what?" You ask, watching as she pulls her phone from her pocket and starts tapping on its screen.
"The Donaldson's wedding photos, John and I are huge tennis fans, I don't know if you know of them? Gorgeous couple, If I were a few years younger I'd be fishing to be their third!" She lets out a loud cackle at her own statement and slides her phone across the table for you to see, there on her screen, a gorgeous wide shot of the wedding party. In the middle, surrounded by groomsmen and bridesmaids you've never seen before, Tashi and Art kiss. Husband and wife, till death or retirement do they part.
You look up from the photo to look into the woman's eyes. "Never heard of them," you shrug. "Should I have?"
"I'm telling you, dear," she swoons. "Tennis players are something else."
God forbid you show her something else these tennis players have featured in.
Your phone rings before you can let your tongue get you in trouble, and though you thank god for the interruption, you’re less enthused when you see who’s calling. Still, a way out is a way out, you’re apologising for ‘simply having to take this’ and ducking out of the café, camera bag in tow, in less than a minute.
The outside air is good for your lungs and sullen skin— you take a moment to breathe before sliding the answer button over on your phone and holding it to your ear. You don’t say a word, and instead wait for the poor excuse that could warrant calling you.
“Look, I didn’t mean what I said in the email, shit still just stings, alright? I was second favourite to Art for a long time back then.”
Patrick Zweig gets straight to the point, always has, and you aren’t sure if you like that about him. A ‘hey, how are you? I miss you,’ isn’t the worst thing to hear when you’ve just lost a job and been reminded of your college woes.
“I told you not to call me,” you say, glancing back into the café to see the couple packing up to leave. “I was with clients.”
“Right, sorry,” Patrick says, though he sounds more rushed than apologetic. “How’d that go?”
You almost laugh. “They’re laying me off in favour of Rikki Leanne.”
“Who?”
“She was Art and Tashi’s wedding photographer, they saw the photos and ‘fell in love’—absolutely had to go with her, or something.”
There’s a pause, Patrick probably hadn’t expected you to speak so lax about Art and Tashi after all this time. Though if he’s surprised, or upset, he doesn’t show it in his voice— “so you’re free for a job then?”
“What?”
“I’m wanting some photos taken, you can stay here if you want, I can pay you in dinner and good booze.”
You frown and parrot a line from an email he sent the other day. The first one had been normal, though of course laden with cocky callbacks to the days you’d photograph him in exchange for an orgasm or three, but as you talked back and forth the emails had moved from reconnecting to remembering the fallout between the four of you. “Sometimes I wonder if you did what you did because you thought taking tennis from us would level the playing field.”
Your words are cold, though they were his first— you speak verbatim from an email he sent at four in the morning, littered with typos and missing words.
“I’m an idiot, I know,” Patrick says. “I didn’t mean it. Well actually yes I did, at the time— but I’m trying to make up for it now, okay? Look, I’m sorry if I made you feel guilty for what happ—“
“I didn’t do it, Patrick. I’ve told you, I told Art, I told Tashi— it wasn’t me.” Your voice catches and you swallow. “It happened, but it wasn’t me and I won’t take the blame for it.”
“Okay, okay.” He breathes out, and his tone softens a little. “Just… tell me you’ll come and see me.”
“I can’t, Patrick, it’s been six years.”
“Yeah but—”
You shake your head and interrupt. “No, listen, I’m busy. I’ve got work, a life, I’ve changed too much for you to even think about trying to get me back in your bed.”
Patrick laughs. “I never said anything about fucking you, I think that’s more on your mind than mine… maybe you haven’t changed that much.”
A smile plays on your lips despite yourself. “Maybe not,” you admit.
There’s a rustle on the other end, and then a sigh. “Come see me,” his tone is softer this time. “Please.”
You hesitate. “I… Alright, fine, I will.”
“Cool, cool, good, I’ll text you my address,” there’s a moment of silence, long enough for the words to start to sink in and the idea to become solid. “Hey,” he adds on, “it’ll be fun.”
No ‘I missed you’, no ‘I’m sorry’, nothing. Just fun. That’s all you’ll ever know from Patrick Zweig— fun, you guess. Still, though, despite the growing pit in your chest, there’s something pulling you to oblige. A fresh start, maybe, or a glimpse back to when life was exciting.
“Alright,” you reply, falling right back into the same circuit that ate your college experience. “It’ll be fun.”
SIX YEARS EARLIER
Four prints sit side-by-side on a table in the photography lab in front of you. You like the shots, all of Art, your newest muse, on the tennis courts. You wonder if sports photography is your new niche, or you just enjoy capturing the beauty of Art Donaldson doing what he loves. Though no matter how nice the photos came out, they’re still the reason you’re missing breakfast with Art and Patrick.
You’d have liked to be stuck between them at a breakfast table.
You remain alone, however, with photographs for company and a dull ache in your thighs from Arts second and third turn at you the day before, you spent the late afternoon sleeping off your exhaustion in his arms and missed your chance at finishing your photos then. The lab is cold and you regret wearing a short skirt, the fluorescent lights hanging overhead do nothing to warm you as you pick up and examine each image carefully, checking for blemishes or smudges you might have missed before printing them out. The clock above the door reads nine twenty-four, Art's game starts at ten, so you need to hurry and finish up if you want to find Patrick and a seat before it begins.
You're just reaching for a peg, ready to pin up your first photo, when you notice a movement at the edge of your vision. At the sound of footsteps behind you, you spin around quickly— just to find yourself pinned to the steel table where your photographs sit. Two strong arms and an all-too-familiar smile keep you in place; you can't help but stare, mouth parted while those sinful eyes of his bore into yours. Patrick Zweig.
"Jesus, I didn't hear you," you breathe out, your cheeks hot. You try to move back— away from him— only to bump into the tables' edge with your lower back. The photos of Art shift as the table rattles. "Where's Art?" You glance down at the hand Patrick places on your hip, riding your shirt up enough to rub circles onto the skin of your torso.
"Do you care?" Patrick leans down, presses his lips to your ear, sending shivers across your neck and through your body. "You should," he adds huskily. "He won't forgive me."
You exhale something similar to soft laughter, unable to fight against the way he pulls your hips forward, into his. "Forgive you for what?"
"Getting you alone, you're his. He lets me play with you on his terms, right? I fucked you facing him, I came twice listening to him ruin you, then a third time to those fucking photos; lights camera action, really?”
You laugh, "he came up with that, and I'm not his anything. If he wants to own me, he can ask first. Plus, he's probably fucked you too, right?"
Patrick shakes his head, and thumbs the hem of your skirt, traipsing his fingers up your bite-and-bruise ridden legs.
"Well then he wants to," you laugh, and then near scream as suddenly, Patrick dips down and grabs the back of your thighs to lift you up onto the photography lab table. Your head nearly hits a light and the cold stainless steel jars against your bare thighs, skirt hiked up around your waist and panties promptly pushed to the side. You kick your legs in protest, but the hold Patrick has on you keeps you from putting any distance between him and you. Patrick stands between your parted thighs, your feet dangling freely off the table— one of his hands on your thigh, the other on the tabletop. He takes one of your photos between his fingers, one of Art hitting a ball, and clicks his tongue at the sight.
"I forgot you take normal photos, too. I bet that shot isn't going to sell as well as your others would." His thumb caresses your skin, stroking over the bitemarks along your inner thighs until the pressure becomes near unbearable. You share a breath, his face moving in close to yours as you rebut.
"Lucky for both of you, I take those pictures for pleasure, not business."
"You don't have any shame," he says, smirking. A finger traces over another bruise that was just visible under your skirt. "You really deserve to suffer, but you told Art yesterday that I'm not sweet."
"You aren't," you scoff, "I think you're an asshole."
The corners of his lips quirk up at that. "And yet here you are."
"I never said I didn't like it," you tease, and press your lips together when his fingers swipe through the folds of your exposed pussy; from entrance to clit and back again.
"I can be sweet," Patrick insists, dipping two fingers further into your heat and watching you take a lip between your teeth in response. "As sweet as you taste."
His words make you smile. "Patrick, you're this close to letting me fuck myself on your fingers and you haven't even kissed me yet: you're not sweet."
He looks momentarily discomfited by your honesty, then shrugs. "Okay, maybe I'm not, open your mouth."
You oblige, and Patrick pulls his fingers from between your legs. Your hips buck up at the loss of contact, which makes Patrick laugh as he takes the back of your neck in one hand and presses his two fingers, slick with your lust, against your tongue. You wrap your lips around the length of his fingers and suck, tasting yourself on him, and for a moment wondering whether you’d taste the same licked from the length of his cock instead.
Patrick slides his fingers from your mouth and uses that hand to cup the side of your face, his fingers wet against your cheek; you make a face in turn. He stops, though, and opts to hold your face for a moment. His voice is unusually soft when he speaks, softer than you’ve ever heard it.
“I don’t want you to think I’m only interested in sex with you,” he says, words a door to that soul of his you’ve never seen.
“Aren’t you?”
Patrick Zweig shakes his head, unable to find the words to convey a simple ‘no’. Instead, your question is answered with a slow and tender kiss to your lips, a sweetness to the way his mouth melts against yours. Like you’re the sun, or the water in which he strides under the sun for a drink of, or the holy ground on which he walks.
He kisses you like Art does, who had spent the day prior kissing you how Patrick normally would. They melt into each other, personas shifted in an attempt to fulfil your aches and yearnings. You wonder if they realise that two is, in fact, better than one.
“I don’t want you to be Art,” you speak against his lips. “You can play sweet all you want, Art can play rough, I like the switch, but you play better together than apart.”
Patrick bites at your bottom lip. “Are we talking about tennis?”
You laugh in response, take Patrick’s wrist and redirect it back between your heated thighs. “I’m never talking about tennis.”
It’s like his knees bend at your very words. Patrick is dipping his head down between your legs instantaneously, spurred on by the hand you snake into his curls. One of his fingers slips deep into your cunt, and you almost scream. Almost. It takes effort not to curse Patrick out for his pace when the next finger pushes into you— slowly and purposefully.
He latches hips lips around your clit in apology, though, tongue teasing the sensitive nerves as he pumps his fingers into you, a rhythm forming in tandem with the ministrations of his mouth. He’s good at it, you wonder how often he goes down on Tashi, probably not nearly enough for how reverently that girl should be worshipped by tongue and touch. And yet, you find yourself growing more aroused despite the thought of him pleasing anyone but you.
It’s then, when he’s working inside you, fingers pressing at your swollen walls, that you finally lose your composure. You grip the edge of the table, knuckles tense as your hips move faster, bucking against Patrick’s mouth, desperate for more of him. He looks up at you, pretty eyes locked onto yours as his tongue moves in circles around your clit. His long fingers curl upwards inside of you, stroking your wet walls with a practiced ease. You reach down to brush his hair away from his forehead before grabbing fistfuls of it and urging him closer— you can feel him smiling against your clit as he complies. With each stroke, with every sound his lips make, you feel more and more undone. You’re close. So close.
“God,” you breathe. “Please—”
You fall silent when a wave of intense pleasure surges throughout your entire body when Patrick quickens his pace even more. Your vision gets blurry, and soon tears spring into your eyes— they pool in your lashes, stain your cheeks as they fall— and you’re lost, consumed by him and every tormenting movement he makes. Patrick’s thrusts become harsher as you begin shaking, and you cry out, the last part of your restraint leaving you as you come against Patrick’s mouth. A shudder runs throughout your whole body when his fingers leave you and you watch him bring them to his own mouth to clean off like it’s nothing but an afterthought.
Patrick stands, his hands on either side of you now, and leans down to capture your lips in his. His tongue sweeps into your mouth, licking at your lips until you open for him, welcoming his entry and savouring the sensations running rampant through your mind. Your eyes flutter closed, you fall victim to his faux sweetness once more, until he’s pulling down his shorts and pumping his hard length with his hand. His kisses leave your mouth and travel down the expanse of your neck, biting and sucking and swirling his tongue over the marks left behind by his best friend.
“I don’t have a condom,” he breathes against your skin. His voice sounds so breathless, so wrecked, that it sends a shiver down your spine. Maybe you would have given in, let him fuck you regardless, but when your eyes open, they catch sight of the clock above the door— 9;57.
“Fuck,” you scramble to push at Patrick’s shoulder, “Arts game, it starts in three minutes.”
He groans. “Shit,” you can tell he’s debating missing it entirely, making up some stupid excuse Art won’t believe so he can fuck you here and now. You shake your head before he can vocalise said idea, and he groans again. “Okay, okay.”
He’s taking a step back, pulling his shorts up and tucking his boner into his waistband as he watches you push yourself, albeit shakily, onto your feet.
“You gonna make it?” he asks, a wicked smirk gracing his features.
“Shut up,” you flatten out your skirt and give him a stern look. “Get moving.”
He doesn’t reply, simply gives a mocking bow, and turns on his heels towards the door to the lab. You take an extra moment to wipe down the lab table you just came on, because you aren’t a heathen, and follow Patrick with weak legs.
You’re taking your seats under the bleating sun as Art steps onto the court. He scans the audience for you, and smiles widely when he lays eyes on you, sitting in the back row of seats far enough from anyone else to consider yourselves alone. You don’t have your camera with you, as far as Art can tell, but he chalks it up to you wanting to enjoy the match and shrugs, stretching a few times and testing the racket in his hand.
You sit, uncomfortably needy, on the hot plastic chair as Patrick readjusts himself endlessly besides you. It makes you smile, the constant shuffling to find a position that soothes the strain of his hard cock against his shorts, though his face is contorted and you almost feel bad. He had been sweet, after all.
Art serves, a tall ginger playing against him that you really don’t pay attention to. You’re secluded, and everyone in the crowd has eyes glued on your Art Donaldson. You watch heads turn with each hit of the ball, and as Art scores his first point, your hand reaches down to palm Patrick through the thin fabric of his shorts.
Patrick’s head snaps to yours. He’s never one to shy away from a public endeavour or two, but anyone could turn their head to find your hand slipping past his waistband and toying inside of his pants.
“The fuck are you doing?” he near hisses as you squeeze at his cock.
“Shut up,” you cross one leg over the other and settle into your seat, circling your thumb over his aching tip before stroking him down to the base. “Just watch Art’s game, be a good friend.”
Who is Patrick to argue? He has to bring a hand to his mouth, act as if he’s dutifully interested in the match at hand as he bites down on his own skin, revelling in the languid pace you stroke him at. It’s ruinous, what you’re doing to him, and the fact that with each hit of the ball Art whines in a way much akin to what he heard over the phone last night, doesn’t help much at all.
With each point Art takes, you speed up. Patrick hopes the sun is enough to justify the sweat beading at his forehead, though he’s not so concerned when the feeling of your hand, wet now with his precum, is so tight around his cock that he can’t think straight. He bucks his hips up a little, coughing to hide a strangled moan as he watches his best friend on the court.
Art plays well as always, lean and flexible and at home on the court. Patrick thinks he can see it, that look of adoration in his eyes as he plays, as he scores again— one more to win the game. You speed up again, and lean over just enough to speak lowly into his ear. You whisper obscenities only just loud enough for him to pick up on, filth spills from your lips and goes straight to his pulsing cock. The audience collectively readies themselves for celebration as Art hits the ball with such force his opponent misses it by a long shot.
Everyone cheers, Art raises his arms in celebration and revels in his win. His eyes lock back onto yours, sporting the widest grin that you can’t help but return tenfold— though his eyes drift a little to the left, and he’s met with the stomach-tightening sweet sight of Patrick Zweig cumming in his fucking pants.
#art donaldson smut#challengers 2024#challengers smut#art donaldson#art donaldson x reader#patrick zweig smut#patrick zweig x reader#art x reader
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Could you do another drink bakugo?
⋆ PAIRING: drunk/prohero!bakugou x fem!reader
⋆ WARNINGS/TAGS: swearing; alcohol; all characters are adults
⋆ WORD COUNT: 3003
A/N: taking a break from mystic academia cause this has been sitting in my inbox for so long and i wanted to save it until i got some inspiration for another drunk!bakugou and i finally found the inspo hehe. also when i first started writing drunk!bakugou oneshots, i was 17 LMAO and now as a 23 y/o that has actually been drunk i can write this a little more accurately lol. also i was struggling trying to end this cause i didn’t want it to be longer than it already is (imo) lol so im sorry for the awkward ending. ty for requesting and i hope you enjoy!
© simplybakugou — all rights reserved. DO NOT REPOST/REUPLOAD, TRANSLATE, OR EDIT ANY OF MY CONTENT ON HERE OR ANY PLATFORM
It was a stupid idea. Why the hell would Bakugou go into a bar with the most loud and raucous people he knew even though he’d never drank a day in his life?
He couldn’t think of something he wanted to do less in that moment. He was exhausted, coming from a day of patrolling and hero work. Although his friends also came from their jobs, they actually drank alcohol and wanted to unwind after five years of constantly overworking themselves.
“Are you really not gonna get anything, Katsuki?” Sero questioned, giving the table’s drink orders to the bartender.
“I’m not fucking up my body just to look like an idiot like you dumbasses,” Bakugou huffed, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in his chair.
“Why’d you come then?” Kaminari quipped, interested in hearing Bakugou’s answer.
“Cause your dumbass wouldn’t stop bothering me about coming out tonight!” Bakugou replied angrily.
“Oh yeah!” Kaminari exclaimed, laughing at himself. “I forgot.”
“It’s good to come out with us once in a while,” Kirishima said, nodding his head. “You’ve been working yourself to the bone since we graduated, man. We haven’t seen you in years.”
Bakugou rolled his eyes. “Don’t be fucking ridiculous. I’m not stopping until I’m number one. You shits can drink all you fucking want but I’m not gonna sit around every week just to catch up.”
Kaminari sighed, shaking his head. “This is why you’ve never had a girlfriend.” Sero nodded along with him.
“And what the fuck does that have to do with anything?” Bakugou snarled, slamming his fist against the table out of annoyance.
“You’re a workaholic, dude,” Sero stated matter-of-factly. “When are you gonna have the time to date? If you slowed down a little you could’ve at least gone out with Y/N back when you had a crush on her in U.A.”
“I did not have a crush on that shitty girl.” Bakugou felt himself getting even more angered just hearing your name uttered.
“You keep telling yourself that,” Kirishima said, patting his friend on the shoulder only to get shook off by Bakugou.
The drinks Sero ordered arrived and the rest of the guys cheered each other before downing their beverages. Bakugou sipped on his water he was forced to get after Sero berated him to order something.
The more alcohol his friends consumed, the more rowdy and even more raucous they got and Bakugou questioned even more why he decided to go out with them. It was karaoke night at the bar and Bakugou swore his ears were bleeding as Kaminari consistently kept attempting to serenade him.
Despite how chaotic it was in the bar that night, Bakugou eventually found himself enjoying it. Kaminari and Sero got the most drunk, getting up to dance and stumbling over one another, which made Bakugou and Kirishima burst into laughter. He would never tell them, but he needed this time out and away from the constant need to work towards his one and only goal.
The night was going great; until the door to the bar opened. Bakugou turned his head to the noise of the bell ringing above the door. It stuck out amongst the voices and loud nature of the room and he felt his face drop at the sight.
There you were, five years older than the last time he had seen you in person. And you weren’t alone as your arm was looped around the arm of another man.
Bakugou couldn’t help but stare at the sight. He drowned out the sounds of Kaminari, Sero, Kirishima, and a few strangers they had recruited at the bar playing drinking games as his focus was only on you. You scanned the area, waving shyly to a few people that recognized you as their favorite rising hero and sat in the corner of the room with your mystery man.
Kirishima glanced at Bakugou, recognizing that he was distracted by something else and looked towards what had caught his eye. He immediately understood the reason for the defeated look on his friend’s face.
“I’m sorry, man,” Kirishima stated simply.
“Sorry?” Bakugou scoffed. “For what? There’s nothing to be sorry about. We were never together.” The last part Bakugou muttered to himself as he finally tore his eyes away from you and down to his glass of water.
And it was true; you and Bakugou were never together back when you attended U.A. with him and the others. Matter of fact, you didn’t even know Bakugou liked you back then as he made it his mission that you never found out. Not only did he refuse to let himself be subjected to such vulnerable feelings like love and infatuation, you and your peers were constantly bombarded with hero work and dealing with the League of Villains to ever have the time for confessions. At the time, romantic relationships were trivial.
As things died down by the time class A graduated, Bakugou busied himself with his long-time goal of wanting to become the number one hero. He kept telling himself that it was time to grow up and forget about what he assumed to be a little crush but the more he kept shoving his feelings inside, the more intense they became.
That was why it felt like a punch to the gut to see you laughing with and leaning onto a man that wasn’t him.
“Hey, dunce face,” Bakugou grunted. Kaminari lifted his head and looked over at Bakugou with hazy eyes. “Get me the strongest drink here.”
“Dude, you really should slow down,” Kirishima urged, concerned as he watched Bakugou down shot after shot. “You’ve never drank before and this’ll probably mess you up fast.”
“I don’t give a fuck,” Bakugou said in a rush, out of breath from the abundance of liquids he furiously ingested. He held the next shot glass to his lips, preparing himself to throw it back along with the countless shots he had already done; he felt like he was going to be sick, to no one’s surprise. Bakugou slammed the shot glass down onto the table, still full of alcohol, and he slammed his head onto the table as well. His head was throbbing but he felt like he could float in the air if he really tried.
Kirishima chuckled at his friend, taking advantage of the situation and taking the shot glass away from Bakugou.
Kaminari swung his arm around Bakugou’s shoulders. “See, dude, now we’re having fun!” The last word was elongated as he let out a small hiccup.
“Get the fuck off of me, dunce face,” Bakugou mumbled with his head still on the table, causing his words to be muffled. Nevertheless, Kaminari knew exactly what his grouchy friend had said but ignored him.
For the first time that night, Kaminari looked around the room and noticed you sitting alone now in the corner of the bar. He shot up, waving his hand out at you. “Y/N!”
Bakugou’s eyes, which were once closed shut as the alcohol was rushing to his head all at once, shot wide open as he whipped his head up. He felt dizzy from how quick the motion was. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“Come on, man, she’s sitting over there all alone,” Kaminari reasoned, turning his attention back to you. You also had finally noticed your old classmates, smiling at the sight. “Hang out with us, Y/N!”
“Alone?” Bakugou questioned softly. He looked over at you and felt a wave of relief wash over him as he carefully watched you make your way to their table, mystery man out of the picture.
“I didn’t know you guys were here tonight,” you said with a smile. You sounded level-headed and Bakugou determined that you were probably the most sober person in the room that night.
“Yeah, we come here a lot after our patrol shifts,” Sero commented.
“All of you?” You questioned, interested as you scanned each of the guys sitting at the table. Finally you locked eyes with Bakugou and he swore your gaze could’ve pierced right through him. He broke eye contact first as he felt his face burning up even more with the effects of the alcohol.
“We usually have to beg Katsuki to come out. You know how he is,” Kirishima teased, wanting to lighten the mood for his friend. It didn’t work as Bakugou still had a sour expression on his face.
“Wanna get a few drinks with us?” Kaminari offered.
You shook your head. “No, it’s alright. Tonight hasn’t gone the way I wanted so I think I’m going to call it a night. It was nice seeing you guys.”
You waved goodbye to the boys, sending a small smile towards Bakugou as you understood he was in a bad mood but not understanding why. Your back was turned to them as you walked towards the exit and it was a miracle how you didn’t have two vermillion holes in your back the way Bakugou was staring at you leaving.
Bakugou stood up abruptly and he grabbed his coat and wallet. He sloppily pulled out a few bills and slammed them on the table as he made his way out as well.
“Where are you going?” Kirishima questioned.
“Don’t worry about it.”
You cursed at yourself for leaving your jacket in your date’s car as the winter snow began to litter the streets. Your body was shivering terribly. The bar had a few tables and chairs in front of the building and you sat yourself down as you contemplated how on Earth you were going to get home.
Before you could come up with a game plan, you felt a heavy leather jacket plop down onto your shoulders. You jumped at the sudden contact, watching as a clearly drunk-but-pretending-to-be-sober Bakugou sat himself in the chair across from you. “Bakugou! What’re you doing here?”
Bakugou ignored your question as he bluntly asked, “Where’s that fucker you came in with?”
You were taken aback by his questions. Only a few minutes ago did you realize that Bakugou, Kirishima, Kaminari, and Sero were there in the bar with you that night. If he had seen you with your date, that meant Bakugou had seen you when you walked in.
You sighed, leaning back in your chair and pulling Bakugou’s jacket closer to you as it kept you warm. “He was being… weird.”
“Weird how.” It was a question but you sensed the animosity in Bakugou’s tone as his expression harshened in a way that made his question a statement.
You waved your hands to calm him down. Why was he so upset? “Nothing bad, don’t worry. He’s just some guy I started dating. We weren’t official or anything but I liked him. He said he didn’t like me being a hero and said I should get a job that’d suit me in a feminine way.” You chuckled humorlessly as you recalled the misogynistic comment.
“What a fucking loser,” Bakugou grumbled, loud enough for you to hear and laugh at. He leaned back in his chair, resting his eyes. “You told him to fuck off, right?”
You nodded, amused as you always were back in U.A. with Bakugou’s colorful vocabulary. “Yup. He got pissed and left me here and I left my stuff in his car like an idiot.”
Bakugou opened his eyes and reached into his front pocket, cursing at himself as his fingers kept missing the opening seam. He pulled out his car keys and tossed them onto the table. You furrowed your eyes at the sight in confusion.
“Take my car to get home.”
You widened your eyes at his insane proposition, looking at the insignia on his keys as an expensive brand. “Bakugou, your car’s worth like a hundred million yen! There’s no way I can drive that!”
“Just do it, idiot,” Bakugou groaned, placing his forehead on the cold, snow-covered table. “Can’t let you just sit here in the cold.”
A moment passed as you were contemplating your choices only to realize in that time, Bakugou had fallen asleep. You chuckled softly, never expecting to see health-conscious Bakugou who’s always been adamant about never drinking inebriated.
You grabbed his keys and put them in the pocket of his leather jacket, slipping the jacket onto your arms. You knew you couldn’t just take his car and leave him here like this so you got up and went over to his side, gently shaking his shoulders to wake him. “Come on, big guy. We’re going home”
Bakugou let out a groan as you got him to his feet, your arm around his shoulders and you wrapped his arm around your waist to support him, resting your hand on his hand. You felt his body stiffen in reaction and you looked up at him curiously. His face was red again and you assumed it was a combination of the alcohol and the frigidness in the air. It most definitely was not either of those things.
“Where’d you park your car?” You asked as you slowly helped him walk.
He nodded in the direction ahead of you and you assumed he was referring to the parking lot that was thankfully right next to the bar. The two of you continued walking towards the lot and you found it unusual how quiet Bakugou was.
Once reaching the lot, you were originally going to search for Bakugou’s car only to not have to put any effort at all since his bright red sports car stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the Subarus and Toyotas.
You laughed, shaking your head. “Why am I not surprised by this at all, Bakugou.”
Bakugou flinched and he slowly pulled away from you, shoving his hands in his pockets as he wobbly made his way to his car. “Stop calling me that.”
“What? You don’t want me to call you Bakugou?” You question, confused. “Oh! I get it. You want me to call you by your hero name, right, Dynamight?”
“That’s not it either, idiot.”
“Oh, then, Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight?”
“You’re so stupid.” Bakugou stopped right in front of his car and turned around, slowly so that he wouldn’t fall over. He had his signature frown on his face only this time it was out of frustration. “Back in U.A. you’d call me Katsuki.”
“Yeah, I guess I did,” you said, nodding your head as you recalled doing so. “But that was five years ago. I haven’t seen you since then and I just wanted to be polite.”
Bakugou kept quiet but his eyes never faltered or wavered as he kept them on you. You felt like he could burn right through you if he tried as you didn’t understand his frustrations. “Is everything okay, Ba– I mean, Katsuki.”
Bakugou’s eyes slightly widened for a moment and he felt like he was transported back to being a teenager. “No. Everything’s not okay ‘cause I still have this stupid crush on you that I’ve had since our first year in U.A.”
He let out a sigh, feeling a weight on his shoulders dissipate and he turned around back towards his car. You stood in place, shocked at the confession that you did not foresee at all. There was no way the Bakugou Katsuki had a crush on you, especially when you were just teenagers.
“Open the door.” Bakugou turned his head to you as he waited by the passenger door.
“Wait, wait, wait.” You waved your hands in front of you, still unable to wrap his words around your head. “This has to be a joke. There’s just no way– Why would you have a crush on me?”
Bakugou shrugged. “Dunno. Just happened.”
Your face felt hot and it wasn’t because of the weather. So much of your relationship with Bakugou made sense with this new realization. The reason for his cold shouldering you on numerous occasions or annoyed stares he’d give you when you got in a relationship in your second year all started to make sense. It was his way of conveying his feelings for you.
You shook your head, shaking the complex thoughts from your mind and snapping yourself back to reality as the cold air and Bakugou not having a jacket, since you were obviously wearing it, made you unlock his car with the key he gave you. You watched as Bakugou entered his car on the passenger side.
You knew you needed to give yourself a minute before you could enter the car beside him. How did you feel about him? You always thought he was handsome, when he wasn’t scowling at least, and you enjoyed seeing him mature every year in U.A. Even after graduation, you always watched the news fondly as you watched him evolve into an incredible hero, one that you knew was worthy of becoming number one.
So Bakugou Katsuki liked you. If your poor previous relationships taught you anything, it was to not turn down a good man when he was right in front of you. Or at least sitting in his sports car waiting for you to drive the two of you home since he was unexpectedly inebriated to do so himself.
Taking in a breath, you knew what you had to do; you wanted to see where this would go between the two of you. You opened the driver’s side door, sitting in your seat and collecting your thoughts briefly before turning to Bakugou to tell him exactly what was on your mind. You wanted to give it a shot.
And you were intent on doing just that until you turned to look at Bakugou only to see he was once again fast asleep, his chest rising and falling. You chuckled at the sight, taking in how adorable he was in that moment. Slipping his jacket off your body, you draped it over his body.
“Guess you’ll have to stay with me tonight.”
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Taglist (those who can’t be tagged here will be tagged in the comments):
@ahrinine @yahuwin @heroacademiafan @kirisclementine @happygalaxymilkshake @hookedinto-fictionalworlds @yaoyoroxu @cat181818meow @mirakeul @thatpeachybandgirl @shycoffeeparadise @iambashfulperson @sugacookiies @softiehawks @averitatsuyabnha @captaincyberqueen @corvid007 @kyluskaye @icy-hott @urmomsshousee @lmaobroccoli @anastar-legion @lowermoons @spectral-girl @mykuronekome @yourlocalsunfloweobsessedweeb @susu-chan @selfship-mishaps @nk-echi @ilovepizzaandimhot @life-is-not-daijobu @yoongiiyooo @runrabbitrun3 @dangerousluv1 @melodysakura @thooo0t @bibly @koiibin @anon-weeb-030 @magicshopowner @uglyratlmao @thathoneybee3 @yappychan @iheartfictionalboys @wisteria-and-nightshade @faeviii @soturoayami @moonlightaangel @creepyproxies @mhasimp666
#bakugou x reader#katsuki bakugo x reader#bakugo x you#bakugo x y/n#bakugo x reader#bakugou katsuki x reader#katsuki bakugou x reader#my hero academia#boku no hero academia#my hero academia imagines#bnha bakugou#katsuki bakugou#bakugou katsuki#mha bakugou#alcohol tw#tw alcohol
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Hey! How are you?
May I request how the batboys would react to reader losing their job unfairly? I just lost my job for no reason after only working there for 2 weeks. I could really use some comfort rn 😭😭
Sweetheart, I know your pain in loosing a job unfairly, I’ve been there before and funnily enough they’re suffering to this day with ppl wanting to leave and or leaving. Karma is truly a bitch. I’m sending all the virtual hugs I can.
Jason
Livid isn’t even close in describing how he felt upon hearing the news but it was the closest word for how he was feeling right now. The fact that you had been let go and unfairly too after a short period of time was enough to make his blood boil.
No explanation just ‘yeah we’re letting you go for no real reason cuz we’re tight fisted cunts who can’t be bothered with bettering ourselves for our staff, and would much rather let them go without prior warning because we’re just that shitty of an employment.’
In Jason’s opinion you were the only one who actually knew how to do to do your job and will remind you of this constantly because it was the truth. You worked your ass off at that place and this was the thanks you get? Fuck that!
Jason was more then ready to let the piece of shit who made the call to drop you have a piece of his mind but you had to calm him down and tell him it wasn’t worth the anger and frustration. However to Jason it was more than worth the anger and frustration, his sweetheart lost their job because of some fucking corporate lapdog!
‘They fucked up babe, big time. They lost one of their best and I hope they fucking go bankrupt and loose everything they’re worth because of it.’ Jason would tell you as he presses kisses against your head as you played with his fingers before intertwining them with yours.
‘I hope so too.’ You muttered against his chest and Jason could only tighten his hold on you as he continued to shower you in praise, kisses and utter adoration in hopes of ridding the god awful taste that place left in your mouth and your self esteem. Jason’s as about to let you drown because of them, he’d gladly keep you afloat however he can because you deserve it and so much more than they ever gave you in two weeks.
Dick
‘They’ve lost out on the best thing going sweetheart, they’ll come to regret it sooner or later but you’ll be in a better position when they do.’ He’d whisper reassuringly as he held you close to his chest, his heart breaking when hearing your sobs.
He hated how affected you were by their decision and he hated how powerless he was to stop you from getting hurt by stupid employments like this one. They obviously didn’t see what he saw in you and that was their loss and his gain. You were dedicated, loyal, hardworking but apparently that wasn’t enough for them and so without much thought they dropped you.
So Dick, with the help of Hayley, would try his best to provide you with happier times to drown out the pain that came with reminiscing the shittier times.
They would try their hardest to make you cry tears of joy rather then sadness from their goofiness alone as both Dick and Hayley would rather see you happy then sulk over the decisions of some stupid employment. They -the employment- fucked up with you and Dick wasn’t about to let it be your problem to deal with alone because it wasn’t your problem to deal with in the first place. It was theirs.
So you spent the rest of your days with Dick trying his best in making you happy and smile more then you’ve ever have, that place was poison for you and he’ll try and be your antidote.
Tim would absolutely do everything in his power to ruin your old workplaces reputation out of sheer pettiness, whether it be digging up some dark/ shady stuff that they’ve tried sweeping under the rug or spreading their tendencies to mistreat their staff on a daily basis, Tim would single-handedly destroy their reputation by leaving it in complete shambles.
He was smart enough to do so and could do so if you were to ever say the word, he was more then ready with documents filled with evidence to back up his claims, all he needed was you to give him the go ahead.
Tim could be petty but his petty was unlike anyone else’s and could cause mass damage to corporate assholes, especially those who thought it was completely justifiable to release someone after two weeks of working there.
Give him 5 minutes and the workplace will have collapsed from the information he had released to the general public. That’ll teach them a lesson for certain for messing with you.
However you didn’t want him to get into any trouble because of you and would much rather cuddle with him in bed as you watched a movie on his laptop in your pj’s as you both shared some ice cream. That’s all you needed and Tim was more than willing to comply as he told you how stupid of a decision it was of them to let you go, they were only shooting themselves in the foot and digging their grave simultaneously.
#dc imagine#dc x reader#dc x you#dc fanfic#dc fic#dc comics x reader#dc x y/n#dc fanfiction#jason todd imagine#jason todd fluff#jason todd x reader#jason todd imagines#dick grayson imagine#dick grayson imagines#dick grayson x reader#dick grayson fluff#tim drake x you#tim drake x reader#tim drake imagine#Tim drake imagines#nightwing fluff#nightwing imagines#nightwing imagine#nightwing x reader#red hood x you#red hood imagine#red hood x reader#red hood imagines
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When I think about how underwhelming that “argument” in Full moon was, how it wasn’t even an argument and just Blitz yelling, as Stolas says like…one or two things before leaving, it makes me think back to their shitty text convo Viv wrote back in Western Energy.
Like you can tell that this woman has avoided conflict and confrontation all her life (and lacks basic empathy for other human beings) that she can’t write it for shit when it comes to Stolas and Blitz. The truth is they’re both complex characters who are flawed and due to that they’re too hard to write for her, even Adam Neylan openly expressed how difficult it is to write for them. Like….guys if the characters are too complex than you are as people, you should have gotten someone else who can actually relate to these issues and knows what the fuck they’re doing cause Viv and Adam certainly don’t.
#vivziepop critical#spindlehorse critical#helluva boss critical#helluva boss critique#helluva critical#anti vivziepop#anti Stolitz#Stolitz critical
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9.1 Lily
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader
Summary: Lily McIntyre, trainer for new SHIELD recruits at the Avengers Tower, has been in love with her best friend, Bucky Barnes, from the moment she met him. She's been content with her role of the #1 girl in Bucky's life, even if it means she has to sabotage a romantic relationship or two. It'll be worth it when he realizes that they're meant for each other, right? There's just one small problem: Lily McIntire never expected Bucky Barnes to fall for You.
Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language,
Word Count: 1.8k
Previously On...: You spent a lovely day at the Compound with Bucky, even if he did tell you he thinks you should stop having sex so you can focus on getting to know one another better.
A/N: In the interest of saving my arm, I'm going to move to a temporary every other day posting schedule. So, for the time being, updates will be Mon/Wed/Fri/Sun/Tue/Thus/Sat etc, at least until I am fully better.
If you ever feel so inclined to support my work, hop on over to buy me a coffee; it's much appreciated! <3
NOTE! The tag list is a fickle bitch, so I'm not really going to be dealing with it anymore. If you want to be notified when new story parts drop, please follow @scoonsaliciousupdates
Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!
Lily paced in the empty common room as she waited for Bucky to get back to the Compound from wherever he’d been when she’d texted him. She was furious. She was more than furious. She was enraged. After all the work she’d put into preparing their ‘friend’ date, he had the gall to stand her up, and not let her know until fifteen minutes after he was supposed to pick her up! What kind of a friend did something like that?
And then! When one of her recruits had come in after lunch, telling everyone who would listen how he’d seen Bucky Barnes ride off the compound grounds on his motorcycle with “a hot piece of ass” on the bike behind him, and that the “piece of ass” was wearing one of Bucky’s Henleys? How the fuck was she supposed to take that, if not a blatant slap to the face of their relationship? It was all her recruits could talk about for the next twenty minutes, gossiping like a bunch of little old ladies with absolutely nothing better to do with their time.
Until Lily made them run ten miles.
She couldn’t believe he was doing this to her. Risking their four years of friendship.
And all for what? Some random slag? Was he really that desperate to get his dick wet? Fuck, she’d be more than willing to help him out with that if he’d just ask her. Why was he being so difficult?
She stopped mid-turn when she heard the sound of the elevator doors opening. Spinning on her heel, she watched as Bucky exited and made his way slowly into the common room, looking like a man about to walk into his execution. Good, she thought. Let him feel ashamed for humiliating me like that.
“Hey, Lil,” he said when he’d finally reached her.
“Don’t you ‘hey, Lil’ me,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest defensively. “What you did last night was really hurtful, James”
“I said I was sorry, Lil,” he protested with a sigh, hands thrust deep into his pockets. “I didn’t mean to bail on you– it’s just… she was willing to give me another chance after I fucked it up yesterday morning. I didn’t want to risk blowing it.”
Lily scoffed. “So, you decided that impressing some random hookup was more important than keeping plans you made with your best friend of the last four years?”
“She’s not a random hookup, Lil,” Bucky said, his voice rising slightly. “I told you– I really like this one. I want this to work out between us.”
Lily rolled her eyes. “So, what? Her vagina is so magic you’re gonna let it turn you into a shitty friend?”
Bucky seemed taken aback by that, and Lily began pacing again. “Lil?” He cleared his throat, the sound stopping her in her tracks. “Is the reason you’re so bothered by this because… because you have feelings for me?”
Lily could feel all the blood drain from her face, and she was grateful not to be facing him because she knew she’d look as white as a ghost and completely give herself away.
“It’s okay if you do,” Bucky said into her silence. “I’d never invalidate your feelings, but you have to know that I don–”
“Ego trip much, Jamie?” Lily asked, turning around and giving the cheeriest fake laugh she could muster at a time like this. “You’re my best friend. I mean, I love you, but only as a friend. Don’t be ridiculous.”
She watched in dismay as a weight seemed to be visibly lifted off of Bucky’s shoulders as he leaned against one of the couches; his entire demeanor seeming lighter at her denial, and she was so glad she hadn’t been honest with him. If she had confessed how she felt and he had outright rejected her… Well, she didn’t know what she would do, but she knew it wouldn’t be pretty.
“Why would you even ask me such a thing?” she prodded, attempting to hide the desperation in her voice to know how the seed had been planted. “Honestly, how did that idea even get into your head?”
Bucky shrugged. “You just never seem to like any of the girls I date,” he said. “I thought that might’ve been why.”
Lily scoffed. “I can’t help it that your taste in women is terrible, Jamie,” she said, and felt a twinge of satisfaction when he flinched at her words. “And if I’m not mistaken, I’ve yet to be wrong about a single one of them in the end, no matter how great they seemed at the beginning. But that doesn’t mean that I want to be with you.”
She was lying to him through her teeth, and she knew that she should feel bad about it, but right now, nothing seemed more imperative than to protect herself from his rejection.
“I don’t care how much you like this girl, Jamie,” she went on. “It was still an asshole move to leave me hanging so that you could go fuck some slut you barely know.”
“Hey,” he said, rising to his full height and using a tone of voice that he had never used on her before. An angry tone. “I admit, taking off like that and not giving you more warning was not my finest moment, and I am sorry that I hurt your feelings, I really am. But she is not a slut, and I won’t let you call her that.”
Lily blinked at him for a few beats, her mouth hanging open in shock. He had never, not once in the entire four years of their friendship, raised his voice in anger toward her before. It was a little frightening.
And kind of hot.
“Okay,” she said with a sigh, trying to make her voice sound contrite while hoping for maximum pity at the same time. “I’m sorry. Look, I don’t want to fight with you. It just made me feel like you didn’t care about me. Like I don’t matter to you the second something better comes along.”
Bucky walked over to her and put a hand on her shoulder. “Lil,” he said, giving it a gentle squeeze, “you know that’s not true. You’re one of the most important people in my life. I messed up, and I’m sorry. Let me make it up to you.”
“I feel like you’ve been saying that to me a lot lately, Jamie,” she said, and was rewarded when she saw him look away from her in shame. She’d cut him a little bit of slack. “How do you plan on making it up to me this time?” she asked with a smile.
Bucky’s entire face lit up, and Lily’s breath hitched. God, but he was beautiful when he smiled at her like that. “I was actually thinking,” he began, moving around the room as he grew excited, “that since I got you so pissed off, what better to get it out of your system than to go destroy some shit at The WarZone?”
Lily just stared at him, shocked. “That’s the place owned by that bitch Natasha invited to the bar on Friday, isn’t it?”
Bucky slowly nodded. “Uh, yeah… Major… Her name’s Major.”
Lily scoffed and crossed her arms over her chest. “Seriously, Bucky? After the way she treated me that night? You can’t honestly expect me to patronize her establishment after the way she humiliated me in front of all of our friends!?”
Bucky frowned at her, and Lily felt something in her stomach twist at his expression. “She didn’t embarrass you, Lil,” he said. “She was just responding to something you said to her first.”
“Well, I don’t care if that’s how you see it,” Lily said defensively. “She was still a nasty bitch to me. I don’t want to have anything to do with her, and I’m sure as shit not going to hang out with you in the business she runs.”
Bucky sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Lil,” he said, as though it were paining him, “it’s really important to me that you make an effort to get along with Major.”
Lily rolled her eyes. “Jamie, how could it be that important for me to get along with a random girl you just met the other—” The realization crashed over her like a ton of bricks. “Oh,” was all she could say.
Bucky blushed and rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. “Yeah,” he said almost bashfully. “Major’s the girl I’ve been talking about, Lil. She’s the one I went to see last night.”
Lily’s stomach soured at the realization that Bucky had been sneaking around, lying to her these last few days, in order to go see that fucking bitch. “I—” she began. “You had sex with her Friday night, after you brought her home, didn’t you?”
Bucky nodded, not meeting her eye. He had lied to her face, again.
“I honestly can’t believe you’d put some slut you just met over your best friend, Jamie. That makes this whole thing even worse!”
“She is not a slut, Lily,” Bucky said, his voice clipped in renewed anger. “Don’t you dare call her that!”
“Well, what do you call a girl who sleeps with a guy she’s only known for a couple of hours? Would you prefer ‘tramp,’ or ‘floozy’? Something more in line with your times?”
“I had sex with her after only knowing her for a couple of hours,” Bucky said. “So, I guess you think I’m a slut, too.”
Lily’s eyes went wide at the implication of her words. “Of… of course not, Bucky. I would never insinuate–”
“There’s no difference between what she and I did, because we did it together,” he said. “So, either were both sluts, or neither one of us are.”
This conversation was getting horribly out of Lily’s control. “Look,” she said eventually, trying to get things back on track. If she had any hope of surviving this, she was going to have drastically change her tactics. “I don’t even actually care if you slept with her after only knowing her a few hours.” Oh, but she did, she reminded herself. “I’m pissed because ever since you’ve met this girl, it feels like you’ve done nothing but lie to me and toss me aside. That’s not the Jamie I know, and frankly, your behavior is concerning me.”
Bucky’s face softened, his anger dissipating at her words. “You’re right, Lil. I’ve been a dick, and I promise you, the lying is done. And I’m gonna be more considerate when it comes to communicating with you if I have to cancel plans,” he said.
Lily’s jaw twitched at his choice of words. Not ‘I won’t cancel on you again,’ or even ‘I won’t let this new girl come between us.’ Just a veiled threat that he would bail on her for Major, again and again. She was going to have to play this game very, very carefully if she had any hope of actually breaking them up. That meant, for now, keeping him on her side.
“Thank you, Jamie,” she said, plastering on a hundred watt smile. “You don’t know what that means to me.”
<- Previous Part / Next Part ->
#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x you#bucky barnes x y/n#bucky x you#bucky x reader#bucky fanfic#bucky barnes#bucky barnes fanfic#bucky x female reader#bucky barnes fic#bucky barnes fanfiction#james bucky buchanan barnes#james buchanan barnes#mcu bucky barnes#james barnes
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oh god it's back
#cookie run#I CANT BELIEVE IM TAGGING THIS FUCKING GAME#AGAIN#utmv#cross!sans#my art#he's got cheap shitty disgusting fondant on the outside#raspberry on the inside#the memory of a whisper of a thought of choclate#and the fur is whipped cream#but it's got a#like#film on it#his general vibes should be...#baked good made to be put on display which is visibly perfect in every way but is actually a little bit stale#and has obviously had more care put into his appearance than his taste
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posing for cars by japanese breakfast vs. dirk's splinters & jake
#fuck off lou#my post#hs#homestuck#jake english#lil hal#brain ghost dirk#brobot hs#aranea serket#music#song lyrics#web weaving#parallels#comparatives#link#japanese breakfast#dirk strider#tagging him even if he is sir not appearing in this post#can this be tagged as dirkjake? who give a shit#dirkjake#honestly nearly choked laughing at the brobot shots. i find my own shitty jokes too funny for my own good occasionally#this was a joke that got out of hand
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when you remember dean was originally meant to be 14 in 9x07 Bad Boys
#14 !!!! and john left to ''rot in jail''#i'm particularly in my feels abt it bc i'm working on a short fic set when dean is 14. and he's still just. so young#and with the weight of the world on his shoulders. feeling responsible for everything when he should just be a kid#and yea i have a nuanced interpretation too. abt how it would have raised less suspicion to let the cops think dean was just a rebel teen#instead of a hungry kid taking care of another kid#letting dean take the fall and spend some time in jail / sonny's would keep the authorities from looking closer at the situation#and when the dust settled john showed up to get dean#still bad though !!! still fucking shitty for dean to hear !!!#john's A+ parenting indeed#young dean
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Note
"you don't have to draw characters to look exactly like the ccs that play them" and "removing ethnic features of the ccs from the characters they play is a shitty thing to do" are statements that can and should co exist. and i think some of you really need to fucking learn that (not directed @ anyone in particular)
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