#☾—fry writes.

[badfry]

lightheaded

۰ ۪۪۫۫ · you cut your hair. someway, somehow, that led to rosalie hale spending the night with you.

☾ warnings—cheating (my apologies, emmett)

☾ word count—2.2k

☾ notes—i wanted self-indulgent soft collegiate rosalie to christen this blog with. as ariana grande once said: i want it, i got it. written with f!reader in mind, but it can be read as gn!reader. sfw (with the potential for a sequel...)

At first, you didn’t think she was ever on campus during the day—you never ran into her at the college bookstore shopping for textbooks at the start of the year, or at the coffee shop downing a triple shot espresso before her classes, or at the bar crying into a shot glass after them, like you had with everyone else.

So in the beginning, you only ever saw her during your night class.

But when the second semester started, you could have sworn you saw her everywhere, all the time. You thought you were karmically doomed; you’d spent the entirety of the last semester staring at the back of her head, imagining what it would be like to lean over her shoulder and press your lips to the perpetually downturned corners of hers—maybe she’d melt a little, smile the smallest smile, but you’d be able to feel it once she pressed back into you—

Maybe you were doomed. Or maybe she was just that magnetic, and now that your eyes knew her shape, they would forever be drawn to her—no matter how big the crowd or how dark the room was.

Her name was Rosalie; she never responded to Rose. There was a big, gleaming, asscher cut diamond perched prettily on her left ring finger. She never said a thing in class, even though she sat in the front row. She wasn’t eager to answer any of the professor’s questions or awkwardly overshare about her life like the others who sat beside her. You didn’t know if she was really engaged, or if she was just rich with flashy tastes, but you stupidly hoped it was the latter.

Her hair fell to the middle of her back in perfectly blown-out golden waves. She never put it up. She never grew it longer, cut it shorter, or dyed it a different color. She was simply pristine—never a hair out of place or a split end to be trimmed.

You thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world. So did everyone else. Your classmates all took their turns getting shot down, and you sat back and watched them all get their hearts broken. You took it as a reminder: your imaginings would never be anything more than that, so it was best to move on.

You cut your hair at the end of the semester when you were sure you’d never see her again. People in movies always cut their hair after something big—a break-up, a rejection, whatever—to help them get over it. It had never really worked for you in the past, but you still did it every six months or so. Your head felt lighter even if your heart didn’t.

You suspected that you would spend the rest of your life thinking about Rosalie; often now, then less and less frequently over time, until one day it would just be every once in a blue moon. She wasn’t the sort of woman you could forget.

Especially when you saw her everywhere you went.

So when a late-night study session at the library turned into a café-crawl for a pick-me-up, you shouldn’t have been surprised to see her there—but you were. Your heart even skipped a beat.

She was sitting at a table for two right next to the door, reading a book. She had a cup of coffee, but it looked cold and untouched. For some reason, you found yourself asking her, “Does it suck?”

Rosalie peered up at you through her lashes. In the dim light of the café, her eyes were dark and sensuous. She grimaced, and you felt your stomach turn to lead. “Pardon me?”

You wanted to turn around and run away. What the hell had gotten into you? Why did you think you could just walk up and talk to her? She was out of your league. She was probably taken. And yet you gestured weakly to her cup despite all of that. “The coffee. It looks like you didn’t like it.”

Rosalie stared at you for a moment longer, then glanced at her cup of coffee. “No,” she said slowly, “I’m more of a tea person, is all.”

It sounded like she was tasting the words before she settled upon them. You wondered if that’s how she usually spoke; carefully, reverently, like each word meant something special to her. “I guess you were feeling adventurous today,” you said, partly to her, partly to yourself.

“I suppose so,” she said, closing her book and laying it on the table. She ran her eyes up and down your frame; you felt a shiver crawl down your spine. “Would you like to join me?” she finally asked.

“Yes,” you said, far too eagerly. “I mean, sure. I need to order, but I’ll be right back.” No shit, Sherlock, you thought to yourself. Could you embarrass yourself any worse? You hoped not.

You ordered yourself a drink, and when the barista asked if you’d like anything else, you hesitated. She was a tea person, but what sort of tea person? Green tea, black tea, decaf? Maybe it was a bad idea—it definitely was a bad idea—but—

When you came back to the table with a drink for both you and her, Rosalie appeared unsurprised. People probably bought her drinks all the time. Disappointment curdled in your gut, but you still sat down across from her and pushed the tea her way. “I hope you like Earl Grey.”

Rosalie closed the book she was reading and closed her pale, bony fingers around the handle of the mug. “I… do,” she said. She pulled the mug closer to her, then cradled it between her palms. She didn’t sip at it; she seemed to be too busy enjoying the way its warmth seeped into her.

You sipped at your own drink nervously. Your hands were trembling, so you kept them wrapped tight around your mug. Despite your drink’s warmth, your hands went cold from the lack of circulation. You’d officially run out of things to say.

“You cut your hair,” Rosalie suddenly pointed out.

“Oh, um, yeah,” you stuttered. You hadn’t expected her to remember you, let alone how your hair used to look.

She must have misread your expression, because then she asked, “Do you not like it?”

“I do,” you assured her. “Sort of. I’m still getting used to it.”

Rosalie tilted her head and examined you far too closely. You tried and failed to swallow past the lump in your throat. “It suits you,” she said, and your heart nearly leaped out of your chest. “And even if you end up disliking it, it will grow back.”

“That’s true.” She was still staring at you, something indecipherable hidden behind the dark depths of her eyes, and as much as you reveled in her undivided attention, it made you panic. “Have you ever thought about cutting yours?”

“No,” she responded immediately. “Why? Do you not like it?”

You barked out a strange little laugh before you could stop yourself. “I love it,” you said. “It’s beautiful, really. I just can’t leave my hair alone, so I find it hard to believe anyone else can.”

Rosalie smiled. You thought she looked sad, somehow. “You’re sweet,” she sighed. “My hair grows very slowly, so I never thought cutting it any shorter would be smart.”

“Oh, it’s always a stupid idea,” you admitted. “But that’s part of the fun. And like you said, it’ll grow back, slow or fast. And if all else fails, you could get a wig.”

Rosalie looked away from you, brows furrowed. You were worried—had you offended her? Maybe you’d come across as too pushy or judgmental. You should change the subject. Your eyes flitted about wildly, desperate for something to talk about that wouldn’t send her running away from you; they landed on her ring, which was certainly not a topic that would help you out anytime soon.

“Are you engaged?” you asked anyway because you loved to stick your foot in your mouth.

But it made her look at you again. You could have sunk into her eyes and never resurfaced. “Not exactly,” she murmured.

What does that mean, you wanted to ask, but you didn’t get the chance to.

“I think you’re right,” Rosalie said. “You should cut my hair.”

You blinked. “What?”

Rosalie smiled, and this time, you thought she actually looked happy. “You should take me home and cut my hair.”

Your face went numb. “Okay,” you choked out.

And so you brought Rosalie Hale home.

She sat in your desk chair and stared at you through the mirror you’d set up in front of her as you asked her how short she wanted to cut her hair; she held one hand up to her shoulder in response.

“Above or below?”

“What do you think would look better?”

You lost the unofficial staring contest Rosalie had started. “You could pull off anything, really. But it doesn’t matter what I think.”

“I wouldn’t ask if it didn’t matter,” she said.

“Why does it?” you asked.

“You said my hair is beautiful.” Rosalie tilted her head back until you looked her in the eye once more. Under the bright white light of your lamp, her eyes looked lighter than they had in the café—maybe they were hazel. “I’d like it if you still thought that after cutting it.”

“As long as it’s what you want,” you told her, “I can promise you I will.”

Luckily, she seemed to take you at your word. "Above, then," she settled on.

"Alright," you agreed, carefully gathering her hair between your hands without tugging it too hard. It was thick, coarse, and ridiculously weighty in your palms, although it had always appeared delicate and sleek from afar. "This might take a while. Do you want a drink or something?"

"No, thank you." Rosalie made having good posture look easy. "Take your time. I believe I trust you."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," you said, half-joking. Your cheeks were burning. Rosalie's trust weighed on you heavier than her hair. You had no clue how you'd earned it, but you never wanted to lose it.

It took you a little over an hour to cut her hair. Your arms were sore and the fingers on your dominant hand ached to hell and back, but you didn't care. Your eyes were glued to Rosalie's reflection in the mirror; you thought she looked sad again. "What do you think?" you asked her, stomach churning.

Rosalie stared at herself in silence for what felt like the longest minute of your life. Then she gave herself a smile, tremulous at the edges, and said to you, "It's not so heavy anymore."

"It's kind of weird, right?"

"A little," she admitted huskily, peering down at the golden strands that littered your floor now. Her chest rose and fell swiftly, but you couldn't hear her breathing.

"It's normal to cry, the first time," you were quick to assure her. You hesitated, then laid a hand upon her shoulder. "I won't judge."

Rosalie took a deep breath in, held it for a moment, then sighed, "No. I'm fine." After a moment, she stood up and turned to you. Her eyes were warm, flitting back and forth across your face rapidly. "Do you still think my hair looks beautiful?"

You couldn't answer her when she looked at you like that—like you were something special. You looked at your feet, the hair all over your floor, and eventually, you asked her, "Do you regret it?"

"No."

"Then yes."

Rosalie huffed out a laugh. "Are you worried you might hurt my feelings?"

"No," you muttered, "I just think you're beautiful when you're happy. In general, I mean."

Rosalie took a step closer to you. Your heart fluttered in response. As though she had heard it and wanted to feel it for herself, she reached her hands up and pressed them to your chest. "Look at me," she whispered.

You tried, but you couldn't. She dragged her hands up each side of your neck, leaving millions of tiny goosebumps in their wake, then cradled your face between her palms. She pulled it up to hers gently, beseechingly, until finally, you could look her in the eye. "I'm sorry," you sighed. You thought of how she'd said she wasn't exactly engaged, and how at that moment, you could feel the white gold band of her ring rubbing against your skin; even still, you thought of how long you'd imagined yourself pressing your lips to hers.

"Don't be," she entreated. Then she wrapped one of her hands around the back of your head, pressed her chest to yours, and kissed you ever-so-softly.

You shuddered; your breaths entwined. Rosalie's lips were colder than you'd thought they would be, so you sucked the bottom one into your mouth, then the top. When you pulled back from her, her mouth was warmer and wetter than it had been to start with, gleaming prettily in the white lamplight.

"Would you mind," Rosalie panted, "if I stayed the night?"

"Of course not," you said, against your better judgment.

Rosalie grinned and kissed you harder than before. You could feel it, just like you'd always imagined; it made you grin, too.

[bumblebeesfromvenus]

TF141 getting a boudoir photo album as a wedding gift ♡

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

A/N: THIS WAS SO FUN!!! Great, absolutely phenomal idea, dear anon. Simon's part is very sappy (I cried) which might be ooc for him?? Idk, that's how I write him/interpret his character! :) let me know who's your favorite 👀

~Fi 🐝

《Warnings》: NSFW content. proceed with caution. PiV, creampie, cunnilingus, Johnny's oral fixation (yes, that is a warning.)

It's still very sweet and lovey dovey with all of them bc I'm a certified sap <3

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

John would be grinning and smirking like a proper idiot when he lays his eyes on those delectable photos of you.

I imagine you had a date night at home, sipping wine on the couch and talking about your wedding that's supposed to take place in only 3 days. He's telling you how he can't wait to see you in your wedding dress and slip that ring onto your finger.

Sneaky bastard.

Be prepared to he called Mrs. Price the days leading up to the big day. John excuses it with:

"Need to practice, love. Don't wanna mess it up in front of anyone, eh?"

He knows what he's doing, you know what he's doing, all is well because if he only knew what that did to you. You're just talking, trying to get the nerves out now so you can go into your wedding with a clear mind and have a good time. When you tell him you have a gift for him, his eyebrows almost overshoot his forehead. Yeah, he knew that was a thing some people did, but he never gave it another thought.

In all honesty, marrying you was the best gift he could ever get. Which is why he feels slightly guilty that he doesn't have one for you (at least that's what you see, internally he's crushed) but that all goes out the window when you sit back down with a sleek beige photo album that has a little romantic quote on the front.

What he doesn't expect, however, is the angelic image of your plush body on full display, draped over a velvet chaise lounge with layered pearl necklaces hanging from your neck. This man is shell-shocked. If he wasn't frozen in place, he would've snapped the book shut.

"And what's this, doll, hm?"

His heart feels warm and fuzzy, thinking these are some lovely pictures of you together on holidays you went on, casual trips to the local pub or just some domestic shots you managed to sneak during his leave.

You can basically see the connections to his brain frying. His jaw slacks, and only after what feels like 10 minutes he regains his ability to think and close his mouth. John is sweating and his cock is rock hard as he flips through the remaining pages.

He shoots you the occasional glance while he's trying not to hyperventilate. You just sit back and savor your wine, trying to hide your laugh behind the rim of your glass. You'd expected a reaction, of course, but you didn't think you'd render the John Price speechless just from a few suggestive photographs of you.

But what absolutely breaks the camels back (or John's, in this case) is the last picture of you. You're kneeling, slightly leaned back and supported by your arms, with one of his Flannels covering your soft tits. That alone would've been enough to drive him crazy, but the sight of his old dogtags sitting against your sternum has him groaning out loud.

The only other thing covering you is a simple pair of lace panties, cupping the soft curve and rolls of your tummy so beautifully, John was ready to take a bit out of that damn page.

He nearly misses the inscription underneath the photo;

To my John; the love of my life, the man of my dreams,

I love you.

You hold my heart and you will forever.

May I be so lucky to find my place in the stars by your side when the time comes, so we'll never have to be apart.

With all my love,

Mrs. Price

And that does it. The album snaps shut and you barely have time to put down your wine glass before John is all over you, taking handfuls of you, whatever he can reach. With how fast he smashes his lips on yours, he nearly gives you whiplash.

He's tugging and pulling at your clothes as well as his own, not saying a thing, just hungrily swallowing every one of your sounds and giggled objections before he decides the couch is uncomfortable and he moves you to the bedroom. You're hoisted up without a warning and you cling to his neck. Immediately, worried words start spilling from your lips, remembering how he'd complained about a sore back just today;

"John, baby, your back-"

"I don't give a flying fuck about my back, love."

He's heaving and grunting like a fucking animal, he's downright feral. Despite all of that, you're still laid down gently on the bed, John would never, ever be reckless with you. But he needs to be inside you now, he'll actually lose his mind.

Usually, he'd spent hours between your thighs first, but he just can't wait. He's pounding you into another dimension but with such gentleness in his gestures, it makes your head spin.

He's holding your hand, breathing sweet praises into your ear despite him filling you to the brim. His urge to claim you goes haywire and he fills you with his cum multiple times before he's sane enough again.

He's covered in sweat and his beard is wet from your spit from all the sloppy kisses he gave you. John will definitely make it up to you and eat you out for as long as you want after.

He'll make a copy of one of the photos and take it with him when he's on deployment, just for the nights he's feeling lonely.

His wedding gift to you are the hickeys on your thighs and tummy and new sheets because you two tore the other ones to absolute shreds.

♥︎

Johnny would probably have a boudoir album for you, too. You get at least one shirtless pic a day, so a whole album of his body on display or in suggestive poses basically screams Johnny. He's already drooling the second he spots that book because he knows what it is and that he's in for a treat.

He's buzzing with excitment.

You never really send nudes for privacy reasons, and then for you to do something like this hit him like a truck in the best way possible. You're standing opposite from him behind the kitchen counter, and you look so nervous to him.

Cue his signature shit-eating grin. You tap your fingers on the dark blue album before having enough of your nerves and just sliding it over to him with a few mumbled words of what it is.

"Awe, for me, mo leannan?" He's a teasing bastard, and he chuckles when you huff and turn your head, obviously flustered. Johnny is legit licking his lips, but when he opens the book, his grin fades so fast.

He knew it would be good, but holy shit, this was so much better than he expected. His pupils dilate as he takes in each of the pictures of you, all of you, all your curves and bumps.

Everything he loves about you. God, you're such a woman, he thinks to himself. Some with lingerie, some without. He's full on drooling at this point, and the only reason why he roughly wipes it away with the back of his hand is to not get it on these sacred images.

He smirks at the picture of you in a tub, all soapy, with pebbled nipples. An obvious dig at his nickname, but, god, does your ass look amazing when it's covered in a thin layer of bubbles. He loves lathering you up in the shower and feeling you up while you're all wet and slippery.

"Good thing I can hold my breath, aye, hen? Might even try to set a new personal record." He's grinning and chuckling meanwhile you give him a sharp glare. You can't deny that the idea intrigues you, though.

But this, oh, this one was him swallowing thickly. It's you in very sheer panties (they're barely even underwear) and his name patch is sewn onto the front. Your hair looks so nice, so do your thighs, he doesn't know whether to look at your eyes or your tits. The button on his jeans is about to pop off from his throbbing boner.

He can't take his eyes off that 'MacTavish' patch that sits right on your lower belly, with the slight curve it has to it from your soft tummy.

Johnny has to hold himself back from gripping the book too hard. He wouldn't want to ruin it.

"Steamin' bloody Jesus, bonnie..."

The album is shut and tucked under his arm, and Johnny jumps over the counter to get his hands on you. Or his mouth, more like. He has a huge oral fixation, so he loves sucking and biting on every inch of your skin. You're pushed back into the bedroom, even though you end up on the floor, and the book is thrown onto the bed.

He rips your shirt up and sucks at your tits and nipples, groaning and moaning at the taste of your skin, all while he's rubbing his clothes cock against your leg. You end up on your hands and knees with one of Johnny's hands on your lowerback while his face is buried in your cunt.

He's eating you out like he's been starved for years, and his stubble is already starting to irritate the skin of your thighs and ass.

You'll have the worst case of beard burn in the morning, but how could you care about that when his tongue is so deep inside of you?

Remember when I said he'd have a boudoir album too? Yeah, now you're in between his legs, your back pressed to his chest with Johnny's album in your shaky hands. And the way your engagement ring catches the dim light of the room has your eyes rolling back.

And Jesus christ, Johnny looks fucking phenomal. You clench around his fingers hard, and he doesn't even have to pull his head from your neck to know what photo you're looking at.

He's smirking and grinning like the ceshire cat, knowing that the image of him in a kilt with no shirt one is gracing your field of vision right about now.

"Ah knew ye'd like tha' one, bonnie..."

Johnny's cooing in your ear, telling you to keep looking at the pictures while he's knuckle deep in your pussy. His bare dick is pressed against your ass and you can feel him rocking his hips to get off.

He's mumbling all kinds of gibberish into your ear, but one of the few things you can make out is "mo bhean"* which pushes you over the edge. You won't be leaving that bed anytime soon.

*(My wife)

♥︎

Kyle is such a sweetheart. I've said it before, and I will say it again, he's such a cutie pie!!! But that doesn't mean he can't or won't get nasty.

He'd offered to make lunch, which was delicious as always, and now you're chatting casually about your day at your dining table. Your fingers are laced together, and he's wearing the biggest smile because all he can think of is how he gets to marry you in just a few days.

He's over the moon. He can't wait to see you walk down the aisle, say your vows to each other, and overall have a great time with all your friends and family.

But the thing Kyle is looking forward the most is the honeymoon. He'll have you to himself for 2 whole weeks and he's stoked. He can't wait to treat you to nice things, love on you, but he's the most excited to fuck you as your husband.

He may look sweet and 'innocent' but this man can fuck, okay. And he fucks well. He knows every little spot that has you mewling and he's so good at using them for his gain.

Kyle will fuck you into the mattress in the Hotel you booked, he's already made up his mind about that, but he wants to absolutely melt your brain by being so loving whole doing it that you can't help but cry out for him.

He has heart eyes at this point, watching you talk about all that happened today and he only snaps out of his dream world when you present the deep red album to him with a sweet smile.

He's got a hunch of what it is so there's a hint of a smirk on his lips. Still, he almost gets whiplash when he opens it.

There's no easing into it, just straight up tits, ass and tummy. And let me tell you, Kyle is loving every second of it. It's no secret that he loves your chub, and that fact that it's extenuated so beautifully in every shot makes his heart and his cock happy. He's a very balanced man after all.

He comments on every single photo because he think it's endearing how you get all flustered and giggly from his compliments.

One picture that has him taking a second, though, is one where you have a lacy band tied around your thigh, with a little golden 'Kyle' charm hanging from it. He's all smiley and giddy, but he does try to discreet adjust his trousers because, holy shit, that's hot.

"Have you still got that, dove? Would love to see it tied around your pretty neck."

All you answer is that he'll have to be patient and wait till the wedding night to find out. He's laughing and teasing now, but just what till you get to the last page, Gazy.

And the way his smile just melts off his face is priceless. His gaze is flitting between you on the page and you sitting across from him with a shot eating grin. All the blood that drained from his face went straight to his dick.

Not only are you wearing a set of lingerie in his favorite color, but you've got his iconic pair of sunglasses hooked on the center of your bra. And that's not all either, his eyes travel upwards and his base cap is sat on your head and you've got that beautiful smile of yours on your face.

He makes an audible noise, one that indicates you took his breath away, when he takes in the whole picture.

"How in hell did you manage to snatch my hat and my glasses from right under my nose?!"

"Skilled hands, babe."

He's laughing at you breathlessly because he's still enarmoured by the sight of you.

And Kyle will absolutely whisk you away and fuck you stupid in front of your bedroom mirror while you're wearing his hat.

It makes him feral, seeing you like that. He's got both of his arms wrapped around your middle and he's panting into your shoulder. He does look up from time to time to see your blissed out face all while still wearing his cap.

He lets out a strained moan everytime he looks at you in the mirror and his hips stutter ever so slightly.

Kyle is just spewing jumbled words of love because he's genuinely so happy. You make him so happy.

He honestly can't wait to give you your wedding gift. It's a little booklet filled with poems or quotes that reminded him of you, or of how you make him feel. And it will make you cry when he reads them to you.

Definitely not because he'll be ballsdeep inside of you while doing so...

♥︎

Simon, Simon, Simon.... first of all, he's completely blindsided by this. And he hasn't got a fucking clue what's in that black book you hand him one night when you're cuddling in bed.

There's just a giant question mark above his head. When you tell him it's a wedding gift, he goes silent and just looks at that album in his hands.

He never really got gifts, which obviously changed since he's been with you, but he's still not used to it. You're so thoughtful. And sweet. And kind, and perfect and-

he turns his head to you when you softly call his name and if you notice the slight sheen of tears in his big brown eyes, you don't mention it. You just encourage him to open the book. And when he does, a small huff and gentle smile leave him because how are you so perfect?

Yes, all of the pictures are all filthy, but they're all radiating of love and softness, and he can't get over it. How are you so soft? Simon can't get enough of you. You mess up his emotions in ways he never thought possible, and he can't help that his heart starts beating twice as fast.

That you did this for him means more than you could ever fathom, and he'll treasure this album until his end. He absent mindedly reaches for your hand as he flips through the pages, trying to tell you thank you when his words fail him, like they did so many times before with you.

He comes across a shot of your neck, a black leather collared fasten around it with a little silver skull charm. It makes him smile just a bit. He knows just how much meaning is behind it.

That you love him. All of him, which includes the Ghost. In cursive, 'Riley' is written right above your heart, and he gives your hand a squeeze.

Although you love the Ghost because it's a part of him, you've shown him that it's not all he is. That Simon is enough. That he should give Simon a chance and that he's not incapable anymore, like he was as a little boy. Ghost is sort of a protector of Simon, something not many people know, that's why he wears the mask outside of duty too. To shield himself.

But as much as the Ghost's service is appreciated, Simon can handle himself now. The Ghost will forever be with him, but so will you, and you'll wipe his bloody hands with a smile. You've shown him that you accept Ghost just as much as you accept Simon, and that means the world to him.

He sniffles ever so quietly, and you lean your head against his shoulder, pressing a kiss to his cheek. He moves on, gently turning the pages, and as much as his heart is touched by your kind gesture of this album, that doesn't stop his cock from stirring. It's pictures of your naked form, after all.

He loves every single inch of you and he's told you and shown you so many times, kissed all your insecurities away and took your mind off any bad thoughts about yourself by fucking you so well and lovingly to the point of tears.

Never, in a million years, had he expected you to return these efforts. You kissed all his scars and held him softly when reassuring any doubts he had. That's when he truly and fully fell in love with you.

He can feel himself getting hotter with every passing image of your soft body bent in different positions and clad in delicate garments, if any.

The best for last, as always, and it's a picture of you kneeling in front of a mirror, completely nude. A picture of Simon in full military regalia is tapped to the mirror and it's surrounded by a bunch of hearts drawn on with lipstick.

His name is written under the picture in your handwriting, and he can see you holding a lipstick, in the middle of finishing another heart. His breath hitches just for a split second.

He swears he'll burn this photo into the back of his eyelids.

It shows him just how great and raw your love for him is, and it makes him all fuzzy on the inside. The text at the bottom finishes it all off, and he's actively holding back tears, overwhelmed by so many feelings for you.

Dear Husband,

We're flawed; but that's how I like us. You're you, and I'm me, and I wouldn't change it for the world. You've made me a better version of myself, and that makes me love you so much more. I'm so proud of you, Simmy.

Love,

Your wife

"Thank you, my love. Thank you for this, and for loving me and for everything you've done for me. I love you"

His words are soft and painfully honest as he gently sets the album aside. You've made him a better man. A better Simon. A happier Simon. A Simon that's slowly starting to heal.

It starts off with a soft kiss that slowly turns more desperate and needy to the point you're gently being pushed back onto the bed, your clothes are discarded, and Simon absolutely worships you. He kisses every inch he can reach and touching you in all the ways he knows you like.

And, yeah, Simon can be rough and fuck you stupid for hours, but tonight, he just wants to feel close to you, and make you feel as good as you make him feel by simply loving him. He's talking you through it, holding you while he makes sure you take every inch of his cock.

His strokes are slow and deep, just like his love for you, and he revels in the way your eyes roll back each time he slides into you to the hilt. The drag of his dick against your walls has you moaning and whining, and when he presses down on your pudgy lower belly to intensify the sensation, you're putty.

You two fuck the whole night like this, no matter how sensitive you are, you need to be close to each other.

And in the morning, he'll wake you up with his face buried in your pussy because he's out of his sappy mood and his only goal now is to absolutely ruin you.

♡

Bonus: I can totally see Simon giving his dad the biggest middle finger known to man all the way in hell when he's standing by the altar on your wedding day. It just screams: 'fuck you, stupidly bastard. Despite all you've done to me and my family, despite all that's happened, I've persevered. I've overcome it all. Look at me now.'

Right after he's smiling up at the sky, knowing that his mum and brother are watching and that they would've loved you just as much as he does <3

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

I hope you enjoyed!! I love all my boys <3

(If you find any typos, it's 2.am. give me a break pls)

[like-a-diamondinthesky]

curly fries | s.c.b

-> the first i love you m.list

pairing... bf!changbin x gn!reader tags... fluff, established relationship, beach shenanigans cw... a slightly cringe and unfunny joke that im only a little proud of

you don’t know what he’s about to do, but if the devious glint in his eyes is anything to go by, it’s going to be something loud for sure.

wc... 880 words a/n... thank u xi my love for helping me w this 😽 i've had this prompt in my files for months and i finally got around to writing it, i hope you all enjoy!

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Seo Changbin is beautiful.

Maybe it’s the way his natural hair curls into bouncy, raven locks. Or how his loose white button-up flows in the wind that blows gently against you, enveloping you in a warm breeze under the golden sun. Perhaps it’s his honey skin glowing as radiantly as the smile he constantly wears on his face when he’s around you—the same smile his bubbly personality urges you to reciprocate. You can’t be sure, really. It’s hard to pinpoint what makes the very incarnation of beauty beautiful.

Changbin’s hearty laugh snaps you out of your daze, his eyes twinkling as he looks at you.

“Baby, if you keep letting your food dangle out of your mouth like that, a seagull is gonna come down and swoop it up.” Teasingly, he points at the curly fry hanging out of your mouth, forgotten from the moment your hand had let go of it and slowly fell during your Changbin-induced trance. “Something on your mind?”

You blink once. Twice. Three times. Shoving the fry in your mouth, you shake your head.

“There’s nothing you’re thinking about?” Changbin probes, tilting his head in disbelief. “The way you’ve been staring at me—for like a whole minute, by the way—like I hung all the stars in the sky says otherwise.”

“Nothing, it’s nothing. Was just thinking about you and how you look so handsome today, I mean you’re always handsome, obviously, and wow, it’s quite hot, no?” You fan yourself with your fingers as heat rushes to your cheeks, though the flail of your wrists does absolutely nothing to help. “Well, I suppose it should be hot. We are at the beach after all, and you know it’s sunny so—”

Fondly, Changbin reaches out and tucks your windblown hair behind your ear. This halts your rambling, drawing out a shy smile as your boyfriend looks at you, admiration swimming in his pupils.

“You’re so cute. I love you.”

What.

Your eyes go wide. Your hand, previously reaching for another fry, stops dead in its tracks, going limp at your side.

Collecting yourself to the best of your abilities (which in this current state, were not a lot), you manage to sputter out a very elegant, “Huh?”

“I love you, silly. Say it back?”

You scan your boyfriend’s face. His gentle smile and sincere eyes warm your heart. He’s patient as he waits for your reply, but you can’t keep him waiting. Of course not.

Reciprocating his smile, you tell him, “I love you, too, Binnie.”

Changbin’s lips morph into a grin, and he leans over to press a sweet peck to your mouth. He jumps up from his beach chair, reaching his hand out, inviting you to take it in your own.

“Come on, let’s walk along the shore while there aren’t too many people.”

Though you lace your fingers with Changbin’s, a pout appears on your face and you make no move to stand. “I don’t want to get up yet. Can you carry me instead?”

Changbin crouches down and kisses your pursed lips, giggling when he feels the corners of your mouth pull into a smile. He brings his free hand to your face, caressing your cheekbone with his thumb. Similarly, he mimicked this with your intertwined hands, rubbing soft circles into your knuckles.

“Of course,” he breaks away from the kiss, gently pulling you up from your seat. “Hop on, bun.”

Gingerly, you climb onto your boyfriend's back, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as he secures his hands around your thighs. He makes his way to the shoreline, leaving you bouncing gently with each step he makes.

“Hey, if I’m giving you a piggyback ride,” Changbin flashes a cheeky smile over his shoulder, "wouldn’t it be called a dwaekkiback ride?”

You roll your eyes, letting out a breathy laugh at the stupidly endearing joke. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t, you loooooove me!” He picks up his pace as he trudges on the wet sand, screaming into the air, “You love me!”

“Binnie, be careful!” You laugh as he runs along the shore with you on his back. “You’re gonna trip and fall—”

Unceremoniously, Changbin loses his footing on a small mound of sand, falling and pulling you down with him.

Rolling onto your backs, the two of you share fits of giggles as the water comes up to brush your toes. Changbin sits up and skips further into the water, turning back to meet your gaze. You don’t know what he’s about to do, but if the devious glint in his eyes is anything to go by, it’s going to be something loud for sure.

“I love Y/n L/n!” Changbin announces proudly.

Loud is an understatement.

A few heads turn at Changbin’s boisterous voice, but you pay them no mind. Your attention is directed solely to the man professing his love for you to the entire ocean. You prop yourself up, digging your palms in the sand behind you. Matching his volume, which was a challenge in itself, you yelled to the water, “I love Seo Changbin!” 

As you stand up to join your boyfriend by his side, splashing in the shallow water, a seagull squawks in the distance, happily munching on an abandoned bowl of curly fries.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

taglist: @kflixnet @jinnixxn @elllisaaa @captainchrisstan @laylasbunbunny @starsandrqindrops @kittymaryam-thebrowniefairy @forlix @mires-empire @quesweebs @the-swageyama-tobiyolo @hanstarrs

comments, reblogs, and feedback are appreciated! © like-a-diamondinthesky 2023

[for-ests]

Suffocation: Gojo Satoru x Reader

Suffocation MLIST Summary: Breakfast with Gojo leaves you with more questions than answers, but just maybe, you do have some room in your life for the white-haired sorcerer. Only if he plays his cards right. And damn, is he already doing a fantastic job. Wc: 5, 112 Warnings: none!

∘∙∘☾𖤓∘∙∘

A gentle touch on your arm stirred you awake. 

Contently, you were mid-yawn before your instincts took over, and you lurched forward, smacking your forehead against another. 

"Jeez!" A low, husky voice complained as your vision and comprehension focused. It was Gojo, and he was rubbing his forehead mid-laugh. 

You winced, bringing your own hands to cover your face. "I'm sorry," you groaned. And when you finally felt the pain on your eyebrow fading, you peeked through your fingers and realized you were only wearing underwear and a baggy shirt. And he was only wearing boxers. 

Your head shot up, instantly forming a glare. "What happened to knocking?" You scolded, throwing the comforter over your exposed lower half. 

"You're literally in my room!" Gojo raised his eyebrows, mouth agape. "In my bed?" 

Glancing around and finally taking it all in, you huffed in defeat. You flopped back against the pillows, hiding your face to avoid staring at his toned chest. There was no way you were going to apologize again. Judging by the sun's position peaking through the windows, it was too early for that. "Get out and let me change," you replied with embarrassment, sighing loudly. 

"Kicking me out of my own room?" Gojo teased. "What if I wanted to watch?" 

"Oh?" You taunted with tiredness, refusing to lift your head, finding comfort in your smug response. 

"What if I kick you in the nuts?" 

"Fiesty…" he raised his hands in surrender, backtracking out of the room. You opened your eyes again and watched him pretend he was writing down notes on an imaginary list. "Not a morning person." Check. "Got it!" 

Once the door shut, you hurried out of bed and zipped open your backpack. You winced when you realized all you had was a tank top and hoodie. It was better than nothing, better than giving him the satisfaction of wearing his shirt. 

You couldn't help but want to at least look presentable with what you had. You applied some chapstick and brushed through your hair before exiting the room and meeting a now fully clothed Gojo in the kitchen. 

The smell of coffee greeted you, and you sighed with relief. There was no reason for you to be so groggy, but you were, and your muscles ached. Not from the bed, but from the strain your muscles had gone through the night before. God, you could still hear the sound of your car imploding on itself. Your elbow still ached from smashing against the cracked glass to crawl out of the window. 

Still hazy, you slumped into the breakfast bar chair, elbows propping against the granite countertop. "You like coffee?" You asked, watching as he started to pour you a cup. 

"Cream and sugar?" That was all he said in return. You nodded. 

His cup was next, and the second the steaming liquid was finished pouring, he took it to his lips. 

Sneering at the thought of a burning tongue, your hands cradled the mug before you. But before you could say anything else, the tempting aroma of frying food filled your nose. You tilted your head past Gojo's towering frame and found bacon and eggs frying on the stovetop. There was more than enough for two. 

You glanced back at him in disbelief. He had already shown you enough kindness, and this was the last thing you expected. It felt domestic and didn't make you cringe or shy away. Instead, it made you start blushing, and you hated it. 

"You need energy." Gojo shrugged. 

"I could have-" 

"None of that," Gojo interjected. "You've been through enough." 

Contemplating your response, you brought the coffee to your lips and took an apprehensive sip. It was the perfect temperature. Your eyelids twitched as you relished in the flavor. 

With satisfied, upturned lips, Gojo turned around and separated a portion for you. "So, Y/N, tell me what you want," he asked, needing to know the answer before he let himself fall harder, to do things to and for you that he had never dreamed of doing for a woman. 

"Meaning?" You questioned, taking another sip. 

"Do you want me to find a reason for you to leave or to stay?" 

It was blunt. But you appreciated it. There were many reasons for you to do either. Following your heart had brought you to Jujutsu High, and you felt it wanted you to stay—at least for the remainder of your paid time off. Two weeks was enough time to know, grow, and figure it all out. 

If Gojo was willing to be blunt, you would grant him the same. 

"I want to stay," you replied. "At least, for now." 

"You want—"

"Yes." Your throat felt tight. Perhaps it was from sleeping in a new atmosphere and climate, but you suspected it was from his presence and what he was doing for you. What he had promised before, what you wanted to explore. "I want you to teach me." 

Jujustu sorcery wasn't foreign to you, but the possibilities were. What he had already shown you in 24 hours was enough to crave a greater understanding. 

Gojo placed the food in front of you, handing you a pair of chopsticks. 

Taking them, you hesitated, poking at the eggs as if they would reveal the answer you were looking for. 

Was it wise to be honest with Gojo? You contemplated. He had been watching over your brother, but that wasn't enough conviction to relent, to bow down and follow his lead. Even if he had given you his bed for the night and made you breakfast, even if he made you feel butterflies—you had gotten this far on your own. The power you already had, was all because of you, what you suffered through. 

You had been alone your entire life. That was true, but that didn't mean you had to be forever. 

You glanced up at him, softening as you realized he'd been waiting for your truthful answer the whole time. If you could read him, it was naive to think he couldn't also understand you. 

"I want to protect Yuji…" you started, speaking before critically thinking. "This wasn't what I was expecting but that's because I have never met anyone like me. I assumed he wouldn't share the same gift. But I'm happy we do." 

"It's dangerous," Gojo said softly but with a hint of warning. 

"Clearly," you laughed through your nose, finally being able to stomach a bite of food. Once you swallowed, you continued. "But I've lived long enough to understand the repercussions. I've spent my entire life wondering what my true purpose was, feeling out of place, seeing things nobody else could. I've understood what I could on my own, but I want more." 

You paused to take another bite, wondering if Gojo would interrupt you again. But he didn't. 

Swallowing, you continued, "I'm not oblivious either. I know you're powerful, I can sense it without knowing everything. But this time I want to understand it all and not turn away. "Another bite of food. "I don't want to go back to the office and see my patients suffering." Your eyes darkened. "The curses constricting around them and not being able to help." 

For your own twisted relief, you laughed. "I thought I was crazy, that's why I studied psychology…tried all the medications I could." You began to poke your breakfast again, not even noticing that Gojo had sat beside you. "But it had been something else all along. All those notebooks I filled with what I thought was gibberish are turning out to be for a reason." 

All those nights you spent sobbing, crying out to God for an explanation. From all the loss you'd suffered, the loneliness, the pain, the bad decisions that only confused you more. 

The cure was right before you, and you were still hesitating, on edge, and cautious. 

You turned your gaze to him. "You called it a gift." 

Did you even deserve that compliment? 

"I wasn't lying." Gojo stuffed his mouth with food, finding it hard to look at you even with a blindfold on. The conviction in your eyes was enough, the way they threatened to tear over. The color of your irises was beautiful—you were perfect, everything he hadn't ever thought to ask for presented to him in a moment he'd never expected. "Y/N, you captivate me." 

He didn't even realize what he'd said until he watched your eyes widen, and your entire expression shift into meekness. "How sweet of you," You replied lowly, your cheeks clearly dusting with pink. 

Sweet? Maybe. Gojo tried to remember a moment when someone had complimented him that way. It didn't matter if someone had. It meant the world coming from you. The time you'd already taken to get to know him and deal with his company. He tried to think of something witty, but your openness beckoned his own to come forth. "I want you to stay…as selfish as that is." Selfish because he was attracted to you, and selfish because you were useful. Were those reasons all that bad? 

No, they were not. But knowingly inviting you into this realm of uncertainty would be. Even if you expressed that the standard alternative was just as hard. Life hadn't been easy on you. 

The plate before you was empty, and you pushed it away. "Maybe we can both find out what it means to be selfish for once." 

"Would it be selfish if I was still putting you first?" Gojo asked, almost without sarcasm, before it instinctively took over. "I never indulge in my cravings." 

His eyes were all over you. Your ability confirmed as much, even if you couldn't physically see his gaze. 

"I'm being selfish enough as it is," you replied quickly. "Disregarding the responsibilities of what I have back home, the people that rely on me, the life I thought I wanted to live. My friends…" you trailed off. You almost said family. But your family was no more. Your family was Itadori. And you had gone over a decade without thinking of that name, your given name, your birthright. 

The explanation of your predisposed insanity. 

Gojo's hand covered yours. Not insanity. No, it was a gift. Letting his fingers glide through and intertwine with yours, you felt relief and safety. 

"Can I trust you?" You whispered, still unable to look over at him, staring at the empty plate and trying to calm yourself down by counting the crumbs left behind. 

"Yes." His shoulders relaxed, and so did his hold on your hand. He didn't want to let it go, so he turned your palm up and nudged his thumb along the softness of your skin. "I'll make the arrangments as soon as I can." 

"What does that mean?" 

"Whatever you want it to mean," he replied from his heart. He meant it even if it sounded otherwise. Gojo was confused by his submission to your questions and your wants. But he would be damned to refuse your needs. 

That's how you took it. You knew he hadn't forgotten his promises last night, what was supposedly going to happen later that evening. A tour, some drinks. Whatever you requested from the strip mall that you'd taken notice of your way through the suburbs of Tokyo. 

You snickered. Possibly the first genuine one you could've mustered since meeting him, since confirming all of your suspicions. Gojo was satisfied to know it was because of him. 

"Do I get my own room?" 

The sorcerer laughed, too. "Of course." 

"A kitchen?" You raised your eyebrows. "Something like you have here?" You gestured around, insinuating that the remaining vacant rooms down the hall were only bedrooms, bare necessity dorms that couldn't suit an adult woman like you.

"If you want it." He smiled. What he wanted to reply might have been considered inappropriate. You deserved what you requested, even if he knew you would be content residing in his space with him. But that would take time. Gojo was still battling to not flirt excessively and outwardly with you. 

Tongue gliding over your lips, you bit down anxiously, squeezing his hand simultaneously. "For now." 

He squeezed your hand back before pulling it away. He had to distract himself and retreat, feeling his breath catch at how plump and kissable your lips were. The craving to just lean down and kiss you had happened too many times already, and the urge grew stronger each time it crossed his mind.

All Gojo could seem to think about was how peaceful you had looked sprawled across his bed, ass poking half out from underneath the comforter, hardly covered by your pink lace panties. 

"What?" You questioned with raised eyebrows, noticing the smirk threatening to grow on his lips, the flush of his cheeks that weren't covered. 

"Nothing!" He replied right after your question sounded, the stool screeching against the hardwood with how fast he jumped from his seat. He quickly recovered, reaching for your empty plate and setting it over his. "Just planning out the day for you." 

Watching him frantically try to clean, you sighed and pushed onto the stool with the intent to help him. It was the least you could do after the welcomed surprise. "What are you thinking should be first?" You asked, snatching the plates from his hands and nudging him away from the sink with your hips. 

Gojo's expression was dumbfounded. He was frozen, wondering why he initially wanted to reach out and grab your ass. Once the shock of it all disappeared, he glimpsed the smug yet masked look of innocence in your expression. He noted that he would punish you for it once you uttered your consent. 

Reaching under the sink beside you, he pulled out a spray and twirled the bottle around his pointer finger. "Maybe I want to get you drunk first and see what you can actually do." 

You raised an eyebrow, as if you suspected that was what his retort would be. "That's why I asked you out for drinks." 

"Clever," he spoke aloud, followed by the squeak of the disinfectant bottle. 

The faucet began to trickle with hot water once you turned it on. Comfortable silence filled the usually quaint apartment as you scrubbed the dishes, taking note of where Gojo stored items in the cupboards, how he cleaned, his preferences. 

Despicable. You cursed yourself. What the hell were you trying to do? You were no housewife. You had a degree, a business, no need for a man in your life. Yet you still finished washing the dishes and set them aside to dry. This was the last night you would spend in his space. You didn't know his intentions, whether he would be grateful for your contribution or not. But the fact was that you had done it without asking. As if it was normal. 

You knew you didn't owe him anything. The notion of repayment hadn't even crossed your mind. You weren't doing it to impress him, or to give thanks. So why? 

The hairs on the back of your neck shot up, a chilling realization zipping down your spine. 

Gojo was already making you feel safe. What he had accomplished was your security. A promise made that hadn't been broken. 

Wiping your hands dry with the dish towel, you turned to find him waiting, leaning against the kitchen island. "Thank you," he said. "You didn't have to." 

"You didn't have to make me breakfast either." You stared back intensely. 

"Is that a big deal?" 

You looked away. "Maybe." 

"It doesn't matter what I want from you, Y/N." He set his elbow against the countertop. "The choice will always be yours." 

"What do you want from me?" 

Gojo shrugged, not like he didn't know, but he wasn't willing to admit it. "I don't know." 

"Don't lie to me." Your tone was firm, a challenge.

"What you're willing to give." The sincerity in his tone was apparent. 

"I've already promised you my entire day. So what do you think we should do first?" 

"A tour of the campus of course," He chuckled. "Yuji wants some alone time with you." 

"And what after?" You raised an eyebrow. 

"I said I would take you out, didn't I?" 

"Is that a date?" 

"Oh!" He threw his head back with laughter, elongating it on purpose. "That's what you want it to be, huh Y/N?" 

You chucked the dishtowel at his face, but he caught it before it could make contact. Gojo began to fold it, delaying his retort to make you overthink and squirm. 

Then, he nodded toward his bedroom, where all your current possessions unfortunately resided. "Go make yourself feel prettier than you already are." 

Your stomach flipped. But you still refused to move without an obvious answer. 

Gojo smirked. "You have twenty minutes."  

You wouldn't find out until weeks later that Gojo had instinctively turned his infinity off to hold your hand, be close to you, and touch you—without realizing it himself. 

∘∙∘☾𖤓∘∙∘

It took you a bit longer than twenty minutes to feel satisfied, but Gojo hadn't commented on it. You would emerge breathtaking either way. 

Now, you were gazing at a well-kept traditional sports stadium, your purse hanging loosely off your shoulder, Gojo standing far too close on the other side. There were multiple students in uniform sparring in the middle of the field; the only one you recognized to be Yuji. Whether or not you suspected or wanted him to be fighting so intensely with his fists, he was. The other students were just as determined.

It made you nervous, but it was admirable. Attendance was small, but they were close-knit. That mattered: if they complemented each other, if they could work together, if they could make a difference. 

"Are you the only teacher?" You asked, adjusting your strap higher up on your shoulder, eyes entranced by the multiple forms of cursed energy erupting in front of you. 

"No," Gojo replied. "Others specialize in different studies, but I'm the main guardian if I'm present." 

"Where would you be?" 

"Wherever I'm needed," he chuckled. "Which is more often than I'd like."

"So you really are the strongest?" You pried, gaze still focused ahead. You had assumptions from your gut feeling, but half were based on what you had picked up from Gojo and Yuji. Excitement bubbled inside you from what you could learn from the other students and staff you still had to meet. 

"And how did you come to that conclusion?" The sorcerer tilted his head down at you, arms crossed. 

It was bold, but you pushed your finger into his chest, on the exact spot that you could hear the rhythmic beating of his heart. You didn't have to say anything, and Gojo didn't need to ask. 

A vixen you were. Gojo wondered if you realized, to a curse user or ordinary person. You used every piece of information you learned to further your knowledge. It was funny, because you had pretended to know nothing at first. Every second he spent with you disproved his initial assumptions. 

The two of you had gone unnoticed for over ten minutes. You preferred it that way and were satisfied, curiosity invading your thoughts of the places you still were yet to see. 

Then, you thought about what you'd seen before bumping into Gojo yesterday. "Show me the gardens." 

"How did you know?" 

"The map is pretty straightforward." You shrugged. All the trails were documented, even if the meaning was absent. But there was a small cemetery past the onterage of blossoms and foliage. It did not matter what part of the mystery was calling out to you. You would find it.  

"It was where we met." Your tone was delicate, not too forceful or too soft. There was a heartfelt emotion behind it, and Gojo was unsure how to analyze it. "There was a discrete trail. If you hadn't stopped me, thats where I would have gone." 

Trying to think of a reply, Gojo watched you raise your hand and enthusiastically wave. The students had noticed your presence. Yuji seemed particularly happy to see you, the call of your name echoing throughout the stadium.  

"I promise it's nothing special." Gojo seemed dumbfounded, not because you were wrong, but because he hadn't remembered the landscape of where he first saw you. The campus was blind to him. Most of his life and memories were rooted there, and nothing seemed extraordinary to him anymore. But when he saw you, it was as if he'd seen the world and all of its entirety again. Nothing else mattered more, and that's why his soul was searching for a more straightforward answer, unclouded by the distraction of your perfection. Were you part of the answer? 

For almost a decade, Gojo had walked through life believing he had figured it all out. 

"Special or not." You glanced up at him. "It's part of the tour," you teased before descending the bleacher steps. 

Itadori raced over to you before you even reached the grass. "How are you big sis?" He asked, arms reaching out like he wanted to hug you. 

"Cm'here," You giggled, pulling him into an embrace before he could retreat. You ruffled up his hair for good measure, eyes softening at the content smile he shot you before turning to his curious peers. 

“This is my sister, Y/N Itadori.” Yuji grinned, bending down with his arms like he was presenting you to an auction crowd. A boy with fluffy black hair and a cute girl with a bob stared back at you, clearly annoyed with Yuji's overreaction. 

"That's your sister?" The boy blinked in disbelief. 

"No way you're related!" The girl also seemed dumbstruck. "She's too pretty to be related to a rat!" 

"Hey!" Yuji pouted. 

Unsure of how to reply, you glanced nervously at Gojo. 

But, of course, he would only participate. That much you had learned about him. "Right? Shouldn't she be a model?" 

"And Yuji would be like… the…" The girl tapped her finger against her cheek, deep in thought. 

"Don't say, manager." The boy grumbled. "He's not smart enough for that." 

"You guys suck." Yuji deflated, etching a laugh out of the girl. It all seemed to be good fun. You later learned their names as Megumi and Nobara, the only two students in Yuji's freshmen class. 

After a passing introduction, all three of them started to bombard you with questions. 

"How long are you staying?" Yuji asked enthusiastically. 

"Is Gojo going to train you then?" 

"What can you do?" 

"A few things." You shrugged. "Nothing with crazy combat… more on the sidelines." 

"Like?" Megumi asked, his interest finally piqued. 

Nervously, you itched at your neck. You didn't know how to explain it or make it sound cool to a group of teenagers who were far more capable than you. "If it makes sense, I can see souls. Well, the color of them..." 

"She can also see the future," Gojo added lowly. 

"What color am I?" Nobara jumped up and down, Gojo's comment flying past her head. 

"She said mine was sunset orange!" Yuji boasted. "How cool is that?" 

"Megumi's is probably poop brown." Nobara pointed at him and cackled mischievously. 

Once the laughter died down, Megumi made the mistake of locking eyes with you. In turn, you gained access. He was more challenging to get through, no regular human boy, a sorcerer with enough training to fortify barriers, but weak enough for you to slip by. 

A roaring ocean at dusk, low hanging clouds that threatened to release at any moment. But there was another layer behind the grey—a yellow warmth that promised to kiss the dark ocean and reveal the blue beauty once again. 

"Midnight blue." Your eyes softened, understanding the reasonings behind his aloof and perceivingly cold demeanor. The lack of affection for those he cared about and how it would be misconstrued. 

Everyone turned their attention to you. How did that even make sense? 

But when they glanced back to Megumi, it was a precise explanation and more. He somewhat pouted from the attention but did not seem to disagree with you. 

"Me next!" Nobara pleaded, still unsure how you were doing it but staring at you with the same curiosity as the others. 

Looking into her eyes, you saw shades of reds and pinks, blending together with a spunky uniqueness you hadn't seen in anyone else before. Confidence and neon signs, a shade of mature lipstick, and high heels that clicked down obsidian tiles of luxury brand stores. But there was more than that; you saw tulips and kimonos of the same shade, dripping blood with unruly power. A sarcastic yet loyal type of love. 

It made you simper. "Rogue pink." You pointed to your cheeks and gestured at her to do the same. The makeup was light but placed delicately on her cheeks, rosy enough but feisty. 

"That's definitely you." Yuji nodded at Nobara. "You should see her room."

The young girl seemed satisfied, slightly shocked at how you guessed her favorite color. But she smirked at you, and you smiled back—both of you smitten about something the boys wouldn't understand. 

"Okay!' Gojo clapped his hands together. "Introductions are complete! Get back to work before you start boring poor Y/N." 

"It wasn't boring," you assured. "But he's right, it seems like you all have a lot to prepare for. Especially you, Yuji." 

"Noooo!" Yuji deflated. "Can't she stay and watch?" 

"Even better, she'll be training with us tomorrow!" 

"What!?" All four of you asked in unison. 

Tomorrow? Did you even want to? Hardly anything had been discussed yet or adequately planned. You still had people to meet and responsibilities to sort out. Before you could even ask another question, or fathom why you needed to begin so early, Gojo started speaking again. 

"Fine," he threw his head back in a defeated sigh. "I'll give her three days to settle in!" 

"You're ridiculous," Nobara huffed. 

Clearly, that much was obvious. But there were things you and Gojo knew that the students did not, and you would rather have him act oblivious and lighthearted around them in the meantime. Especially as you pieced your future together. 

Even if you were skeptical and fearful, you agreed to stay. The knowledge that you would come to know never promised to be easy. In fact, Gojo warned you of the dangers. It was all for Yuji in the end. And you were desperate to help him keep that innocence and happiness in his eyes. 

"I have to finish giving her a tour of campus." Gojo held his arm out for you. 

You took his arm, much to the surprise of the students. It was all to act unbothered by what lay in your uncertain future. Those scribbled prophecies could only reveal so much of the present.

"I'll catch up with you tomorrow, okay Yuji?" You smiled. "There's some things I have to sort through first." 

"Adult duties!" Gojo cheered beside you, tugging you away. "Of course Gojo sensei can help with whatever Y/N desires!" 

"I don't want to know what that means," Megumi grumbled to Yuji and Nobara as they all watched you walk away, disgustingly joyful to be so close to Gojo. 

∘∙∘☾𖤓∘∙∘

Shopping bags weighed you down, the plastic handles digging into your skin. Gojo was struggling with triple the weight, yet the smile on his face remained. He was able to purchase everything you needed to remain comfortable. It wasn't much, but he bought everything you gained the courage to ask for. 

And it was not even 9pm. 

"Still on for drinks?" Gojo asked as you both dumped the bags on your new bed. A chuckle left your lips as you unpacked some of the amenities you desperately needed. The apartment was reasonably spacious, equipped with a bedroom and bathroom. Nothing special, but it was enough. 

It was more than you needed, the equivalent of the motel room you'd been desperate to return to only a day before. But this time, you were protected. 

Biting down on your lip, you thought about your apartment back in the city. That was where you were most comfortable. Would you be comfortable here? Enough to stay? 

It was for Yuji. You told yourself, then turned to face Gojo. "Is there a place close by?" 

"I can actually take you anywhere in the world." He said with a surprisingly serious tone. There was an invitation in it, asking where you would want to go if you could. But it was also just the truth, and the innuendo excited you in both ways. "But I would prefer to stay close, traveling that far makes me sleepy sometimes." 

"And you want to stay up with me, huh?" You teased. 

"How'd you know you?" His mouth dropped open. 

You threw a new sweater at him, huffing in annoyance at his over-exaggeration. "Yes, we can go then." 

"I guess we'll see if you can outdrink me?" He smirked. 

"Once you start answering my questions I'll know that's when you had enough," you snickered. 

"Hmmm…" Gojo pursed his lips. "Not when I let you you take off my blindfold?" 

You immediately flushed. "I wouldn't do that!" 

"I believe you," he said with a chuckle. "But I don't believe you can out drink me… you're too weak." 

He lowered his face to yours to get a better look as if he were studying you. It really wasn't fair that you couldn't see his eyes. “And short… and…” 

"What?" You scoffed. 

"Beautiful," he whispered. 

Your breath hitched in your throat, and so did any attempt at a rebuttal. The teasing always quickly turned into compliments, and there was no denying that you didn't mind. How was he able to make you speechless for a second time that day? 

"Beautiful girls don't drink a lot of alcohol," he said sarcastically. "So it's looking like I'll win." 

He switched so fast, but you saw his hesitation, his preference to make the moment stretch just a little longer. The way his lips parted, the way you looked at his lips that were only inches away. 

Had you wanted him to kiss you? 

"Let me change quick!" You tittered. "Then we can be on our way." 

Satisfied to see how evidently flustered you were by his proximity, Gojo pulled his head back and stepped away from you. "Alright, go ahead," he said, but he didn't move. 

"Outside the room." You glared. 

"Maybe next time," he sighed but then started laughing. You rolled your eyes and pushed him out of your room. Under the fabric of his uniform, you could feel the hard muscles of his back. He was solid and heavy, and you knew you could only push him because he allowed it. 

Once the door closed, you leaned against the back of it and exhaled. Irritatingly enough, your face was consumed with a grin. Gojo had called you beautiful. 

The way he said it, too, caused your cheeks to remain hot. Were you that easy to impress? 

No… no man had ever caught your eye the way he had. 

Maybe you'd find some answers at the bar, where you could loosen up. Maybe with a bit of liquor in him, he could open up. 

[yutafrita]

[12:02pm]

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ｡⋆ ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Sungchan x Superhero!Reader

A part of Through the webs but can be read as a one-shot. this will def spoil that story!

Genre: Fluff, some angst, but mostly fluff, sci-fi

Warnings: spiders and spider imagery, alcohol, references to vomiting, organized crime, depictions of violence, near death experiences

WC: <4k

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ｡⋆ ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Sungchan felt like he lost his mind.

It was you. It had to be you. He just wanted to tell you thank you for saving his life was all. So, why was he sitting awkwardly on the other end of the cafe staring at you?

You weren’t completely oblivious to the soccer player burning holes in your back as you worked on your own project. While Sungchan had been working to figure out your identity, you had been working to maintain your appearance as an average person despite being a super powered vigilante.

“Are you gonna tell him something? It’s creeping me out?” Ten asked. He sat across from you doodling on his notebook. Ten was easiest to identify for a few reasons, but his tattoos made him extremely easy to catch. You had seen him around campus before, so seeing the video of him pulling a sword out from his skin to fight a robber made it click pretty easily for you.

You shrugged, “I don’t have the energy to deal with a mild creep when there’s bigger fish to fry.”

“You’re still focused on the Capsik case, huh.”

You cringed. Capsik was one of the richest men in the city, and you were heavily suspicious of his wealth and true intentions.

“My intel is saying there’s going to be a robbery in the Mayor’s home soon.”

“Hm, I think Jaemin has a friend that works by the Mayor’s place. We can stake out there to see if we catch something.”

“Perfect,” You nodded.

“Hopefully we keep up the good luck,” he got up shortly afterwards, rushing out to his next class on campus.

You went back to your notebook, writing out some last notes before you felt the air shift in front of you.

“Can I help you?” You didn’t bother looking up, already feeling irritated.

"I'm Sungchan," he spoke, and you still didn't look up.

Sungchan on the other hand was shaking in his sneakers. “Why would you acid wash your shoes?”

This caught your attention. You glanced down at your stupidly expensive boots and flinched. A few weeks back, you saved someone after they slipped and fell off a building. Lucky for you, they didn’t catch a glimpse of you, but unlucky for you, they were drunk and threw up on your boots. When you got back to your apartment, you grumbled to yourself as you tried to disinfect them in vinegar, only to accidentally stain the boots.

They were too expensive for you to not keep wearing!

“It makes them look cooler, no?” You lied, plastering a smile on your face and kicking your foot on the table for him to see. He blinked quickly, and you swear you almost had him fooled until he shook his head.

“You saved my life,” he whispered, his eyes wide. Shit.

Quickly, you shoved all of your stuff into your backpack and walked out of the cafe. Maybe if you went fast enough you could outrun the athlete.

This was a bold, foolish thought. He was fully in a soccer uniform with his hair held back with a sweatband and a large duffel bag sitting at his hip. He was fully ready to confront you.

“I told you, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you hissed, turning around to glare at him.

“I know it was you who saved my life,” he tried again, his voice low. You furrowed your eyebrows, and took a step forward to stand closer to the soccer player.

“Do I look like someone who cares enough to save your life? I don’t even know your name,” you countered, obviously forcing a confidence that was not there. You hated being so mean, but you were desperate- you had barely been a vigilante for long and already someone had figured out your identity.

Sungchan paused, analyzing your face before nodding, clearly standing his ground. Sungchan had thought for a long while if it was really you, and between your voice, the shoes, your stature, and your attempt to brush him off, he felt certain that you saved his life.

“You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“Nope,” he smiled in a smug, excited way. He was so forward with his thinking and emotions, it was jarring to you.

You huffed, before looking around to inspect who else was around you both as you stood in the University's grass courtyard. “Come with me.”

“Where are we going?”

“You sure do ask a lot of questions.”

“And you don’t give a lot of answers,” he countered. You let out a harsh laugh, earning additional looks from your fellow students as you moved through and out of campus. After a block, you lead him into the building you've begun to regard as your home.

“Is this your place?” He asked as you entered your apartment. He stood at the door, afraid to enter.

“I’m not gonna bite,” you announced, arms crossed in your living room as you waited for him to enter. You took him to your balcony, and you two stood on there for a moment, staring out in silence.

"This is a sick view," Sungchan noted, looking out at the horizon. Sighing, you pointed to the building across the street and his eyes widened.

"I was annoyed at how loud that rooftop party was and just came out to glare. I didn't think someone would be drunk enough to slip off a roof," you explained, staring at the ledge the lanky man slipped off of.

"I'm not going to tell anyone," Sungchan spoke. He was sincere, this was obvious as you studied his face.

"Okay, I trust you."

"Thanks," you were quiet for a moment.

"This doesn't make us friends, by the way," you added. You didn't want to owe him anything, and you didn't want him to force himself to hang out with you.

"Thank you, for saving my life... and I'm sorry about your shoes," his voice was so small and he moved so quietly, you almost didn't hear him leave.

*****

“Twenty bucks! I’ll pay you twenty bucks, Bambi!” Yangyang’s voice was loud in the morning, and something about him being over the phone made his begging almost intolerable to Sungchan.

“Where’s the class again?”

“In the science hall! It starts in twenty minutes! I need to cover my coworkers shift so I can get these concert tickets but I need you to record the lecture or else I’m screwed.”

“Fine. I’ll sit in the back and record it.”

“Oh my god dude I love you!”

Sungchan made it to the class ten minutes later, his bed hair swooped into a baseball cap and his body snuggled into a hoodie and old soccer pants that had a grass stain on them.

The classroom could hold up to 75 students, so Sungchan wasn't too worried about the professor noticing him. Sitting in the back he opened his laptop and set a show on silent with the captions on, and had his phone ready to record.

"Are you watching One Punch Man?" he looked next to him in shock to see you standing over the empty seat next to him, looking over his shoulder at his laptop.

Yangyang did say you were classmates, he just never said what class.

"Uh... erm yes," Sungchan answered once he realized how long he was staring at you for. Without giving it much thought, you sat next to him and throughout class silently watched three episodes together. Throughout the lecture, you two took to writing notes on your notebook, sliding it to each other in hopes of the professor not noticing.

You’re not in this class

I’m not, my friend just asked me to record the lecture for him.

You’re a good friend

I know. I need to stop that.

You held back a laugh at his note. You were trying to not be too friendly with him, but he frankly seemed like a deer in headlights most of the time. You liked it.

“Do you like Demon Slayer?” He asked once class ended. You were packing up your notebook, so hearing his actual voice to you aback. You nodded in response.

“The theatre down the road is playing the new movie in an hour. I was already planning on going… do you wanna come with?”

Why were you so drawn to the lanky, nervous soccer player? Maybe it was his inability to hide his thoughts and feelings, or the way you would catch him taking notes during the movie because he wanted to talk to you about it afterwards and didn’t want to forget anything.

“Sungchan,” you stated his name as you were about to part ways. You were going to do a solo hike this weekend but had read online that some portions were difficult to do on your own. Your Mom was busy volunteering, so your options were slim. Sungchan was a soccer player, and you figured if anyone could keep up with it, it would be him.

“I’d love to join,” he replied after you asked him.

“Cool, I’ll text you the details,” you turned on your heel and headed back to campus.

****

“Spiderweb,” you called too late, watching as Sungchan walked straight into an old spider’s web.

“Gah! Can’t you tell them to remove their old webs?” He asked, removing the webbing that attached itself to his hat. You picked up Sungchan near the crack of dawn to get to the hiking trail that was a few hours away.

“Why would I tell them that?” You hummed, waving at the small spiders that had taken to following you two along the trail.

“I can’t help that I’m tall but I also don’t want to keep accidentally destroying their webs with my face,” Sungchan complained. He seemed genuinely distressed, so you sighed and turned back to the small formation of spiders.

“Can you guys take care of the webs along the trail please?”

Sounds like a lot of work. But fine.

“Thank you,” you said as they began to scamper off.

“Oh, thank you!” Sungchan called over slowly, his eyes wide as he watched them run along the trail and out of your line of sight.

“You’re not freaked out?” You asked, now taking the lead.

“Why would I be? Spiders are an important part of our ecosystem,” he shrugged it off. He was so… clear. It’s like he was just unable to hide his feelings or his thoughts.

“So, how long have you had your powers?”

“When I started puberty. When did you start playing soccer?”

“Since I could walk. Do you know the other masked vigilantes?”

“Are we playing 20 questions here?” You joked, looking back to see his face unwavering. “I…. Yeah. I figured it out a few weeks ago and thought it would make sense for us all to work together.”

“Woah! That’s awesome… hey, was that guy at the cafe-.”

“I’m not telling you who they are,” you snapped, your breathing getting difficult the higher up the elevation got. The trail was up along a mountain headed towards a really cool peak, but the elevation change was sharp and left it difficult for your lungs to adjust.

“Fine fine- oh look!” You had come across an opening in the line of trees, and Sungchan immediately moved slightly off path to get a better look. “Wow, this is awesome!”

He was right, the view was pretty breathtaking. Considering that the elevation was beating you down and that the trail was empty, you found yourself glad to have invited the soccer player. Your mom had been berating you for not making more friends, and maybe she was right- you wouldn’t let her know that, though.

Wednesday’s became movie nights because that’s when the theatre would have $5 movie tickets, and Saturday’s would be your outdoorsy activity. The only time this would vary would be if your vigilante side got caught up, in which case Sungchan would ask as many questions as possible.

“So, you think Capsik is selling faulty medical equipment?” Sungchan whispered as you sat in on your Wednesday movie. You had picked an early afternoon movie on purpose knowing it would just be you two. Sungchan and you had a horrible habit of talking in the middle of movies, so this was the best compromise.

“That’s one of my theories, that or he’s injecting baby’s with drugs only his group makes,” you posited, taking a handful of the popcorn Sungchan held and eating it.

“Hm. Hey, are you going to go to my states game by the way?”

“I thought I already told you yes.”

“Oh, okay cool. That guy Jaemin is gonna be there since he’s friends with YangYang,” he noted. You nodded, staring at the screen and still eating popcorn. “Are you guys, a thing?”

You choked on a kernel, coughing until it came up. “Oh my god! No, absolutely not, he’s just a coworker,” you half lied. Coworker really just meant he was another vigilante, but Sungchan didn’t need to know that detail.

“Oh, cool.”

“Sungchan I think I’ve told you like, everything there is to know about me. Does Jaemin seem like someone I’d date?” You taunted. You went to grab more kernels until Sungchan lifted the tub out of your reach.

“What kind of person would you date?” He asked. You frowned, and within the blink of an eye used the webbing from your wrist to grab the tub and bring it back into your lap.

“Not someone that takes my popcorn,” you taunted.

“Until you tell me, there’s no way I’ll actually know it all!”

You furrowed your brows, “why are you so interested?”

Sungchan panicked. It was clear to him you didn’t pick up on less obvious social cues, but he was still shy- he hadn’t worked up the nerve to tell you about his romantic feelings yet.

“I… I have a friend that you might be into!”

“…oh. What are they like?” You hoped Sungchan didn’t catch the disappointment you felt. You weren’t even sure why you felt that.

“Well, he’s on the soccer team with me.”

“Is that like, his whole personality?”

Sungchan glared at you, and you raised your hand in defeat to let him continue talking. “He loves nature, is moderately sociable, and his big brother used to have a pet tarantula so he’s cool with spiders.”

Maybe it was the way Sungchan sold this person to you, but you found yourself agreeing to go on a date with the guy. He refused to tell you his name, just that he would be holding yellow roses in the park at the agreed upon day and time.

You felt stupid as you sat on the park bench. You wiped the sweat off of your hands and onto the sundress Jisoo has insisted you wear. You were already planning on how to let this guy down gently when you felt a tap on your shoulder.

“Sungchan? What are you-?” You stopped, seeing the large bouquet of yellow roses he held in his shaking hands.

“I like you as more than a friend,” the sentence came out clumsy despite him having rehearsed it a million times. You stood up from the bench in complete shock as he continued to ramble on, “you’re awesome. I feel like I could talk to you for hours without ever getting bored. You push me out of my comfort zone and you’re really, really pretty and I just want to be there for you if you’ll let me.”

You were quiet, studying the tall man whose hands were still shaking with the bouquet. Carefully, you leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss against his cheek.

“I think you’re really, really pretty too,” you giggled, taking the flowers from his hands. “You make me feel loved. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

Sungchan quickly wrapped you in a hug, squishing the flowers as he tried to hide just how giddy he felt.

“So, if we’re dating, that means I can call you my boyfriend?” You teased, walking hand in hand through the park with sungchan.

He pretended to think before responding, “only if it means I get to call you my girlfriend.”

Permatag! @nini0620 @enhazen

[lupusmatra]

☽   *  DIVINE  LAW.  ☾

✱  common  rp  courtesy  at  all  times.  no  god-modding  &  no  meta-gaming.  please  don't  poke  me  constantly  for  replies.  this  is  my  hobby! hate,  racism,  homophobia,  transphobia,  are  not  welcome  here!  drama  exists  in  every  rp  fandom  and i  will  block  accordingly  based  upon  evidence  i  find.  i  do  very  much  appreciate  a  heads  up  but  i  am  pretty  observant  and  can  establish  my  own  boundaries.

✱    i  am  semi-oc  friendly which  means  i  would  like  to  see  informational  links  or  posts  about  the  oc  in  order  to  have  an  understanding  of  who  they  are.  i  love  shipping  with  ocs  if  the  muses  have  chemistry! i  am  duplicate  friendly! this  blog  is  multiverse  and  multiship which  means  all  interactions  and  relationships  are  independent  and  separate  of  each  other.

✱    please  don't  reblog  my  headcanons  or  comment  different  or  opposing  opinions  on  them  directly.  there  are  places  for  debating  and  comparing  interpretations  with  canon  and  it  is not on  my  headcanon  posts.  this  blog  is  fandomless  and  will  include  more  fandom  than  hoyoverse! 

✱   romantic  ships  must  be  age  appropriate  i.e  no  minors  with  adults.  mature,  dark  themes,  and  adult  sexual  content  may  appear  on  this  blog  and  will  be  properly  tagged.  i  may  ship  up  to  two  (2)  versions  of  the  same  muse  but  that’s  not  a  goal.  it’s  a  maximum  to  keep  me  from  feeling  overwhelmed.  exclusives  is  not  something  I  actively  desire  but  it  is  an  option.  i  am  really  only  willing  to  grant  exclusivity  to  those  i  feel  comfortable  with.  however,  exclusives  can  be  dropped  when  effort  becomes  one  sided.  that  being  said,  i  really  love  shipping  but  it's  not  the  focus  nor  the  goal  with  every  interaction.  mains  and  affiliates  are  also  available.

✱   mutuals  do  not  need  to  use  icons  or  format  text  aesthetically  in  order  to  rp  with  me.  i  write  in  varying  lengths  but  mostly  mirroring  my  partner's  length.  i  do  not  mind  if  mutuals  reblog  rp  memes  or  prompt  lists  from  me  directly.  i  do  not  believe  in  reblog  karma.  i  also  do  not  mind  if  mutuals  reblog  or  like  my  character  musing  or  aesthetics.

✱  i  tag  triggering  content  as  tw_____  //  and  i  do  not  need  anything  tagged  on  my  behalf.  i  tend  not  to  post  spoilers  within  a  week  from  event  releases  but  if  i  do  i  will  always  properly  tag  it  and  place  under  a  readmore.

✱  my  discord  is  available  upon  request  for  mutuals.  the  anon  function  is  for  rp  purposes  only.  any  ic  answered  asks  can  be  turned  into  threads  at  any  time  and  you  never  need  to  ask  permission.  i  absolutely  adore  unprompted  asks  or  starters.

✱  ABOUT  MUN:   Heyooo~!  my  name  is shrimpy! i  fry  the  rice!  28  y.o  with  she/her/hers  pronouns.  i'm  bisexual  &  hispanic/latine.  timezone  is  est-  gmt-5  and  I  work  full  time  with  children  in  healthcare  so  please  be  patient  with  me!  i'm  mostly  active  on  weekends  but  i'm  always  on  discord!  i  hope  my  rules  weren't  intimidating.  i  am  very  chill  and  understanding.  promise  i  am  very  low  maintenance.

HSR  UID:  601239985  NA GENSHIN  UID:  649854130  NA

[ingriddduh]

!!-- What the fxck is up, Ingrid?!

◔̯◔-- IN CHARACTER

Name: Ingrid Cervantes Birthday: Dec 10th, 1991 Gender/Pronouns: female / she/her Sexuality: Pansexual & romantic / monogamous  Zodiac: ☀ sagittarius | ↗ scorpio | ☾ aquarius Hometown: Brooklyn, New York, USA Length of time in Seattle (as of January 2022): 16 years Occupation: Tattoo artist Faceclaim: Christian Serratos

◔̯◔-- BIOGRAPHY 

Ingrid and her mother, Yolanda, were inseparable. It had just been them for most of her life. She was even given her mother’s surname rather than her father’s- then again, she never knew her father. Her mother always explained to her that ‘daddy was just there to help.’ It was a lot easier to say that to a young child rather than confessing to her child that she was the result of a hook up with a friend with benefits.

The two lived in New York, in the same town Yolanda was supposed to go to for college-- life sadly had other plans. Yolanda wanted to focus on her daughter, so she dropped out and worked instead. The women scraped by, but they were happy wit their set up. Ingrid even helped as much as a child could. The moment she learned how to fry an egg, she would serve it for dinner, she would help clean the apartment, take care of any pets they would take in. As happy as Yolanda was with her life, she wanted more for her daughter, and she knew she couldn’t do that on her own, not as she grew older. So, when Ingrid was fourteen, Yolanda decided to move back to Seattle to be closer to family again.

Yolanda and Ingrid moved in with Yolanda’s mother. The two eldest women in the family worked as seamstresses while Ingrid went to school.

School was tough for Ingrid, she never seemed to focus as much as she should, and honestly? She missed her friends back at New York. She earned C’s, and mainly because she didn’t want to face the wrath of her mother and grandmother. Things got easier when she started hanging out with a group of other kids in her school. The group were really into music and comics, which Ingrid was interested in as well.

One day while the kids were hanging out, Ingrid started singing along to a song they had playing on a phone speaker. A few of her friends were quite impressed and jokingly suggested she got into music. Well, that suggested turned into a full out plan, and long story short, the kids started a band. It wasn’t great, but it gave Ingrid the taste of something she absolutely began to adore.

Ingrid’s high school band didn’t really last long, but that didn’t stop her. She continued working on music: writing lyrics, learning to read music, learning guitar basics.

Once Ingrid graduated, she entered community college, again, mainly to appease her mother and grandmother. There, she began to take art classes, which she really enjoyed, almost as much as music. She learned about art design and built up a portfolio. In one of her classes, she met someone who was doing an apprenticeship at a tattoo shop. Ingrid had two tattoos of her own at the time, but she never considered it as a career option.

After three years of studying art, taking an apprenticeship, and giving way too many free tattoos to people, Ingrid got her own license and began working at a shop in Seattle. Now, just because Ingrid started her career, that didn’t mean she gave up on music. No way! At the shop, Ingrid sweet talked some musicians to start a band with her, but it’s more of something she does on the side- even though she’s dying to make it big.

♪┏ ( ･o･) ┛♪-- OOC ┗ (･o･ ) ┓♪

NAT / 26 / EST

HII, so Ingrid is my second character here and i already love her. Please love her too... or not, that’s cool too <.< Anyway, please plot with me. I love talking with people about headcanons and whatnot. The messier, the better lmao. Anyway, call me! xoxo~

[badfry]

10 TO CLOSE

۰ ۪۪۫۫ · there was a guy that came in ten minutes before you closed. he was strange, but beautiful. you were staring at him, and he was staring at the snails—until he wasn’t.

☾ warnings—beating a dead meme, snails, retail

☾ word count—586

☾ notes—gn!reader, inspired by #bugrace. reader works at petco, edward is a freak. sfw but not sfb (safe for brain)

He came in right before you closed. Normally, you would’ve been annoyed—but he was so unfathomably beautiful that just this once, you didn’t mind.

“Can I help you find anything?” you called out to him, unusually eager to be helpful. “We’re closing in a few minutes.”

“Ah, yes,” he said, smiling sheepishly, “I was just hoping to see the snails. I’m sorry for coming in so late.”

“It’s okay, really,” you assured him. His smile was dazzling. He had perfect teeth. They were just as white as his skin—which, on second thought, was a little unsettling. “Are you hoping to buy any? I’ll make sure they keep a register open if you are.”

He frowned. “No, no, not tonight…” You found yourself missing his smile—but not for long. He grinned at you, quick and shy, and your heart fluttered as you began to lead him toward the back of the store. “Perhaps not ever. I don’t quite think I’m the type for pets.”

“You just like to admire them from afar?”

He chuckled, running a hand through his fiery, fluffy hair. “Something like that.”

Together, you came to a stop in front of the aquariums. The store was darker back here, only half-lit by the bright tank lights. “We have a few turbo snails here,” you said, pointing to the saltwater aquariums, “and an Astraea. I think we have an assassin in one of the freshwater aquariums, and a bunch of mystery snails, too.”

You turned to him, only to find him staring through the glass intently. His face appeared blue in the tank light; his eyes looked a noxious sort of green. Still, you thought he was—

“Effervescent,” he murmured, rubbing his knuckles against the glass. After a moment, he cleared his throat and took a step back, but he kept his eyes on the tank. "Do you have a favorite?"

"Um." You were kind of stuck on the effer-whatever thing. Was that an SAT word? Was this guy in high school? You looked him over surreptitiously; he was boyish and lanky, but his face was almost freakishly gaunt and sickeningly pale. Your brain was getting mixed signals—was he a boy or a corpse? Wait, what had he asked you? "The assassin is cool. It reminds me of a bee. What about you?"

Finally, he looked over at you. His eyes were dark all of a sudden; they were like a bottomless chasm, inviting you to jump in. "I don't think I could pick," he said. His face was so close. Had he gotten closer, or had you?

God, he smelled incredible.

He reached out and brushed a strand of hair out of your face. His hand was ice cold; you couldn't help but jump when it first made contact with the shell of your ear, but as it lingered there, you relaxed. He cradled your face in the palm of his hand, staring at you like you were what he'd come here for all along.

You thought about grabbing his hand and pressing it harder and harder against your cheek until your warmth became his, but instead, you tried to ask, "What's your—"

"I should get going," he interrupted, dropping his hand back down to his side. "You'll be closing any minute now."

"Oh," you said. You felt bereft already. Would he ever come back?

He glanced over his shoulder at the aquariums. His gaze softened. "I'll see you again," he promised.

You weren't sure if he was talking to you or the snails.

[badfry]

☾ about me ۰ ۪۪۫۫ ·

FRY—twenties; she/her; bisexual; leo sun + capricorn moon + libra rising (please explain what this means to me); infp; addicted to semi-colons + em-dashes

YES, I WILL WRITE—the occasional request; original characters + reader-inserts (f!reader, gn!reader, m!reader) + self-inserts; oc x canon + canon x canon; sfw + {n}sfw; dc

NO, I WON’T WRITE—y/n

☾ fandoms ۰ ۪۪۫۫ ·

MULTIFANDOM—twilight saga, life is strange, the legend of zelda, the last of us, red dead redemption, the witcher, god of war, detroit: become human, stardew valley, gilmore girls, nbc hannibal, the 100, harry potter, ouran high school host club, naruto, death note, jujutsu kaisen, shingeki no kyojin, anything else i will hyper-fixate on for 6-18 months

find me on ao3 (i promise to update my fics one day)

(last updated 02.05.23)