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castillon02 · 3 months ago

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“You ‘have amnesia,’” Dr. Sharma repeated, her eyebrows arched.

“Oh yes,” Q said. He cheerfully waved his hand at his bandaged head. “Mugged this morning. Terribly traumatic. Physically, not mentally, since I don’t remember any of it, of course.”

Dr. Sharma’s eye twitched. “I see.” Over the past year of therapy, she had grown inured to Q’s shite, but this was perhaps a new level of it for her. “Amnesia,” she repeated.

Q beamed. “Judging by the dark circles under my eyes, this seems like a bit of an opportunity for a fresh start anyway,” he said. “Past me looks overworked.”

Dr. Sharma had been trying to get him a holiday for the past four months. Her “I see,” every time M had denied his request for leave had become steadily sharper. Now her eyes gleamed. “Amnesia,” she said, smiling wider than Q had ever seen.

(Also on AO3)

—

“Amnesia,” M said, squinting at him from behind his desk. “Really, Q?”

“M,” Q replied, tasting the name as if he’d just learned it. “Seems a bit funny to work for a letter, but I suppose my past self had his reasons.” He leaned back in his chair and cast his eyes around the room as if those reasons might be visible if he looked for them.

M’s hand twitched toward the security button on his desk lamp. “You answer to the letter Q,” he pointed out. “You clearly remember some things.”

“The name Q has silent vowels,” Q said, straight-faced. “Q-U-E-U-E. A long line in A&E is the first thing I remember experiencing, so it seemed fitting. You know, waiting for something that never seems to come gives you a lot of time to think.”

M glared. “If this is about your leave—”

“I am leaving, yes,” Q interrupted. “I even have the paperwork filed for Queue Smith, since apparently you lot do that here.” He quirked his eyebrows. “You still haven’t told me what I do, exactly, but I assume it’s some form of tech support, not anything crucial. Something other people have been trained in.” Like Q had been training R and X for the past six months, for instance. Specifically to deal with M’s bizarre separation anxiety.

“You are actually one of our most valuable assets,” M gritted out, clearly aware that said valuable asset was a lying liar who was lying to him at that very moment.

Q smiled. “What a shame I can’t remember anything, then,” he said. “No value whatsoever now. In fact, Dr. Sharma distinctly said I was as useless as a pin-pricked prophylactic, and the rest of the medical department agreed with her.”

M’s eyes narrowed and he sat a little straighter. “Dr. Simmons would never go along with this.”

“Dr. Simmons thought the whole thing was very novel,” Q disagreed. “In fact, he said amnesia might be under-diagnosed, particularly in injured field agents being recalled for missions.”

M frowned. “How patient-centric of him.”

“Oh, terribly.” Straightlaced Simmons, head of Medical, didn’t always see eye to eye with Q, but they both prioritized the health of the people under their care. M wouldn’t find anyone in-house who would challenge Sharma’s diagnosis. Now for the killing blow: “Everyone says that if I’m lucky and have a nice long rest, then I might remember some things. But who knows? Amnesia is unpredictable. I could be out of the game for good.” Q gave an innocent shrug.

“It can be dangerous, walking around ignorant in the world,” M said.

“Maybe,” Q said. “But I got mugged while I was working here with all my memories intact, so really, nowhere is safe, is it? Might as well be unsafe in the Maldives.” Q gave M his most beatific expression. It was rather cute of M to threaten him with being killed, as though Q didn’t have a dead man’s switch for exactly that contingency.

M gave him a long look but eventually sighed. “I’ll put you on an indefinite medical leave. Don’t do something stupid with your free time.”

Q stood. “I’ll do whatever I please. Since that is, in fact, the point of the term ‘free time.’”

—

Q spent five days eating take-away and playing Elden Ring in his pajamas. On the sixth day, he had enough energy to move, so he took the train and then a bus to a little town in Andalusia, dreaming of egg-and-potato fry-ups and sunny olive tree-laden views.

Warmth. Sunshine. Red roofs and white stone buildings. An outdoor cafe where he could drink his tea and people watch.

Down the street, a wrinkled old woman stooped down to scratch a brindled dog whose whiptail flew back and forth at the attention. Q watched them until they rounded a corner out of sight. When he brought his gaze back to his own table, Bond was sitting across from him. Shite.

“Amnesia,” Bond said. His eyes crinkled at the corners.

Q stared him down. “I’m sorry, do I know you?” If Bond asked about a mission, Q was going to send him back to R and X for replacement corneas.

But Bond shook his head. “You can call me James. We don’t know each other outside of work,” he said. “I thought we could change that.” Bond gave him a half-smile, somehow sheepish—different from his Target Acquired smile. His bright yellow I Heart España t-shirt was more camouflage than Q had ever seen him in.

“Caminito del Rey has beautiful vistas,” Bond added, his blue eyes locked on Q’s. “Or I know a place with good tapas if you’d rather eat than hike.”

This might be a work-shaped trap. But there wasn’t any tech in the Gaitanes Ravine, and yellow wasn’t the color Bond wore when he went anglerfishing. Additionally, traversing a treacherous one-meter-wide walkway carved into a rock face a hundred meters above a river sounded like it was genuinely Bond’s idea of a good time. “If we went hiking,” Q said, “it wouldn’t be efficient. I take pictures of cool bugs. I lollygag to look at spiderwebs. I get distracted by rock formations.”

“If I wanted efficient,” Bond said, “I’d wait until you ‘got your memory back.’” He offered Q a wry tilt of his mouth. “I have it on good information that you’re currently useless, and I don’t expect we’ll need any of your skills from the office.”

Bless the medical staff’s ability to gossip. Q exhaled and slouched a little. “You’re really here just because?” he asked.

Bond shrugged. “We’re good at being useful together. I thought we might be good at being useless together too. If you like.” He tilted his head.

Q stood without answering.

Bond stood with him. His designer blue jeans stretched flatteringly around his thighs. No concealed carry. His watch wasn’t one of Q’s. He had a knife in his boot, but that was sensible enough. His t-shirt showed off tan arms criss-crossed with pale scars and a smattering of graying hair. He had a red España bucket hat tucked into his belt.

007 on holiday.

Q smiled. “Lead the way.” He extended his hand.

Bond took it. In the center of a rural village steeped in machismo culture, Bond held his hand. “I have a car,” he said, and they walked, still linked at the fingers, to where Bond had parked his entirely normal Mitsubishi Mirage rental. Good god; a hatchback. Not even four-wheel drive. Bond was really giving this ‘useless’ thing a genuine effort.

If this went well, Q would have to send 006 a basket of explosives. Rather than leaving his mugging-based amnesia up to fate, he’d rather desperately arranged for a surreptitious blow to the head from one of Six’s experts in cranial violence. He hadn’t expected that his memory loss would lead to something so lovely.

#00Q #mi6cafechallenge #festive fanwork fiesta #castillon writes

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hp-hcs · 9 months ago

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carnations — mlm! disaster! simp! enzo berkshire x male! mlm! muggleborn! gryffindor! reader

hooooo boy, alrighty, a few things:

i am in fact alive, hello! i just got really bad imposter syndrome about my writing and didn’t post any fics for like three months <3

i did actual RESEARCH for this fic. using an actual physical BOOK.

one of my lovely little darlings suggested an enzo + male reader + picnic date drabble, and it spiraled into 1.4k words of gay

you will get secondhand embarrassment from enzo in this. just warning you. but it’s in like a cute way so yk

ty all for not getting mad about me not posting i literally adore y’all sm 🤟

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“Y/n,” Ron loudly whispered, elbowing you in the side. “Do you have a spare quill I can borrow?”

“Can you last one day without breaking something, Weasley?” You rolled your eyes fondly, giving him the quill in your hand and reaching down to grab another from your bag. Instead, your hand brushed against something else.

You retrieved the mystery object from your bag with furrowed eyebrows. It was a small rectangular object, no bigger than your palm, wrapped in brown paper and tied up with a pretty lavender ribbon—with a single green carnation in the center of the bow.

You set aside the carnation, unwrapping the tiny gift and being met with the sight of a small book, bound in leather, which bore the gilded name: FLORIOGRAPHY: A Guide to the Victorian Language of Flowers.

~~~

The first flower you found was pressed between the pages of your Runes textbook. A combination of a rich purple and vibrant yellow color, with a striking dark center that spread out onto three of its five petals.

You carefully tucked the flower back away in between the pages of your textbook, vowing to look it up after class.

You couldn’t focus for the rest of the lesson.

~~~

It took a while to flip through every entry of the two-hundred page book, squinting at the tiny illustrations, but you eventually found a match to the mystery flower.

————— PANSY Viola tricolor var. hortensis

Meaning: You occupy my thoughts —————

~~~

“Parkinson!”

Pansy stopped in her tracks, looking back over her shoulder with a look of distaste. “Yes, lion?”

“Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“We’re talking right now,” she drawled, but grabbed your sleeve and pulled you into a nearby empty classroom. “What is it?”

You root through your bag, drawing out the Runes textbook.

“Homework?” she scoffed. “I’m not a tutor, little lion.”

“No, not the book.” You rolled your eyes, carefully opening it. “I found this in between the pages this morning.”

Her eyes lit up at the sight of the pressed flower you cradled in your hand. “It’s you?” She looked baffled. “Huh. I never would’ve guessed. Anyways, congratulations on solving the first clue.”

~~~

An odd hot-pink flower, with little shoots sprouting from the center and reminding you a bit of those light-up fiber optic lamps from the Muggle world, sat in the palm of your hand. A second green carnation was tied to the stem of the mystery flower with another lavender ribbon.

Pansy had abandoned you as soon as the flower was in your possession, saying that she hadn’t been paid enough to stick around.

(You knew she was just as invested in this as you were.)

Finally, after flipping through the little leather-bound book for what felt like the hundredth time, you found the strange flower.

————— MYRTLE Myrtus

Meaning: Love —————

Huh. Well. Okay then. A little on the nose, but alright.

~~~

“Um, excuse me? Miss…Myrtle Warren?”

“A boy!” the unsettling ghost girl shrieked. “Twice! In one day!”

“There was another boy in here?” you asked hopefully. “Who was he?”

“Get out! This is the ladies’ room!”

“I’m real sorry, Miss Myrtle,” you said placatingly. “I’m just on a…scavenger hunt of sorts, and I thought a clue led to you. My apologies for bothering you.”

“A scavenger hunt?” Myrtle questioned, suddenly interested. She uncrossed her arms and floated down from the ceiling. “What are you looking for?”

“A flower of some sort? The last one I got was from a myrtle tree.” You held the offensively pink flower up for her to see. “It’s why I thought you might be the next clue.”

She looked flattered. “Well…the other boy who came in here earlier did have something with him. A package.”

“Did he leave it in here?”

“Yes.” Myrtle points to the dusty windowsill on the far wall. “Why is he leaving things for you?”

“I don’t know,” you said vaguely, hoping to bypass the conversation. As much as you’d love to discuss the intricacies of queer relationships with an annoying ghost girl who died in the forties, you’d rather do literally anything else.

So you merely picked up the brown paper-wrapped item, familiarly decorated with a lavender bow and a green carnation, and tucked it safely in your bag to be opened later.

“Thank you for your help, Miss Myrtle.”

The ghost giggled and her cheeks turned a silvery-white; probably the phantasmic equivalent of a blush.

You quickly hurried out of the girls’ bathroom.

~~~

————— CLEMATIS Clematis

Meaning: Cleverness —————

“I’m at a dead end,” you groaned, resting your head on your arms.

Ron patted your shoulder from beside you, only half paying attention to your queer plight. “You’ll figure it out,” he mumbled around a mouthful of pie, spewing crumbs all over the table.

Hermione made a face. “Charming, Ronald.” At his weak protests, she just rolled her eyes and turned back to you. “How do you even know it’s a boy anyways?”

“Carnations,” you mumbled. “Green carnations. Oscar Wilde’s secret symbol of homosexuality in the late nineteenth century.”

“Okay, so your secret admirer is a dork, is what you’re saying,” Ron drawled.

You looked up with a scowl, ready to throw back a witty remark, when you were interrupted by Lightning Boy-howdy-how-has-he-not-died-yet.

“What’s with the whole bouquet you’ve got going on, L/n?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at the half-dozen flowers spread out across the table.

“Trying to decode some fuckin’ Victorian bullshit.” You smacked the book down on the table, frustrated.

Harry picked up the large dark purple flower you’d unceremoniously tossed in front of you.

“Oh, this is a clematis flower,” he said offhandedly. “My aunt and uncle have this exact shrub in their garden. The blooms never get this big though.”

You perked up in surprise. “You’re familiar with it?”

Harry nodded. “Yep. Tricky little bugger. Lord Neville’s a pretty aggressive feeder and needs lots of fertilizer, although that’s true of all clematis plants, I suppose. They’re also—”

“What did you just say?” you interrupted.

“It’s an aggressive feeder…?”

“No, no, the other part. Lord Neville?”

Harry quirks an eyebrow. “Yeah? It’s just the name of the subspecies, Y/n. No big deal.”

“Oh my Godric— I have to go!”

You shove everything into your bag, almost tripping over the table’s bench in your haste to get up.

“What about lunch?” Ron called after you, affronted.

“No time!”

~~~

You hesitantly opened the door to Greenhouse No. 5, peeking inside the warm shed.

“Neville?” you called out cautiously, giving one plant actively trying to wriggle out of its pot nearby a wary look.

You fully stepped inside the greenhouse, your attention immediately caught by the neat trail of green fan-shaped petals on the ground.

You followed the trail through the front room of the greenhouse, crossing through the threshold to the second room and looking up, only to see—

“Berkshire?”

Enzo rocked back and forth on his feet nervously, chewing his bottom lip and fiddling with the cuffs of his uniform shirt. “Surprise?”

You didn’t know the boy too well. You’d been his assigned partner on a few school projects here and there, and he’d always been friendly when you passed him in the halls, but he’d always seemed a bit reserved and shy around you.

You took a moment to draw your gaze away from him to look around the greenhouse. A silver and green Slytherin blanket was spread out neatly across the ground by Enzo’s feet. A proper wicker picnic basket, two crystal glasses, and a bottle of wine sat on the edge of the blanket, waiting.

Enzo himself had a green carnation pinned to the pocket of his shirt, tied with a lavender ribbon. You grinned.

“You did all this?”

He must’ve misinterpreted your tone of surprise, because he immediately panicked. “U-um, yes. Yeah. Yep. Sorry. I should’ve asked before trying to court you, right? Oh— rats, I didn’t I ask— I just thought you were so handsome, and nice, and— and I didn’t really know how to ask you out—” he rambled nervously.

“Thank you,” you interrupted, for his sake. “This is adorable.”

Enzo’s face was bright red, and you couldn’t help but grin at the sight.

“Why flowers?”

“Oh! Uh. Big part of pureblood culture. Flowers. Daphne, Astoria, Pansy…all flowers.”

You nodded, still grinning.

Enzo cleared his throat awkwardly and motioned to the blanket. “Please, sit.”

You settled down on the soft blanket across from him, sitting cross legged. At your perpetual grin, he seemed to relax a bit.

“Y’know,” you started, as he uncorked the wine and started pouring the glasses, “I think this is the perfect place for a first date.”

His hands trembled as you said that and he looked up at you hopefully. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you grinned. “Perfect place for romance to bloom.”

“That’s a terrible pun.”

“I know. Can you be-leaf it?”

“That’s worse.”

“Be nice. I’m a budding comedian.”

“Shut up.”

“Why don’t you use your tulips to make me?”

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

[please comment if you enjoyed this! this author needs constant positive reinforcement, like a literal toddler!]

#harry potter #fuck jkr #hp #hp x male reader #x male reader #enzo berkshire #enzo berkshire x reader #enzo berkshire x male reader #i love him #male reader #slytherin boys #x reader

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mojogojocasahouse · 2 years ago

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Home With You

Satoru Gojo x f!reader

Summary: After a long mission away, Satoru returns home forgetting he doesn’t have to face the darkness alone.

Word Count: 4.8k

Rating: E

Content: hurt comfort, Gojo has a headache and his past trauma is rearing its head, established relationship, smut (p-in-v sex, Gojo’s filthy mouth, multiple orgasms for both parties, it’s so desperate, I don’t know it’s Gojo, man has nasty sex. Enjoy)

It’s not dark enough tonight. He could still see too far in front of him, even through the curtain of rain pouring down from the skies. But that was the thing. He could see everything, all the fucking time.

He’d taken the long way home from Jujutsu High where he’d spent the night arguing with the higher-ups once again, rage and murderous intent boiling beneath his skin. They were going to tear down the Jujutsu world, there was no debating it, and there wasn’t anything he could do to stop it either. Besides killing them all, a task he was more than capable of.

The radio is humming in the background but he isn’t listening, not to that. He’s too busy focusing on the steady pattering of the downpour on the roof of the car, cursing the street lamp to the right as it blinds him even through the black fabric he’s wearing over his eyes. His head is throbbing, his nails digging into the flesh of his palm, jaw tense—he could do it so quickly they wouldn’t feel a thing. It was almost a mercy. Curses would tear them apart, as would any of the enemies that seemed to be racking up faster than he could keep count, but Satoru Gojo could end them painlessly…

Knock knock knock

The tapping is gentle, his head lolling to find a sight he was both craving and avoiding distorted by the droplets rolling down the glass.

“Baby?” Your voice was so sweet even muffled through the window and the rain. “What are you doing? You’ve been out here for twenty minutes.”

Had it been that long? News to him. Actually, it felt like an eternity now that he thought about it. It had been three weeks since he’d been home, the one mission that was supposed to be three days turned into four that had kept him away from home far longer than he’d been intending to. He’d finally put his foot down just this morning—hence the verbal lashing he’d taken for “abandoning his duties when they needed him most”—telling those good-for-nothing pieces of shit that he was going the fuck home whether they liked it or not.

But now that he was home, he was hiding.

“Come inside,” you urge again, and my God he wants nothing more than to just collapse into your arms, “Dinner is almost done.”

He’s not fucking hungry. Not for food, anyway.

“I got your kikufuku,” you tack on, and it should make him happy. But it doesn’t.

It makes him fucking hate himself.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, and he can hear the tremor in your voice, or maybe you’re shivering. His selfish, self-loathing ass is making you stand in the pouring rain while you try and coax him out of his car.

Emotion is still foreign to him. Well, not entirely, but you'd come at a time he'd sworn attachment off, he'd meander the world surrounded by people but always alone. It was easier that way, he'd thought. He hadn’t wanted to allow this, but he’d never stood a chance. Not after you kissed him for the first time outside the ice cream place, or when you listened to him tell a story about curses and infinity that would have sent anyone with sense running for the hills and never looking back. And you’d shrugged. Shrugged.

“You’re still just Toru to me,” you’d said, and at that moment everything and nothing at all made sense.

And still to this day years later, as he steps out of the car and threads his fingers with yours, hunching down to squeeze beneath your clear umbrella, everything and nothing at all makes sense.

The house smells like curry, your music still playing in the kitchen, and the bag of the sweet treats you’d traveled to get just for him sat on the dining table with a new set of sunglasses. He’d broken his favorite ones before the trip, and as he stares at the oblong lenses and golden frames he realizes he'd never told you he’d sat on them, snapping them right in two. You must have just known when he’d opted to wear his older circular ones. Or maybe you found the broken pair in the pocket of his pants when you did the wash. Either way, the gesture makes him squeeze your hand a little tighter as his teeth gnash together. He doesn’t deserve you.

“Oh,” he finally grunts, pulling a small box from the top of his travel bag, “This is for you.”

He’d found it in one of the towns he’d been cursed to investigate, the tiny pendant you were admiring with wide eyes and parted lips.

“Do you like it?” He can see the answer plain as day on your face, but he still feels the need to ask. He needs the god damn reassurance, the ego stroke. He needs to know that he matters for more than the curses bestowed on him at birth.

“Can you put it on me?” you ask with a grin, turning after setting the box in his palm.

The clasp is too small for his fingers to work properly, but he gets it done, laying the pink-jeweled charm against your throat and securing it before watching the way it settles onto your chest from above. Your fingers toy with the gold, so dainty and gentle, you treat everything as if it were the most precious, fragile thing. Even him. His arms practically ache to wrap around your middle, his body freezing despite the comfortable temperature in the house because the only thing that could keep him warm enough was your body pressed against his, every conceivable inch of it.

But he needs a shower. And if he starts now he won’t stop. He intends to stay glued to you, serpentining around your limbs and torso like a parasitic vine, pulling the very will to live from the heat of your skin and the steady beat of your heart. He wonders if you know how much he depends on you.

The strongest in the world. Until he isn’t. Right now he feels like a chump.

It’s not because he lost, because he sure as hell didn’t. He made quick work of each and every foe, it was almost boring. He’d pay someone at this point if they sent something his way that made him break a sweat. No. It’s because he’s tired. He’s tired of being the strongest. He’s tired of trying to change things, to save people he’s still not sure he gives a shit about, and he’s buckling beneath the weight of a name and abilities he never asked for.

There’s no denying it’s fun to be the best. He gets away with more than he should, he toys with people’s minds and worth, destruction sits at his fingertips. But it’s lonely. It’s vapid. And being Satoru Gojo leaves him at the mercy of people he shouldn’t be forced to obey.

He’s never lived.

All he’s done is train, fight, bargain, argue, defend, lose everyone he’s ever allowed himself to care about. And that fear sits heavy in his gut as he watches you skitter off to the kitchen when a timer blares shrill in the air. He has to escape now because if he sees that silly smile that settles on your face when you look at him he’ll fall to his knees.

In the time he takes to debate if he can pull the roots that had grown from his feet up from the floor, you were back, and now the predator was turned prey.

“What’s wrong?” you ask again, reading everything from the shape of his mouth to the slump of his shoulders like a book you’d memorized. Answering is far down his list of desires.

“Nothing,” he lies, plastering a smile on his face, the mask he wore so well snapping back into place, “Hungry.” Another lie. “Tired.” That one was true.

“It’s funny that you think you can lie to me.”

It wasn’t venomous, your tone playful as you ascend onto the tips of your toes and reach behind his head, the cloth masking half of his face falling away. Through all the wondrous things his eyes have seen, you are his favorite thing to gaze upon. Despite your lack of cursed energy, there’s still an enchanting hue to you, he could pick it out of a crowd of thousands in an instant, but when the blindfold is pulled away and the sights of the world come crashing in from every angle, your face is like an oasis. Always so sweet, always so happy, so fucking pure his hands that have killed and killed and killed shouldn’t be allowed to fucking touch you.

“There he is,” you coo, your fingers brushing the hair falling into his eyes that see too much, “I just wanted to see you.”

You feel bad. You feel bad for wanting to see his face. What is he doing here? What is he doing to you?

“Glasses now, yeah?” A request he couldn’t deny if he wanted to.

“Shower,” he replies, finally undoing the buttons of the high collar that suddenly feels suffocating, ripping open the top few buttons of the white shirt he wore beneath it, “Then whatever you want.”

A content little hum agrees to his offer, “Dinner is done in ten.”

“Then I’ll be done in five.”

Yet fifteen minutes later he’s still crouching beneath the steady stream of now-tepid water, the veins in his temples pulsing, pain shooting from behind his eyes to the tips of his fingers and toes. He doesn’t want to move, think, nothing, he just wants to curl up in a ball and sleep.

“Toru?”

Before you, had anyone even attempted to call him by that wretched nickname they’d have found themselves beneath the sole of his boot. And they had tried. Shoko and Mei Mei had both tested the waters, Suguru had been smart enough to read Satoru’s reaction to the first two. At first, he thought he'd allowed it because it started as a choked whine, his cock buried in you to the hilt when you sputtered it from swollen lips, in that moment he didn’t care what you called him, nor had he any other time after that. Then it just stuck.

Or maybe it was because he’d never been the Satoru Gojo with you. He had always been something else. Someone else. You didn’t care how many curses he could exorcise, to you he was the guy who delivered extra sweet boba tea and preferred sodas to sake. While others expected him to risk his life while they sat comfortable behind screens demanding too much from people who were running out of things to give, you just wanted flowers and nights in on the couch where he’d carry you to bed after you fell asleep watching a movie. He wasn’t Satoru Gojo, the prodigy. He was…Toru.

When the door creaks open as a result of his silence, he wonders how much you know, what you assume. There’s no point in trying to maintain the ruse that he’s fine, the opportunity for that had passed before he’d even stepped foot in the house.

“Stop avoiding me.” Well, that answers that. You were exceptionally well aware. “Your trip was shit. I got it. But you’ll be on another one in two days and I’ll—“

You know you’re guilting him, and you stop. It doesn’t matter, it already worked. You’d be alone again. And he was wasting this time moping over things he couldn’t change. Not yet. Not quickly enough.

With a towel in your lap you’re perched up on the bathroom counter, a scowl he could easily wipe away with a kiss set on your face. The residual steam floats around you in thick clouds, you’re ethereal, practically glowing, and long strides close the distance before he’s cupping your jaw with palms that swallow you whole and kissing you harder than he intended to.

It’s like the first breath of air after being trapped underwater. The sun of a warm spring day after a cold winter. The first scent of cherry blossoms and the briny breeze of the ocean. You breathe new life into him so effortlessly. He’d considered the day when you’d wisen up and kick him to the curb, taking solace in the fact that as long as he knew you were still alive, it would be enough. His sanity hinges on your existence and nothing else, because once you were gone there would be nothing left keeping him from losing his mind. He wouldn’t need it anymore.

Uncaring of your long sleeves and his soaked body, you press in closer, tangling fingers into his sopping hair as his tongue swipes along the seam of your lips. It’s been weeks. Painful, lonely, tiresome weeks since he’s felt you, tasted you, smelled you. He’d suppressed his longing, but it’s pouring out now like a river battering through a dam, there was no stopping it until the pressure is released. Lifting you requires little to no strength, and if he’s going to have you, it’s going to be in bed where we can do it properly in the way you deserve. He can have control over this, excel even, if he wasn’t getting back into the shower before the clock struck midnight he would consider it a failure. A man needs goals.

Silver lace was covering your curves beneath your sweater and pants, a sly smirk on your face as you watch his reaction to the real reason you’d gone to Sendai. It’s sheer, his mouth watering at the way your nipples pebble beneath the fabric, the battle between whether to marvel at the sight before him or begin his evening’s activities waging while your nails rake over his forearms extending on either side of you. He’s nestled between your thighs, the damp spot that’s already soaked through your panties pressing against his inner thigh, and all he can think about is fucking you into the mattress until you can’t form a coherent thought. He's forgotten about his headache when he pulls your bra down to bunch beneath your breasts, greedily pulling one of your hardened buds between his lips and whimpering at the taste of your skin on his tongue. You’re scratching his scalp soothingly to disguise the way you’re holding him on your tit, your thighs squeezing around him as he rolled and lapped at your sensitive peak all the evidence he needed to justify the fact he didn’t want to stop; you didn't want him to either. With some resistance, you allow him to switch sides, giving him the chance to lavish the other with as much attention, your back arching into him in relief when he latched.

For a man who walks amongst the clouds, he is still well aware this was as close to heaven that he’ll ever get. This was perhaps the only one that existed. It was definitely the only one he wants to ever see. The smell of your perfume still faintly clings to your skin and he chuckles remembering all the times he’d spritzed it on the bottom of his blindfold, your scent wafting through his nose all day as he’d tried to focus on teaching the students. And with that reminder he craves your lips again, meeting you in a kiss you take a moment to reciprocate, shaking off the haze he’d already put you in.

While your reflexes are still slow to keep up, he slips down the mattress and nestles between your thighs, throwing them over his shoulders as he presses his nose to your core and inhales. It’s lewd and had you been anyone else he’d have refrained, but you push down onto his face, and he can taste the tease of what’s to come on the lace. He debates tearing them straight in half—he’ll replace them—but opts to slowly drag them up your legs, kissing along your inner thigh, knee, calf, and ankle on his way up, flicking the thin garment onto the floor behind him before reversing his path on your opposite leg and finding himself face to face with what he craved above all else.

Your slit is glistening, arousal dripping onto the satin sheets as you mewl in anticipation, your teeth sinking into the flesh of your palm as you try to hold back your eagerness for the first swipe of his tongue. He sears it into his memory, this scene of being so shamelessly desired for nothing more than how good he can make you feel. He’s a greedy man, and you’re a giving woman, nothing demonstrates that more than the way you’re willingly splayed for him to have his way with. He never leaves you dissatisfied, he’s too proud for that, but he takes what he wants.

“I’ve had to only dream about this,” his voice is low and menacing, “for too long.”

“You’re being awfully slow to enjoy it then.”

The taunt strikes a chord.

“Did you think about me while I was away?” He can tease, too. “Fingering this tight little cunt wishing it was me instead?”

“Yes…”

“Hmm. And no videos. That’s awfully selfish of you.”

His thumbs graze over your skin in every place except where he knows you want him. He wants you writhing, so desperate for his touch you’ll unconsciously seek it out all for him to deny you until you’re ready to snap.

“My fist gets the job done,” he continues, grazing his teeth over the curve of your ass, “If I imagine you on your knees in front of me.” He kisses your mound, hooking his tongue into the top of your slit and flicking. “Mouth open. Tongue out.” He gets closer to where you need him this time, but still leaves you waiting and wanting. “What do you want? Tell me.”

“Anything.” You’re fucking wrecked and he’s barely done a thing.

“Anything? Anything? You should know by now that’s a dangerous word.”

Clearly, it’s a risk you’re willing to take because you don’t have a rebuttal. So the choice is up to him. He’s so pent up he considers if he commits to opting for dessert before dinner, the main course might be ruined. But that wasn’t always a bad thing. It was however not ideal if it ruins his appetite entirely, and he had no intention of cutting this evening short.

“I need to fuck you,” he decides, “Damnit.”

He doesn’t love the decision, but he hates the thought of coming on the sheet while he takes his fill of the feast between your legs. That would impact his focus, and little else deserved his undivided attention. You’re unbothered by his choice entirely, in fact you’re eager, your fists tangled in his hair as you pull him back to your mouth and grab his throbbing cock from where it sits heavy on your stomach.

“I want videos too, you know,” you sigh, nipping at his bottom lip and dragging it between your teeth, “You look so pretty when you come.”

“Oh yeah?” You’re so wet he finds no resistance when he fills you in one hard thrust, the air being pushed from your lungs hot on his throat, "Careful what you wish for."

Memory never did the way your velvet walls swaddle him any justice. Every roll of his hips has you clenching around him, your nails piercing half-moons into his porcelain skin while he made no attempt at rhythm or tact. He needs to be buried in you—the only refuge he’s ever found—but he needs the friction, the result making his movements frantic and desperate. It’s too hard, too fast, your whines choked by the punctuated slamming of his hips into yours, all you can do is hold on and enjoy the ride.

You let him fuck you like this because you know he needs it. There’s a piece of himself he leaves with you for safekeeping every time he walks out the door that he reclaims here in the symphony of your breathy moans between sweat-soaked sheets. He tries to kiss you, but you’re both too overcome to focus, lips just grazing and dragging with each jolt of your body upward. His eyes are wide when he clamps a hand down over your throat, the lack of oxygen sending a rush to your core as he squeezes just enough to make breathing hard. You don’t need oxygen right now, all you require is him.

“You’re a mess,” he compliments into your agape mouth, swallowing down your little sounds as he batters into you harder still, “I’m gonna slip right out.”

“N-no,” you protest, your thighs squeezing around him tighter.

It makes him laugh. “Always so needy,” he touts, pulling all the way out and staring at your gaping hole until your hand grips his length soaked in your juices once again in an attempt to guide him back. “Tsk tsk, behave yourself. Have some control.”

The frustrated groan that rips from your chest sends a shockwave coursing through him. Your eyes are pinched shut so tightly your brow is creasing in the center, your wrist so dainty in his massive grip. He pulls your fingers to his mouth, licking the taste of you clean before placing your spit-soaked fingers over your clit and sitting upright. Without him needing to voice his desire, you begin circling your swollen bundle of nerves, your aggravated tension melting away at your own blissful touch, and when you’ve finally forgotten your annoyance at him, he claims you once again.

Sinking his teeth into the flesh of your calf, he ruts into you ruthlessly with his newly established leverage, his eyes locked on the way you drift your touch down every so often to feel where your bodies meet.

“I missed you,” he whines against your ankle, pressing his lips to the bone as he throws it over his shoulder, looping his arms around your thighs and picking up his pace, “Missed your fucking pussy.”

He’s well aware you’re past the point of coherent responses, but he likes the pathetic way you try to form a sentence. It’s all gibberish, even if you could think straight the force he’s thrusting his cock into the deepest parts of you cuts you off, your entire body shuddering, and he can’t help but marvel at the way your breasts shake or how your free hand seeks him out for something to grip on to.

“You need to come,” he commands, feeling the coil in his stomach ready to snap, “Lemme feel you, baby.”

It’s immediate. Your orgasm wracks over your body, every muscle going rigid and then shattering like glass, leaving you boneless and spent beneath him. His crescendo begins as yours subsides, but he feels no relief as he spurts hot and thick into your fluttering channel. He still aches, his cock is still rock hard, so he continues as if he’d never stopped. Your cunt squelches loudly as he fucks through your combined releases, and it feels so fucking good he knows he won’t last much longer in this unexpected second wind.

“Can you take it?” he asks, and it’s not so much his filthy mouth as it is a check in, you’re still silent as he seeks relief once again.

“Y-yes,” you sputter, and deep down he knows you’re too sensitive, too swollen.

“Good girl. Move your hand.”

With caution he presses his thumb to your undoubtedly overstimulated bud, your body jumping at the contact but immediately relaxing as he rubs slow circles. Your cunt is sopping wet, your thighs and his soaked with fluids, and the stench of sex is so heavy in the room he swears it’ll linger for days. Your body is glowing in the moonlight trickling in, a thin shin of sweat making you almost iridescent, and he can’t believe you’re his. He’ll get to sleep in this bed with you tonight, a privilege only awarded to him.

“Toru, please!” you beg, and he realizes he’s so caught up comparing you to the memory he has stored away that you’re painfully close to release once again.

“Gonna come again for me?” he purrs, and when your hole constricts he collapses down, shoving his tongue in your mouth as he joins you in the steep ascent to bliss. He moans into your open mouth as fire blazes in his belly, your chin and jaw firmly in his grip as he stares into the eyes he dreams up before he falls asleep every night before collapsing onto your damp chest.

What he thinks is the calm after the storm turns out to only be its eye, the latter half much less enjoyable than the first. Pain sears across his head, the throbbing behind his eyes pulsing with a newfound rage, and he whimpers in agony. He’s found some sort of safe haven in the curve of your neck, and that will have to do.

Even though he protests with all the energy he has left, you flip him onto his back, the loss of your arms a heavy burden as you leave him on the bed alone. He wants to scream your name, he wants to yell, to be angry at you for abandoning him in this state, but he doesn’t have it in him. He hears a closet door, the faucet, clinking of glass, the scratching of fabric, but he doesn’t dare open his eyes. Not right now.

The dip of the mattress signifies your return after what felt like an eternity, a hot towel wiping from his thighs to his stomach, the familiar scent of the laundry soap hitting his nose. You’d gotten dressed into something, and he reaches up to where you’re perched in the spot his pillow usually sits and recognizes the fabric of one of his t-shirts; if you have to wear clothes at least they’re his.

Gently, you lift the dead weight of his head and place it in your lap, the soft heat of your bare thighs easing the tightness in his neck as a cool cloth is pressed to his aching eyes.

The air is kissed with the smell of orange blossoms, and he sighs in relief when you begin to massage his temples, the oil on your fingers helping them glide across his skin. You work beneath the cold fabric shrouding him from the overwhelming world, running along his brow and cheeks, stopping to release the tension in his jaw he doesn’t realize he’s holding. Traveling over his ears you move to his neck, kneading at the base of his skull where the muscles are so tight they’re hard as stone, your movements so methodical from years of practice.

“You need to sleep,” you demand in a soft, hushed tone, “you’re too tired.”

Well, he hasn’t slept in days. He’d been too busy, it had been too risky, and an empty bed wasn’t conducive to pleasant dreams. There had been enough nightmares watching you be devoured by curses as he stood idly by unable to help, he likes to avoid them by any means necessary now. So, he nods. Sleep does sound nice.

“I’m staying home tomorrow,” he decides, “Turn my phone off.”

Your hum in response has the hint of a giggle, your nails now scratching against his scalp and through his snowy strands. The deafening roar of pain has subsided to an annoying buzz, and the more you work your hands over his head the quieter it becomes. You’re waiting for him to tell you he’s comfortable enough to fall asleep, and although he is, he’s enjoying this too much. A tender touch feels so good after weeks of combat and surging adrenaline, he can’t be blamed for wanting to bask in it for a few moments longer than needed.

“I’m gonna owe you for this, aren’t I?” he finally jokes, threading his fingers with yours and bringing them to his lips where he pecks across your knuckles.

“Oh yeah,” you confirm, tipping his chin up to press a chaste kiss to his pouty lips, “Big time.”

After a quick sweep of the house, including both turning off his phone and hiding it in a kitchen drawer, and a change of the sheets much to Satoru’s dismay over having to move, you slip back into bed. Immediately, his arms circle you, and although you're facing away from him comfortably nestled on your side, he buries his face into your spine, falling asleep almost immediately as your heat washes over him like a security blanket.

He dreams of home. Of you. A flower behind your ear and a smile lighting up your face. He has the courage to say he loves you here, something he has yet to utter in waking hours. It’s been too long to matter now, you read it in his actions and his intent, but one day he hopes to not fear the consequences of saying the words aloud. Because he does love you, more than anyone, anything. More than himself. And one day he’ll admit it.

One day.

***Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated***

#satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru smut #satoru gojo smut #satoru gojo fanfic #gojo satoru fanfic #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jjk fanfic #jjk smut

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pumpkinbxtch · 11 months ago

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𓇼 the sun & the sea 𓇼 〰✷〰

— apollo / lester x daughter of poseidon!reader

part i | part ii | part iii | part iv

☆ radiostar is playin': forever always by the driver era…!

warnings: none taglist: @emidpsandia

He, apparently, was dead missing.

"He went alone on the mission with Python. He hasn't returned for three days now." A month later, Meg contacted you through an Iris message and explained everything that had happened. A month later and the days passed, nobody knew about him.

"We only know that he retrieved all the Oracles and the gifts of prophecy returned," Chiron told you, and Dionysus, for the first time, looked nervous and worried about his brother.

But if Apollo had succeeded in his mission, where was he? You hadn't dreamed of him either. Days went by and your anxiety grew.

"I didn't agree, but my brother insisted on pushing him to the limit," Poseidon said seriously, and Percy replied, "I think he took it too literally, don't you?" You suppressed a groan while your father scolded your brother with his gaze. Python was gone forever, but they knew nothing of Apollo.

"It's okay, it's only been five days," you thought, but you realized that every day you did it with a new number and without any news until almost two weeks had passed... Honestly, you didn't know how many times you had cried in all that time, you didn't even bother to hide it, and even your roommate requested a room change.

Lately, the time was bad in every sense. Thunder rumbled, and you hugged the pillow tighter, tears already rolling down your cheeks. The room was colder than usual; after all, you were alone in it. You accompanied yourself with the dim light of your desk lamp, and the flash of lightning illuminated the darkest corners. You realized you were crying over too many things, everything was very recent, you hadn't even finished processing Jason's death, and those lightning bolts... all they did was remind you of it.

"Wasn't it enough with him?" You wondered as you let out your sobs. Jason was his son just like Apollo, and if he led them both to death just to reaffirm his authority to everyone, you had no doubts that Zeus was a cruel father. The thunder shook the window, and you closed your eyes in anger, not retracting anything, even if Zeus annihilated you with one of his lightning bolts, you would never do so. Probably beyond, on Olympus, your own father struggled with annoyance with his brother, but even if Poseidon wasn't half the father that Paul was to you and Percy, he would never allow you to be harmed.

Your tennis sounded against the wet sand of the path leading to your favorite café. You walked in a ghost town with a hollow chest and the cold penetrating your bones, but it didn't matter because you already felt like those skeletons that Nico brought to the surface when he was in a bad mood; anyway, you moved forward to have a hot chocolate, it was Sunday, you had to have enough strength for classes the next day.

— Here it is — the lady said when you had just formed in line at the bar. You frowned and shook your head.

— Surely it's for someone else, I just got in line.

The girl smiled and looked at the label.

— Hot chocolate? —she asked in the waiting line, and no one recognized it, she returned to you and handed it to you again. — It was ordered in advance.

A joke from Frank? Frank didn't make jokes. But if it were, how did he know what you wanted?

You took it and looked at the label, it had a sun drawn on it that made you purse your lips. "Of course, it had to be," you thought bitterly and walked back taking the long way, the one that passed by the small Tiber.

The sunlight barely reflected on the water after all it was covered by the clouds, and you sighed as you looked at the huge body of water, your chest hurt. How did this happen? You would be better off if you hadn't entered that Grove, but you had to do your will, but you wouldn't have had those days with Apollo, which provoked mixed emotions in you again.

"this rhymes for him were different, but he hopes for put that ring and find what he's been missing."

— If you wanted to marry me so much, come back and do it — you murmured with your nose buried in your scarf and tears stinging your eyes. You cut your step and faced the river that continued to shine coldly, the small cup you held slipped from your hands with each sob, and when you let out the first whimper, you let it go. However, it didn't fall. You gasped, and when you looked beside you, your breath left you.

Of those brown curls, only a few remained mixed with the blond ones, of the freckles you counted that last time you had him too close, there were only about three hundred instead of a thousand. He was taller, and his body more athletic, but he wore the same Led Zeppelin t-shirt and ripped jeans from the knees. His smile was big and triumphant, the same blue eyes you had been waiting to see were just trying to memorize your fractions in the same way you were doing with him.

— And are you serious or are you just fooling me?— His voice. You threw yourself into his arms without considering if he could be hurt, but judging by how he looked... then you took him by the shoulders, he foolishly thought you would kiss him, but you just leaned back and kicked him in the chest with the skill that only you could have.

He groaned on the ground in a fetal position, and seconds later, he rose on his elbows with a confused look.

— Idiot — you shouted as you walked towards him and knelt to be at his height. Apollo couldn't help but smile like an idiot, and you couldn't help but hug him again. — Where the hell were you?

Your whimpering caused guilt in his chest, and he took care of your head as both lay back on the grass. He stroked your hair as you clung to his chest, wishing his scent would imprint on you to never forget it.

— Hey…— He called you, and you looked up, noticing tears in his eyes too. You cupped his cheek and, before he could say anything else, you kissed him. The first kiss. He closed his eyes, completely surrendered to you, feeling like he could finally breathe freely after months. When your soft lips left his, he held you tightly, burying his face in your neck. You couldn't see it, but Apolo had a flushed face and a knot in his stomach.

But you didn't need to see it, because as he hid in you, the sun broke through the clouds, shining brightly, almost lighting up the whole world with brighter colors than before. It was with that detail that you confirmed he had become a god again, and his feelings were showing to you in too many ways.

— I…— You spoke after several minutes of silence, causing him to sit properly on the grass with you, holding your hand. — I do want to be with you. I'm not just messing around, just so we're clear.

— Do you have an alternative? — He joked, and you gently pushed him while nervously looking at your hands.

— Fool.

— For you, of course — he cooed as he took your chin in his hand and forced you to look at him. His cheeks were still flushed, but you noticed that his skill to seduce without seeming like an inexperienced teenager had returned, and that's where your first jealousy arose because you wished only you could have that side of him.

— And only for me, I'm sure — you grumbled under your breath at having that thought, and he laughed.

— I was born to love only you, believe me.— Apollo said, getting up and offering his hand to help you. — And just like art, I'll be faithful to you.

— Wow, what a great poet — you took his hand, and he took you by the waist, bending down to touch his nose to yours. You never believed in the expression "like a Greek god" until he looked at you in that way.

— Are you going to marry me? — He stroked your nose with his while gently squeezing your waist. You nodded silently like a fool, and he gave you a peck on the lips with a smirk. — I just wanted to make sure, but actually, I don't need any of that to be devoted to you. You're everything to me.

He took your hand and led you along the edge of the small Tiber, which now shone fervently.

•

— Apollo! — You shouted from the reception of the mansion on Olympus, closing the big door forcefully and looking at your husband playfully peeking behind his throne.

— Yes, dear? — You pursed your lips and approached him.

— Where are my things?

— Which ones? — He played dumb, and you sighed.

— From my bedroom at the university, where are they?

—In your room...— you raised an eyebrow — here.

You growled and pulled him to come out from behind the throne.

— I told you it would be until I graduated.

Apollo pouted and slumped his shoulders.

—But I miss you.

You smiled and hugged him.

— I miss you too, but— you stepped back and showed the ring on your ring finger —I have this, darling, and that's enough to scare off my classmates. I don't need to come down from Olympus every day when I can be in the dorms.

Apollo nodded regretfully.

— Alright, alright...— he snapped his fingers and smiled at you — everything is already in your silly university dorm.

You smiled and gave him a kiss. As you started making your way to the exit, he sighed.

— I'll see you tonight — he shouted, and you turned around smiling.

The Sun illuminates the beauty of the sea but never tries to contain it, and the sea shows the sun that even in the stormiest moments or the darkest nights, its light never fades.

#trials of apollo #apollo pjo #apollo pjo x reader #pjo hoo toa #heroes of olympus #percy jackson #pjo #lester papadopoulos #lester papadopoulos x reader #apollo x reader #apollo x you #apollo x y/n #lester papadopoulos x you

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lunaharrygurl · 2 months ago

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PART 1: Lucky’s

a/n: omg hiiiiiii! this is my first ever writing!!! it’s been in my drafts for months and i’ve been to hesitant to post but ugh I just wanna put it out here and get some feedback to finish the rest. pls be kind and lmk what you think!!!

word count: 2.5k

The bar looks exactly the same the last time Ana was in it. About 4 years ago to be exact. It's the town dive bar everyone’s been going to for years and was like home to her at one point. She had been feeling a little sad since she had just been broken up with from her boyfriend, Alex, of three years just a couple of months ago. She knows it’s a little pathetic to still be so depressed about the break up, but hey, she thought she found her soulmate. She thought she was happy. But she didn’t even realize her life was falling apart in front of her. She didn’t even know her boyfriend had been planning to leave her for awhile.

Anyways, she decided to say yes to going to Lucky’s to spend a night out with her best friends. She needed to let go of this sadness that’s been weighing her down and she’s been picking up too many shifts at the hospital that she needed a break. Plus, getting drunk didn’t sound too bad.

“Anaaa girl you look good!” Penny yells as Ana enters the bar with a bell ringing above her. She’s wearing a long teal skirt ending at her ankles with kitten heels and a black long sleeve shirt. Her friends, Penny and Jess stood at the bar waiting for her. She’s super grateful she has them and with how much time and space they’ve given. Without those two, she’d probably be in bed with another Ben and Jerry’s pint watching Criminal Minds.

She quickly hurries to hug Penny back, wanting her to lower her voice. “Hey Pen,” she breathes out as she lays her black shoulder purse on the counter, “How are you guys?”

“I’m fine, but this one?” Jess laughs as she points her drink to the red head, “ She got here only 10 minutes before us.” Penny’s eyes are a little hooded and has two empty glasses next to her, but she ignores Jess as she squeezes Ana tighter before pushing her out in front of her.

“I’m so glad you came! We’ve been missing you.” The smile Penny’s wearing looks pitiful. Looking between her and Jess, who also has a sympathetic sense to her, Ana ignores the comment and quickly orders her typical drink. She doesn’t look back up at her friends, not wanting to talk about why she hasn’t answered their calls or accepted their hang out requests. She doesn’t plan on talking about Alex or what happened because it’s none of their business and frankly, she’s embarrassed. Who wants to talk with their friends who are in happy relationships about being dumped?

Jess starts to talk about her new promotion at the salon and the new house she wants to buy with her husband, Jackson. Penny spills the tea on her boss at her office job. Her and her girlfriend just got a cat. Ana is thrilled with her friends’ good news and is even giggling a little loud as she manages to get to her third drink. It feels good.

Her eyes begin to skim around the dim place. Even though it’s lit with a bunch of neon signs and rusty lamp shades, it’s hard to see in front of her. She notices the vibe starts to pick up a bit from when she first walked in. Men are playing pool laughing. Women are cheering with their girlfriends. As she studies the room, her head turns to a familiar laugh. Her skin begins to tingle and she suddenly feels cold. She recognizes this laugh. She used to hear it when they snuck out of class and went to just lay together in her dorm. She enjoyed it. Her eyes finally settle on a man in the left corner by the pool table. He’s sitting with a couple of people in a four top with his back to her. He’s throwing his head back because whatever story his friend is telling must be the best yet. She must’ve been staring too long because a girl with purple hair in front of him makes eye contact with her and raises her brow. Oh my god, did she see her? Ana quickly looks away towards her drink and keeps her head down. If it is who she thinks it is,( and she’s pretty sure it’s him) she doesn’t want to talk. She can’t handle rekindling with her past just yet. Not when she’s not completely healed from her last mess. She risks another look back to assess how bad she’s been caught. The woman who looked at her last seemed to have completely forgotten about her as her neck was lowered and face lit up by her phone.

“Uh, gotta go pee, girls” she announces as she hops off the bar stool. Penny urges her to hurry because she has some news to share. “I think you’re gonna be excitedddd” she squeals.

“Great.” Ana mutters. Taking a deep breath, she heads to the back down the hallway to the bathroom. She’s a little tipsy that she has to lean on a wall or two, but she manages to find her way to the stalls fine. Locking the door, she leans her head against it and sighs.

“You're literally fine “ she’s repeating to herself. This is the first time you’ve been out in months, get a grip. She starts to laugh at how ridiculous she’s feeling. Staring at herself in the mirror, she does a little spin and feels good about her appearance. The skirt rounds her butt nicely, square neckline showcases her breasts. Despite emotionally being a mess, she knows she looks good. Leaning in closer, she presses her hands to the edge of the sink to study her makeup. Her eyes are giving raccoon, but she kinda digs it. As she’s fluffing up her curls and fixing her lipstick with the edge of her pinky, a sharp knock on the wooden door pulls her out of her vain daydream.

“Just a seeec” she sings. Even though she didn’t use the bathroom like she hoped, she quickly washes her hands since the place doesn't seem so clean. Another harsh knock interrupts her. “Oh my god, hold on.”

She quickly pulls open the door with a napkin and is greeted with the same purple haired girl from his table. Damn. She raises her brows in surprise, but quickly conceals it.

With her head down, “Oh! Uh all yours,” side stepping quickly so the girl can walk through. As the girl passes her, she looks her up and down and asks “Hey, do I know you?” Ana’s a little surprised at the question because she doesn't know her, but is sure the girl is referring to their look earlier and shrugs.

“Um, I don’t think so? Unless you frequent the hospital on Lane, hah.” Silence. God, she’s gonna die, why does she embarrass herself so often? Purple girl shakes her head.

“I saw you staring earlier. It seemed like you recognized me, or maybe someone at my table?” Okay, so she did catch her. Ana’s fully outside in the hall at this point while the girl is in the doorway of the bathroom. To her right, she makes eye contact with Jess who’s giving her a questioning look. She hurriedly waves her over before laughing at something the Pen must’ve said. Ana’s eyes manage to glaze back over to the boy at the table and his strong back. She can’t seem to take her eyes off of his body and the way he still looks the same from the last time she saw him. When he was in her bed taking care of her, rubbing her back and kissing on her -

“You were looking at Harry, weren’t you?” Right, she’s still here.

“Yeah I, uh, went to undergrad with him and haven’t seen him awhile. Just a little surprised to see him is all.” She really doesn’t need to explain any of this to this girl. But the purple girl scoffs like she doesn’t believe her.

“You can say you were staring. Everyone does. He is the pretty boy after all.” It’s good to know Harry’s is the same as the last time she saw him. She awkwardly smiles while rocking back and forth on her heels.

“That’s Harry.” She clicks her tongue and claps her hands together and looks over to Jess. “I’m just gonna…head back over to my girls so..”

But before she can turn and escape, the girl steps out the door and tells her she can put in a good word for her. “He looked back at you too, you know? I’m sure he would want to catch up” She’s… shocked. She actually can’t believe he remembers her still. But, no. That’s not what she’s here for.

“No, that won’t be necessary, thank you” she rushes out. Miss purple grabs the edge of the door, backing up. With a smirk, she says “If you say so” and shuts it.

Ana’s left to stare at the door dumbfounded. What the hell just happened? Left with no answers, she walks back to the bar and jumps up to her seat. Jess grabs her knee and squeezes. “Who was that?” Before she can reply and say nobody, Pen grabs her other shoulder to turn Ana’s body.

“Nevermind that. I have something to tell you.” Penny takes one last gulp of her drink before setting it down, closing her eyes, and taking a deep breath.

“I know you’ve been having a hard time and haven’t been yourself lately. Don’t look at me like that. And I know you know but I have to remind you that we love you and we are here for you. We want the absolute best for you and we want to see you happy again.” Ana looks over at Jess to see if she knows what their friend is up to. To her surprise, Jess has a similar anxious smile on her face and nudges her head towards Penny for her to listen.

“Okayyyy? What’s the news you wanted to tell me?” Ana asks.

“Please keep in mind that we love you,” she whispers, “but we set you up on a date!”

Ana shakes her head immediately and puts her hand up. “No, Penny pleeease. Why would you do that?” She doesn’t want to say no immediately for the sake of her friend’s hopeful face, but she is less than thrilled. Jess sets her glass down and plays with a small curl on Ana’s head.

“Because,” making eye contact now “you are so incredibly beautiful and amazing and you deserve to be happy. Ever since Alex, you’ve been this mopey little child who thinks they’re nobody.” Ana winces at the mention of her ex and pulls her curl out of Jess’s hand. “Hey that was mean,” she whispers.

“I’m being honest. That’s why you love me. But Jackson has a buddy at work who’s name is Spencer and he's been talking about wanting to settle down and he’s a really great guy!He’s a vet tech at the animal hospital down on Cleary and he has a dog. He has a great family and is good with kids. And he has money!” That has Ana smiling. Her girls know that she wants to be taken care of and her taste. It’s sweet really, but she can’t.

Jess continues “but Jackson was talking about him and me and Penny thought, who better to set him up with?” Both girls grab her shoulders and say “You.”

“We gave him your number and told him to reach out to you tonight. He’s really interested. Please just give this a try?” Penny is looking at her with pleading glossy eyes. But it’s not gonna shake her. She shimmies the hands off her shoulders and scoots her chair back.

Stepping away from the bar and grabbing her bag. “Thank you both, really. I love you guys a lot and I appreciate your concern, but I'm just not ready yet. I also don’t want to be forced to do something or be with someone. Besides, it's only been a couple of months.”

“11 months.” Jess tells her. Damn, almost a year?

“11 months, whatever. I need more time and I promise that I will get back out there, but just not now okay?” Both of her friends give a knowing look to each other and sigh. Ana pushes her chair in and goes to hug them goodbye.

“Text us when you're home, okay?” Penny hugs her tight. Ana nods her head and mutters of course and moves to Jess who hugs her even tighter.

“Just accept the call. Accept happiness when it's right in front of you.” Jess tells her. Ana manages to separate from her and takes a couple steps back. She’s almost by the door when she turns around to her friends.

“Yes yes, I hear you. I’ll text you guys la-” She’s interrupted by someone bumping into her. She hears a loud ‘oops' and feels a soft grip on her arm.

“Oh my gosh I’m so...sorry” The person’s voice starts to trail out as she looks up to their face.

Harry.

There he is. In all his glory.

She hasn’t seen his face in forever. He’s grown facial hair. A lot. He cut his hair. And he has a shit load of tattoos. He looks just as shocked as her to see her and isn’t laughing anymore. Despite standing in front of each other for almost a minute, neither has said anything. He opens his mouth to say something but before he can, she bolts out the door.

She manages to run down the street and get behind a building next to the bar. Taking some breaths, she pulls out her phone to call her an Uber. In less than 5 minutes, she’s in the back of the car, buckling herself up. She can’t even believe she just saw him again. What did he think of her? Did she look the same like he does? Does he still hate her? She doesn't even want to think about what he was gonna say.

She looks at her phone and sees it’s 11:03 pm. She also notices an unknown number messaging her.

Unknown (maybe Spencer) Hey! This is Spencer. Jess gave me your number? She also told me you would be less inclined to reply to me lol. Damn Jess.

A second message rolls through.

Unknown (maybe Spencer) She also said a lot of great things about you and I would love to get to know you more. I know it's too late to be messaging you, but shoot me a text in the morning?

Ana takes a long sigh. Another situation to deal with. She doesn't want to message him and have to turn him down. She's really attempted to block him but because she respects Jess she won't.

She finally reaches her apartment and thanks her ride as she steps out of the car. She walks up the steps and pulls out her keys when she hears another ping from her phone. Is this dude messaging her again? Now she's really about to be not interested. But when unlocks her screen she notices a notification from Instagram. Pressing the icon, it says she has a follow and message request

@harrystyles: hey annie

Oh fuck.

#AHH LMK WHAT YOU THINK #harrystyles #harry styles angst #harry styles blog #harry styles one direction #harry styles preferences #harrystyles tropes #long lost friends

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cococreation · 5 months ago

Text

Home Safe

Sodapop Curtis x she/her reader (fluff/comfort)

1300 words

18+

TW: assault, implied SA, suggestive cat calling, descriptions of injuries, violence, fighting

Reader is walking home late when she is jumped by a gang of Socs. Soda patches her up.

Y/n was used to walking home from the DX late. As the DX’s secretary, she often stayed later into the evening to finish the filing for that day. Her pocket book was clutched close to her side with the rose decorated switchblade hidden inside gifted to her by Soda.

A car’s headlights landed on her. Y/n cursed to herself, walking faster. The Curtis residence wasn’t all that far. She could make it.

“Hey!” A slurred voice called out to her. She kept walking, her head low. The sound of the car’s engine cut off as the lights went out, leaving Y/n with the Socs in the dim street lamps. A man stepped out in front of her. Bobby, clearly intoxicated, eyed her. “I’m talking to you, doll face.”

Y/n’s hand slipped into her purse. The cool metal of the blade’s handle steadying her. “Fuck off.”

The Socs circled around her. One let out a wolf whistle. “The DX must be getting a lot more customers as you as their personal pinup gal.”

Y/n subconsciously tugged at the white skirt that her light blue shirt was tucked into. “I’m serious. Get out of my way before this gets violent.”

Bobby raised his hands up as Y/n pointed her switch at him. “And, here I thought, those greasers only taught you how to spread your legs.”

“At least those greasers got her all oiled up for us,” a boy with a cigarette said, flicking her skirt up. Y/n yelped, bringing the blade down on his wrist. The boy cursed. Before Y/n knew what happening, the gang was dragging her into an alleyway.

The fight felt like it had lasted years, but in reality it was only a few minutes. Y/n sat up, groaning. The side of her neck burned from where the cigarette butt had been put out. Y/n’s knife was laying in the alley, discarded after she had slashed Bobby in the shoulder after he tore open her DX shirt. Scooping up her blade and purse, Y/n winced at the pain below her neck. Bobby had dug his knife into the soft flesh below her collarbone after he realized how idiotic his intentions were.

Holding her pocket book to her chest, Y/n walked to the Curtis residence. The living room lamp was on as always. Nudging the door open, Y/n stumbled in.

The three brothers were still awake to her surprise. A western film was playing on the TV. Soda stood up so fast, he nearly knocked over the sidelamp.

Y/n collapsed onto the couch. The western was long forgotten. Darry was busy getting the first aid kit, and Ponyboy stared in horror at her. She cracked a smile at him. “Don’t worry, Pony. It doesn’t hurt too bad.”

Soda knelt next to her, tucking her hair behind her ear. “What happened?”

Y/ns eyes flitted to Pony in a silent message. Soda turned to his brothers, taking the first aid kit from Darry. “Can yall give us a moment?”

Ponyboy’s expression morphed into one of confusion. “But-“

“Come on, Pony. You’ve got homework to finish anyways.” Darry herded the youngest Curtis brother out of the room.

Soda returned his attention to Y/n. “What happened?” He asked, examining her wounds.

“Bobby and them all ganged up on me.” Her gaze was fixed on a single spot on the tile. “They didn’t get what they wanted, but lord, were they pissed.”

Y/n hissed as Soda stared disinfecting her wounds. “I know it stings. So, they pulled blades on you?”

“Yeah.”

“And, you pulled out yours?”

Y/n chuckled, “Bobby left with a slashed up shoulder.”

Soda brushed her hair away from her neck as he smiled. “That’s my girl.” He paused. “Is that a cigarette burn?”

“Yeah, one of ‘em wanted to,” she took a deep breath, eyes still fixed on same kitchen tile. “Mark me as his own.” Y/n’s eyes found Soda’s gaze. Soft and gentle. Tears silently slid down her cheek. “I told him, ‘to go to hell,” so he put his light out on me.”

Y/n’s hands were clenched around the top of her shirt. Soda’s hands cupped her hands. “You’re bleeding.”

“I know.”

“Do you want to take care of it alone?”

Y/n squeezed her eyes shut in surrender, leaning her head back. “I don’t think I can,” the word was barely audible. “It’s an ugly mark though, Sodapop.”

“Nothing can be ugly on you.”

Y/n winced as she slipped off her DX button down, revealing the mark Bobby gave her on her collarbone. The shoulder had fingerprint bruises pressed into the skin and in crudely drawn out letters read the word, “WHORE” under her collarbone.

The tears fell faster this time. Her head hung low, Y/n wept, “They wouldn’t let me go, Soda. I tried so hard.”

“I know.”

Soda’s mind was racing as he cleaned and dressed the wound. It was definitely going to scar. Bobby would want that, wouldn’t he? Soda’s heart pounded with anger. Someone touched his girl. Someone made her cry. Made her bleed. Made her feel less than human. Soda wanted to burn it all down.

Then his thoughts came to a sudden stop. Looking into Y/n’s eyes, glassy with fresh tears, he knew what he needed to do. He closed up the first aid kit and retrieved some fresh clothes for her.

Y/n thanked Soda, setting the clothes down next to her. Soda turned to leave the room, but her voice called back, “Soda, I can’t- ah, hell.”

Soda turned back around to Y/n. Her DX shirt tossed away as her injured collarbone and shoulder stiffly moved to unclasp her bra. She was unsuccessful, grimacing as she rested her taped up shoulder. Soda walked over to her. “What’s bothering you?”

“I can’t get my bra off with this shoulder. Can you help me?”

Despite the rumors and relentless teasing from the gang, Soda and Y/n haven’t had sex yet. Sure, they’ve had their fair share of kisses and making out, Soda kissing every bit of skin that saw the sun. But, after Sandy had cheated on Soda, he asked to take things slow, which Y/n had no problem with.

Y/n pulled her hair forward. Soda’s hands ran over the smooth material of the bra, searching for the small clasps. He found the little hooks and unclasped the bra. “Do you need help to take it off?” Soda’s hand held the unhooked bra together.

“If you’re comfortable with that, then yeah.”

“If you’re comfortable, then I’m comfortable,” Soda said. He let go of the clasp. Y/n easily slipped out of the first strap. Soda’s hand guided down her arm. “Alright, we’re just gonna slide this thing off, now.” The bra glided down her arm.

Soda placed the bra on the table, reaching for his shirt. Sitting behind her, Soda said, “Alright, I’m gonna put your shirt on.”

“I don’t have any clothes here,” Y/n said, confusedly knitting her brows together.

“It’s mine; couldn’t let you wear that torn up work shirt. Now, you ready?”

Y/n nodded, holding up her good arm. Tugging on the t-shirt over her head and wriggling her good arm through the sleeve, Soda held her shoulder steady as Y/n slowly inched her injured arm through the other sleeve.

Sighing, Y/n itched at the tape and gauze that stretched across her collarbone and shoulder. She settled into Soda’s side as he secured a blanket around her. Y/n traced his jaw with her bruised fingers. Pressing a kiss to his lips, Y/n smiled at him. “Thank you, Sodapop.”

“Anything for you.” Soda smiled down at her.

“I love you,” Y/n said, her fingers grazing over his light 5 o’clock shadow.

Soda pressed a kiss to her bruised knuckles. “I love you too.”

#the outsiders #sodapop curtis #sodapop x reader #sodapop curtis x reader #the outsiders darry #the outsiders ponyboy #fluff #comfort #injured reader #socs #the outsiders x reader

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daisyswift3 · 11 months ago

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KAYLORS I JUST DECIPHERED THE PR MESSAGES FROM PRESENT 🎁 ANON AND AM NOW VERY CERTAIN THEY’RE LEGIT TOO. So we started receiving these very interesting anon messages exactly 2 months before the release of TTPD (release was 4/19)

We were told to keep our eyes peeled for a present or gift we would be receiving and well we got it

There are P's and R's repeated in the messages. "The hint is in the words." P = PETER. R = ROBIN. Those songs are a gift to us kaylors. They're separated by just one song, the Bolter (which I'm 99% sure is related to the 8th 🎃 message bc Taylor almost drowns and a bolter is a coward which was the main point of the message); and Taylor mentions CPR in So Long, London which means they're all related. Bc Cassandra = Taylor, Peter = her second kid, Robin, = her first kid. They're related bc they're a family. I think it's possible those are the actual names of her two kids

"This is not the manuscript" i.e. the manuscript (closing track) is not the gift, it's the songs right before it! Robin is the 2nd to last song, Peter the 4th to last, and Cassandra the 5th to last. "It has been hidden well, look where the above may find you." They can be found in the track titles themselves. "Plausible deniability. Think of the one we continue to revisit"--K and T have plausible deniability since everyone thinks those are JK's kids. BUT "the volcano will soon rupture, whoever is to defame" which means that one day all the truth will come spilling out regardless of the defamation that will happen. "Restful, reticent, restraint. And PUBLISH!"--perhaps a tell-all memoir??

"The predecessor was the crumb" in other words peace "I'd give you my wild, give you a child" (see this post) was just a faint hint but now she's getting really close to revealing everything which is what the volcano 🌋 represents! THE DANDELIONS IN THE ROBIN LYRIC VID. Robin is the single dandelion floret (secret) she was so worried abt sending into someone else’s yard in the 7th 🎃 message (see this post). She was afraid that sending this song out into the world could expose the truth she’s worked so hard to protect before she’s ready but she did it anyway. “Once you blow a dandelion, you never get it back. It isn’t yours anymore.” “But the story isn’t mine anymore.” 🎃 mentions how the recipient of the dandelion would also blow and spread the florets which might mean kaylors would catch on and spread the secret. The 8th message also mentions a dandelion that the enemy has and spreads but I’m not yet sure who this person is—also this person could be the “recipient” and not kaylors but I’m not sure. And I’m not sure if this means they’d like us to kinda keep this to ourselves and not use Robin as a gotcha since it’s meant to be more of a seed planted for future use (no pun intended). But it definitely seems like they aren’t ready to reveal everything just yet

"As the neighbor holds the lamp to witness her Goodbye" = "Now you're in my backyard turned into good neighbors" and "But the woman who sits by the window has turned out the light"

"Reach those lanterns a little bit higher for you shall receive a metaphor so dire"--a jack-o-lantern like pumpkin anon? These metaphorical messages will help us to understand K and T's entire complicated situation?

"When I cannot see words curling like rings of smoke round me"--"breath of fresh air through smoke rings." Haven't quite figured out what this part means yet but it reminds me of blowing smoke which means to deliberately confuse or deceive (lavender haze mv)

This is as far as I've gotten w decoding the messages. This all adds a lot of context to those 🎃 messages and makes them a little more clear. There’s definitely more clues in there we have yet to decipher so pls share your thoughts

#robin #pumpkin #present anon #peter #volcano #dandelions

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critterbitter · 1 year ago

Note

If you don’t mind me asking, what’s your comic making process? I find it hard to make comics that look eye-pleasing to read and yours are like candy.

Ah, comics! Dig under cut to see some old wips as I attempt to explain my nightmare thought process to you.

For making a comic AESTHETIC and APPROACHABLE:

I've noticed that it's easier for people to be pulled into a comic if I set the environment first and foremost, so people have some vague context for the scene. Of COURSE that's not always necessary ( there are a lot of comics that start out without environmental story telling and it works perfectly) but I've always liked having a lil illustration before digging my rat claws into the meat of the story.

For example! “Emmet and Elesa have a clandestine meeting in the library at 4 am.”

The sketch was sort of the jumping point to where I wanted to go with the comic. I wanted to a. explain wtf is happening and b. draw a nice conclusion about what the f is happening.

You don't need to make the environment available in every panel too! I'd suggest making your first panel tell all the environment detail you need and then like... slowly removing irrelevant detail from there. And then hit folks with the background again at the end. (So basically, you don't see the library in this comic until the beginning and a bit towards the end. I have tricked you! aha!) So that's one tip i have. For Readability: Anyways, to make a comic easy to read, spacing is super important. Dialogue tends to cramp a shot by a WHOLE lot. For example! Remember the "Lamp is told she's beloved (and has a tsundere moment over it"? That used to be TWO panels. Man. Nightmare fuel. Lemme find it. (This is the rough. I Lined It, realized the pacing is off, and then withered. Please don't look at it too hard.)

So here's the thing. This READS. But the sheer amount of dialogue in the beginning is fatiguing for me and the "you are beloved, Lampent" NEEDS that oomph of both characters realizing that over the span of years, their relationship stopped being antagonistic and started being family instead. Some folks are fine with blocks of dialogue, but I have the attention span of a patrat on candy. I will not make it. SO! To match the almost moody atmosphere, I stretched the comic out. I stretched that bad boy out a LOT. And I got this out of it.

Something to keep in mind in comics is there's always going to be one or two iconic lines. Lines that make people FEEL things. Those lines deserve their own panel, their own shot, their whatever. A good story has lulls in its conversation. If you can replicate it, you're winning. Character Blocking:

So basically no, it's not all witchcraft. It's only a bit of witchcraft. Another thing that helps is differentiating characters if they're on the same panel is by solid blocks of color. I have, for the longest time when working on storyboards, blocked characters different tones in order to help differentiate them. Don't be shy! Do that if it helps your comics read! Ingo will always be darker shaded then emmet. The angry nightlight will always have some hint of purple on her (unless I forget). The first goal in a story is to convey information, hehe. Here's an example of color blocking! (This is from a VERY old botw comic I did for linktober in 2021.)

It's, ah, rather rustic compared to what I do. usually. I know! BUT the primary goal here is to convey where the characters are in relation to each other. And the fact they're color coded makes life easier for both reader and artist. Alright! That's all the tips I can think of off the top of my head. Time to get off that soap box, haha. Overall: Basically, my work process is-- draw a story telling image/ write a funny piece of dialogue. Build the comic around that. Pace it so the important lines stand out. Color code the characters for max visibility. And then four to twelve hours of lineart, but that's neither here or there.

Thanks for coming to my unregulated rambling!

#tutorial #but hideous and mostly cobbled from limestone and willpower #ask #mailbox #critterbitter #wip #botw #just some comic stuff!#submas wip #critterbitter screams into the void

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spinningwebsandtales · 2 years ago

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Imagine Gojo Convincing You To Sneak Out Of The Dorms

Gojo Satoru X FemReader

Rating: G

Warnings: Breaking the rules with Gojo, fluff

Word Count: 1.2k

Part 2: here

(A/N:) I don’t know about y’all but I am LOVING the new season of Jujutsu Kaisen! I read the manga and keep up with all the chapters coming out but this was what I was most excited to see come to life. The arc that delves into the past is my top favorite and I love seeing student Gojo. So be prepared for some more Gojo fics and I even have a couple Toji fics lined up as well. If Gojo didn’t exist in the JJK universe I think I’d be a Toji fangirl through and through. Anyway I had to write this and sorry for my absence here lately hopefully that’ll make up for it! Until next time happy reading! ~Countess

You should have been asleep hours ago, but for some reason all you could do was lay in bed and look at the ceiling. The alarm clock at your bedside glowing in the darkness, reminding you of every minute that went by that you needed to get some sleep. Your frustrations grew when the time turned one in the morning and still sleep evaded you. You finally set up, the blankets bunching at your waist before reaching for the lamp at your bedside. You couldn’t even turn the switch when tapping came from your dorm window. You jumped, squeaking in surprise. With a trembling hand you turned on the lamp to spy a head of silvery white hair behind the glass. Gojo waved wildly, grinning like the cat that got the cream as he spotted you, wide awake. His ever present sunglasses reflecting the lamplight when you got up and walked to the window. He backed up giving you enough room to open it and peek your head out.

“What are you doing,” you seethed as you wanted to shout but had to stick with whispering angrily. “You scared me half to death!”

“Can’t sleep,” he asked while moving his body back and forth. It reminded you of rice moving in the wind. You snorted at the thought, as Gojo was slim and tall like rice. He cocked his head but you waved his curiosity away.

“No and now I really won’t be able to with my adrenaline going crazy thanks to you.”

“Let’s sneak out.”

Of course you should have known not to expect an apology from Gojo Satoru. You believed that he would burst into flames if he said ‘I’m sorry’. It wasn’t the powerful sorcerer in training’s style. But you found yourself drawn to him anyway as deep down despite his cocky attitude and devil may care attitude he was a good person. He would make a great teacher if he didn’t get kicked out from his incessant shenanigans first. You couldn’t believe the principal hadn’t gotten rid of him yet. Though you were sure it’s because Satoru was from the Gojo clan with a sprinkle of their teacher protecting him.

“No,” you answered your patience running short. “I’m sick of getting in trouble because of you.”

“We’ll be extra careful,” Gojo replied. “Those other times were just flukes.”

“And I’m sure leaving me alone to take the brunt of the blame was just a fluke too,” you retorted. “I’m not taking the fall for you anymore Satoru Gojo.”

You were about to shut the window in his face when he snagged the frame with his hand. His blue eyes staring straight through you as his sunglasses had slipped down his nose. You sucked in a breath as he grinned.

“We both know you ratted me out every time,” Gojo replied. You tried to pull the window close but his grip was firm and wouldn’t budge.

“I still got in trouble,” you said. There was no reason in lying to him as Gojo knew everything that happened in the school. And you weren’t ashamed at throwing him under the bus. It helped take your punishment down a notch. So if it helped you out and got the reason behind your bad behavior punished further, so be it. Gojo would do the same thing in the situation, if he actually cared about getting into trouble.

“C’mon,” he purred, “let’s go to the beach. You can’t sleep anyway.”

The beach did sound fun and despite yourself you felt your willpower beginning to flounder at every word and every glance in those heavenly blue eyes.

“Why don’t you go bother Geto,” you groaned. He chuckled before giving you a quick peck on the cheek. It stunned you but you didn’t let Gojo see how much the affection effected you. Climbing out of the window you stood beside your partner in crime within seconds. Your lamp still glowing on your bedside and the window ajar, you gently closed it back but not latching it. If you couldn’t get back into your room and you would have to bunk with Satoru and he wouldn’t let you sleep at all if you ever grew tired.

The city was asleep as you both rarely came across another person on the sidewalk you traversed. The ones you did run into turned out to be drunk office workers on their way home from drinking with their coworkers. Gojo would make fun of their stumbling gates as they passed by, which had you giggling into your hand. The air had a chill and you shivered at the icy breeze that passed through your night clothes. Despite acting like he didn’t care majority of the time about others unless ordered to, Gojo stepped closer every time pulling you into his side. His body though tall and lanky was well built and you blushed at the feeling of his toned form pressed against you. You only shoved him away after you warmed up and couldn’t take your burning cheeks anymore.

When you began to hear the waves lapping at the sandy shore did you take off running. Gojo quickly caught up and you both raced to the water. Of course he won and you wound up having to catch your breath halfway there. He teased you kicking at the water while all you could do was glare in his direction, which only made the young sorcerer laugh harder at your plight. Before you could finish regaining your strength, Gojo dashed across the sand again scooping you up and then running back to the water. You were sure he was going to throw you into the salty waves, but surprisingly he set you down gently in the sand. The lights of ships in the distance filled the night and the dock lights illuminated the golden sand. You breathed in deeply, filling your senses with fresh air. Though you knew if the principle found out you both had snuck out...again... you would be in horrible trouble you were glad you both snuck out. Your body wouldn’t allow you to sleep anyway and the atmosphere that surrounded the beach always soothed you no matter what.

Gojo was quiet for the longest time letting you soak in the calming surroundings in peace. When you sighed and your shoulders drooped, he silently took your hand. You glanced up at the young man that was just a little older than you, his blue eyes glancing down at you. An unfamiliar light glimmered, but you couldn’t bring yourself to question it. You were about to say something when an enraged voice called from the docks. Both your names echoed across the water and your blood froze. Foiled again and it didn’t take long for Gojo to revert back to normal Gojo, except this time when he took off running you were in tow. Your feet churned up sand and you could barely keep up, but as the adrenaline surged you found yourself laughing in amusement. Gojo laughed with you as you both ran to make your escape. The thought of going back never crossed your mind as you lost yourself enjoying the escape that Gojo talked you into. You gripped his hand tighter and willed yourself to run faster, keeping up with his longer legs while the teachers tried their best to keep up. You were glad that you weren’t able to sleep as you would have missed this with him.

#Gojo Satoru X Reader #Satoru Gojo X Reader #Satoru Gojo #Jujutsu Kaisen #Gojo Satoru Imagine #Jujutsu Kaisen Imagine #Imagine #Not My Gif #My Writing

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chaysreality222 · 1 month ago

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✩₊˚.⋆

୭ৎ 𝓘 𝐒𝐇𝓘𝐅𝓣𝐄𝓓 𝓣𝐎 𝐌𝓨 𝐀𝓛𝐓𝓔𝐑𝐍𝓐𝐓𝐄 𝐑𝓔𝐀𝓛𝐈𝐓𝓨 𝓓𝐑 ୭ৎ

hii guys! :ଓ ˖˚⊹ i'm still not quite sure what to call this reality, so don't mind the title of this! this was a bit of a rushed post since i'm super busy atm but i needed to share asap.

so a little backstory! i've had the idea of shifting to an alternate reality where its almost an exact version of my current reality but with a few differences so that i can tell the realities apart. in this reality, there's supposed to be a car crash that happens in a storm or a vehicle carrying a "top-secret weapon" (aka form of the reality stone) and i some how survive but absorb the power of this "top-secret weapon". therefore, becoming a being with powers.

disclaimer: this isn't a marvel based dr! i just wanted to shift to reality where i have or obtain superpowers/magic. more specifically, Wanda's powers because she's one of my favorites.

i think about this dr every night before i go to sleep or every time i take a nap! basically scripting out in my head what i want to happen and so forth. i haven't made a physical script, but i will make one soon for sure. that's just a brief summary of what this reality was. i also want this to be a separate post for this dr to really get into the script and lore behind it <3

anyway, getting into how i shifted! there isn't really any how to be quite honest with you. i didn't feel any shifting symptoms or anything of that matter. it was just the simplicity of falling asleep and waking up again. i didn't even know i had woken up in a different reality! i had just gotten up like every school morning to get ready and it was only till i saw small things were different.

i got up from bed and went to turn my lamp on but it had been unplugged. first sign! i usually will unplug my lamp to plug a charger in but i knew for certain that in my current reality i had left my lamp plugged. second sign! i was getting nervous because i'm scared of the dark, so i reached to turn on my lights at my desk and those weren't working either. third sign! i went to turn on the big light and that wasn't working either.

i was really confused and paranoid at the same time. why wasn't any of my lights working? and what am i going to use as an alternative because i'm scared of the dark guys? so, i got my phone and turned my flashlight on to face it at the ceiling so it can illuminate some light in the room.

now that i was less afraid, i was really starting to wonder. i looked back at my desk again and saw that the mess on it was different. same items, different placement. this is when i started to really question, did i shift? am i actually in an alternate reality right now? so, i went to go check outside the window. same neighborhood, same layout of the driveway, but different cars. that about confirmed it for me!

then, i noticed the weather looked weird like a storm was coming. that's when the power being out actually started to make sense. this is when an unknown panic and fear set in. since i knew what was gonna happen if i had stayed there any longer, it started to scare me a little bit.

my exact thoughts being: "i'm not ready to be in a car accident today!", "i have a long day at school in my cr! i can't be here right now. i mean i could, but i don't know the time ratio from this dr to my cr. i can't spend too much time here because i don't know how much time is passing there", "i haven't even truly scripted this place out yet, i want to fix some things".

this is also when i had looked up and noticed two ceiling lights... that did it for me. this dr truly needs to be scripted. i needed to get out of there immediately! so, i sat down on the floor at the edge of my bed and placed my hands over my eyes. (guys, i was full on being dramatic for no reason. you do not need to do this to get back to your cr). i repeated the intention in my head to send me back to my cr and was back in my cr! but i fell back asleep because i was sooo tired! i felt so fatigued almost.

it was so unexpected but i'm excited to experience this dr! be on the look out for my script :) and dw guys, i will be scripting that my fear of the dark isn't paralyzing </3 also just noticing, that i may have created a new method?? maybe? i'm not sure! there has to be a method already like this. i didn't do anything special, just fantasized and maladaptive daydreamed my way there.

xoxo, c!

#∘ ˚₊‧꒰ა 𝐂ℋ𝐀𝒴 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚#∘ °❀⋆ 𝐂ℋ𝐀𝒴'𝐒 𝐃𝓡 .ೃ࿔*:･#prttygirlshifterclub #reality shifting #shiftblr #shifting #desired reality #shifters #shifting motivation #shifting realities #reality shifter #anti shifters dni #shifting antis dni #shifting reality #shifting blog #shifting community #shifting diary

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merowkittie · 1 year ago

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Art Therapist!Reader x Task Force 141

Summary: Today we’ll get to look at the first client, John Price.

Notes: I should comment that I’m not sure if I want this to go in a platonic route or a romantic way so we’ll see from here. Might make the readers decide. <3

I hope i capture all of the boys good, because I’m still fairly new writing for the cod men.. sorry if they’re very ooc </3

Oh boy.. writing this took a minute and I’m so not impressed with this one but trust.. this will get better :)

Do reblog, like, and comment to lmk what you think about this!

Thank you, sweets! 🎀

Part One. Client One: John Price.

The clack of your heels were heard through the halls as you smiled brightly, excited to get to know one of your new clients.

You had two sheets on a clipboard in your arms, a notepad in the other and a tote bag in your left arm.

You had some things you’d like to discuss with him, comforts, favorite snacks and tea. These are important you know! You always got the jitters when you had a new client.

Walking into your small office you sat your bag down on the side of your chair, and placed the clipboard and notepad neatly on your desk.

A sigh left your mouth and you rolled your neck around, trying to crack it and find relief.

“Mm.. ok, where to start..?” You mumbled to yourself as you looked at your bag and nodded.

Starting to unload everything you put your thermal cup filled with peppermint tea on your desk, a sketchbook, coloring book, and coloring pencils neatly into a pile.

Next you pressed the button on your work phone to hear all of your new voice mails and put lights on, in the dimly lit room.

You had two lamps that brightened the room with a nice yellow hue and a flower lamp on your desk that shined a pink light.

“Ms. Kate left a voice message, it says, ‘Good morning, you said 9:30 but we’ll be there a bit earlier than that. He’s adamant about being early to things. John is a very— He’s a man that likes to stay on the move you know? Keep that in mind. He likes his hands full. Anyways, see you around 9:20– 25. Thank you, Again.’ —”

You laughed at her comment, knowing well you like to have your hands full too and can’t stay doing nothing for too long.

The time on your clock stated 9:15, so they’d be here soon. There wasn’t much else you needed to set up in your cozy office but you decided to fluff out the pillows on the couch across from your desk and prep your notes.

Finally, after you killed some time drawing in your sketchbook you heard a knock on your door. There was quiet chatter.

“Come in please!” You called out, closing your sketchbook and looking up towards the door.

In walked in who you assumed was Kate Laswell and behind her was a handsome gruff looking man. He was very well built, a nice beard and mustache and he looked around the same age as the woman. He also had a nice ass but you shook your head away from those thoughts.

Standing up your walked around your desk and grinned widely, you stated your name and then, “It’s a pleasure to meet the both of you. I’m very excited for todays session if you couldn’t tell..”

“Nothing wrong with that. I’m hoping this goes smoothly.” The man, who you’re sure is John, smiles at you and nods approvingly.

“Yes, you won’t give her a hard time right?” Kate jokes and he shakes his head and raises his eyebrows.

“She should be worried about Soap. That man is a twat sometimes.” You chuckled along with him and waved your hand dismissing that.

You pointed to the couch and asked them to have a seat so you could talk to them about basics first and grabbed your notepad and a pen, sitting in your chair.

“Before we start, I want to re-introduce myself. My name is y/n, and I’ve been doing art therapy for three years. I have a degree in arts and a degree in counseling/therapy.” You waved your hands around as you talked.

Kate and John nodded at your words as you spoke and they seemed pretty impressed with what you said.

“Kate Laswell, John Price. It’s nice to meet someone enthusiastic like you.”

You smiled at the comment and then let the two settle in on the couch. Tapping your fingers in your desk you spoke again.

“Ok so, I’m sure you may have questions that you wanted to ask personally! Some worries and concerns?” You tilted your head to the side and smiled, “Or would you like me to give you a brief explanation on what I strive to achieve with art therapy?”

“It’s be nice if you explained it better.. I feel like this is too childish for a man like me.” John commented.

“Mhm, I understand what you mean. A lot of people believe that but it’s all about what works for YOU. Art is a form of expression that anyone can use. Why not incorporate that into helping others and finding yourself too, Hm?” You aided.

It was a bit silent in the room after what you said. John nodded his head, his arms crossed over his chest and pursed his lips, turning to face Kate.

“I like you. Hopefully the boys will too. God knows we need this type of energy with the line of work we’re involved in.” Kate sighs, “I’ll take my leave, and be back around.. 10:30?”

“Yes! 10:30 or you can come around 10:25. Either works for me, If it works for you,” You got up and extended your hand, “Thank you, by the way. I live my life as optimistic as possible and like to bring that into the workplace.”

Kate nods and shakes your hand. Her hold is firm and strong, she’s a kind woman.

“John, play nice.” She said, facing the older man, before leaving and giving you a smile.

After she left you looked at Price and clapped your hands together.

“Well, now I have some personal questions for you. These are about boundaries but I hope you do know we might have to cross them once in a while ok?” You sat on top of your desk this time moving your notepad and pen onto your lap.

John folded his hands on his lap and looked at you in your eyes. It was silent for a moment yet again, though you didn’t mind. If he needed time to formulate his words you’d give him all the time in the world.

He opened his mouth then closed it, with a huff he said, “There’s not many boundaries I have, I’m sure you’re supposed to start slow when doing these sessions, yea?” you nodded, “So I believe you won’t be asking too much about me yet, so when the time comes.. I’ll be somewhat of an open book.”

He smiled at you slightly, tight lipped and tapped his fingers against his knuckles.

You took a breath in, then let it out. Humming at his words you write down on your note pad:

‘Price. Little to no boundaries at all. Open book maybe by the third sesh.’

His eyes watch your fingers as you’re writing, he’s a bit tense, not really knowing what to do. He can already imagine Simon being worse than he is right now.

“Ok so! I do have a question that Ms.Kate didn’t really specify, and I forgot to ask. Is there a problem that’s bugging any of you? Or is this just to maintain a good mind set— or close to an ok mind set?” You put your hands out, trying to elaborate in a more understanding way, “For example, keeping your anger in check, having an outlet to let out heavy emotional burdens.. those types of things?”

John ran his fingers through his beard and tapped his foot on the ground, thinking on what you said. He didn’t exactly have any thing bugging him, he’s been working in the military for well around 18+ years and that’ll get you used to the atrocities you see.

“I’m pretty sure Kate had the latter in mind when doing these sessions. I know I don’t have much bugging me, I’m about ready to retire sometimes,” he joked with a laugh, “It’d be nice to have an outlet from what we do every now and then.”

You laughed with him and nodded your head. His words resonated well with you. Anyone knew that working in the military/army would drain you. Could leave you mentally unwell after years.

So you strived to understand and learn each and every one of these men. To hopefully be able to aid them in different, helpful ways.

“Well, im glad you think so! Now, I actually have something I want you to do today. It’s very simple.”

Pulling out a coloring book and some color pencils, you held them out in front of you, “So, we won’t be doing anything too big— yet! I have a coloring book here that goes based off of mood. It’s also a journal. I want you to write in this everyday, starting today, ok?”

John raised his brows at you and you raised yours back. He scratched his beard and looked down at the coloring book with different mood faces on it. He took a copy of one book and a pack of coloring pencils you offered after.

You opened up the book to the first page and pointed to the happy face. Underneath the face were lines and a quote that asks you why you were feeling the emotion you were feeling.

“Currently I’m feeling happy, I’ll take a yellow pencil and color that face in.” You explained simply, “I’m feeling this way because I’ve had my favorite tea, my cat cuddled with me this morning, and I’m looking forward to my new clients.”

Once you finished you turned the book around and showed John. “That’s all you have to do. Nothing too long, but if you prefer to do that I don’t mind. Just don’t give me a word or two. I want one to three sentences.”

You watched as he began to do what you did. He colored in the neutral face with a brown colored pencil and underneath he wrote two sentences explaining why he felt that way.

For the rest of your session you introduced yourself more and had him give you tid bits about his life and line of work. In your mind you wanted to have this space be as personal but comfortable as possible.

You talked a bit about your life as well, giving him insight into your day to day life and how your other sessions go sometimes without disclosing private information about your other clients.

Soon enough the time came to when he had to leave and your session ended.

As Kate waited by the door, you put your hand out towards John, “I hope to see that book filled out. If anything is bothering you after today, write it down and we can go over it, yea?” He nodded his head shaking your hand, and let out a gruff ‘yes’.

He left with that and you were alone in your office thinking over this mornings events. It was slow paced and simple. You didn’t like unpacking a lot of information on the first day. Over time they’d get more comfortable and the art part of this would help them express how they felt without speaking. Actions are always far bigger than words.

You cracked your knuckles and went back to your chair, looking through your schedule planner, tomorrow you’d have a man by the name of Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley.

Huh, what a name.

Tag list: @speckledemerald @mxtokko

If you want to be notified when more parts of this series comes out please lmk and I will add you to the tag list <3

#reader insert #black reader #cod mw fanfiction #call of duty modern warfare #cod mw2 x reader #mw2 price #john price x black reader #captain john price x reader #captain john price #cod mw art therapy au ୨୧

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husbandhoshi · 2 years ago

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Congrats on 3k!! You deserve it sooo much💌

If you have the time (and only if you have the time!) I would like to request a sort of a short bullet point fic. Or more so just your thoughts on the following: moving in with seventeen. Who is the one that labels every box? Who will live out of moving boxes for the next year. And yeah, just overall the vibes of new beginnings and promises😶‍🌫️

Pls only do write something if any of this inspires anything, if not pls don't feel burdened to write anyway!

I love your writing, so once again: congrats on the succes💗

seungcheol thinks it's one huge adventure. yes, he will be the person lifting the stupidly heavy boxes at the store. yes, he will make it a competition to build furniture as fast as possible (and race to take it all apart when you discover the desk legs are all different lengths because someone thought he could figure it out without the manual). even among the graveyard of boxes and bubble wrap and those huge styrofoam slabs he keeps chasing you with, seungcheol is happiest to lay with you on your bare, naked mattress (because he forgot to order sheets). he's planning what pictures of the two of you he wants to put on the walls. this is the first time he's owned a welcome mat and he's not even mad about it. it's all yours, together, and there's no bigger adventure than that.

his walk-in closet. bowls the perfect size for a portion of ramen, plus an egg. the lego taj mahal with two pieces missing that he insists will turn up sometime. these are some of the things jeonghan's not sure he can bring to your new apartment. it's not that he doesn't want to move in with you--he just doesn't know if he can. hell, you kissed him for the first time on the tiny futon in his living room, and he just learned it's too small for your new place. it's not until he watches you, later that day, play jenga with the toiletries on his bathroom counter because there's never been enough space for the two of you, that he realizes maybe it isn't such a bad thing to try something new. he imagines leaning you against a new sink, with that carrara marble you've been talking about, and he might even say he's looking forward to it.

you don't think there's a day you haven't seen joshua on zillow. look at my pinterest board, he'd say, and you wouldn't have it in you to ask how the hell you're affording that couch or if you really need a salt lamp that badly. you've lost count of the times your thursday nights consisted of a: your favorite chinese takeout and b: watching celebrity architectural digest videos. but joshua can't help it--to him, there's really nothing that would make him happier than waking up next to you in a bed you picked together. now if it was a midcentury modern canopy bed? even better. he can't wait to use his fancy little espresso machine to make your morning latte and grab your coat from the rack you got from that shop in LA before he kisses you before you head off to work. but they're all just things (pretty, shiny ones, albeit)--more ways he can show you the love you deserve.

junhui loves a good open house. early on in your relationship, you would dress to the nines before pretending to shop for a mansion you could never afford. junhui would comment on the door handles and the crown molding like he was a property brother, and then you'd finish the night off making out in the mcdonald's drive-thru. things are a little different now that you actually can afford a home. what if you end up not liking it? will you get tired of the wallpaper? will the closet be big enough? but surprisingly, none of this seems to matter when you walk into the house. (what's on your mind? you ask him. n-nothing, he says.) but he's really thinking about feeding you in that kitchen and spending the morning looking out those bay windows. how beautiful you'll look greeting him from that front door. needless to say, he's sold.

you find soonyoung hiding in the kitchen at your housewarming party. just an hour earlier, he was dumping cans of sparkling water in the jungle juice to make it more "adult" (as if it would erase the fact that an entire bottle of everclear had already disappeared into the mix). the hour before that, he was cleaning like a madman despite there not being much to clean yet. he held the duster the wrong way and you think he got more windex on the ceiling than on the windows. darling, what's wrong? you ask. his little, drunken hands wrap around yours so he can bring them to his cheeks. i just realized this is all ours. like, all of it, he wails, teary, and you realize he is far too many drinks down. it's only after you've sent him to bed with a water and a kiss that you really think about what he said. the hardwood floors, the duvet, the misshapen tiger plushie on the couch, him--all ours.

wonwoo is not an easy person to live with. the first three things he unpacked were, in order, his table, his first monitor, then his second monitor. then he ruined your perfectly curated aesthetic with his neon red keyboard and a gaming chair that would make any interior designer cry. the final straw is when wonwoo manages to kill the one and only houseplant you have, the single thing holding your home decor together. but he's trying, he really is. he's bought a silly little throw blanket for your couch (aren't the tassels fun? he says, wiggling the fabric between his hands). his ugly lamp has been replaced by a strange glowing cat light and there's a sticker on his computer tower. he buys a succulent and you have a little naming ceremony in your kitchen. and it lives, against all odds!

jihoon doesn't know the difference between a chaise and a sectional. cherry and mahogany look the same to him. and god forbid you ask him to choose between terrazzo and subway tile because he really thinks both of them look good and, no, he's not just saying that to make your life harder. jihoon isn't good at the hgtv stuff, but he's happy to move all the boxes. it's only when he's unpacking said boxes that he finally gets it. (the vase that came with the first bouquet of flowers he bought you. the record player you got him for your first anniversary, now fingerprinted, well-loved. matching valentine's day teddy bears, worn and baby pink.) you're standing on a stool stacked on top of another stool trying to hang a poster, and this is what home looks like.

seokmin wants to live in the ikea showrooms. you can't blame him--sometimes, when there's nothing better to do, you'll spend your afternoon in a bedroom that's not yours. seokmin will try on the lumpy blazer from the closet, and you'll beckon him to your sprawling king size bed, the one sat next to the painted on windows and floating shelves. honey, come to dinner, you'd say. he'll peek over your shoulder, arms wrapped around your middle, and you open the lid to a big, steaming pot of nothing. micke or lagkapten? you ask, completely unseriously. but he's thinking about it, really thinking about it. in his mind, he's building a home together, silly furniture piece by piece, counting down to the days when you really can agonize over plants and how many drawers you want in a desk.

when you got the keys to your new place, mingyu insisted you eat jajangmyeon to commemorate move-in day. unfortunately, he failed to account for the series of delays that led to you having absolutely no furniture to move in on said move-in day. but mingyu is nothing if not a man with a plan, so he runs to the store and buys the cheapest assortment of kitchen tools and ingredients for the world's most unlikely dinner. we really don't have to do this, you laugh, the backs of your legs cold on the kitchen counter. but i want to, he insists, holding out a spoon for you to taste. we have to christen the apartment. you eventually do christen it the right way (involving: lots of tongue, even more laughter), but you might prefer, just a tiny bit, the night you sat on the empty kitchen floor and fed mingyu out of a pan.

minghao has rearranged the living room four times now. every time you walk in, it feels like you've entered someone else's house. it doesn't look right, he says, hands on his hips like his life depended on it. you don't know how to tell him they all look right, every single version. in the first version, all cardboard furniture and plastic wrap, you gave up on deciphering the wifi setup and built a fort instead. the second involved an ottoman in the walkway, which you almost immediately stubbed your toe on (and laughed so hard you cried). in the third, the couch faced away from the adjoining room, and you accidentally spooked minghao so badly he almost broke his knitting needles. but it's all perfect, every iteration, because you're doing it together--a hypothesis he's more willing to believe when you shut him up with a kiss.

don't look now, but seungkwan is buying another doodad at your local sunday swap meet. it's a small painted figurine of a bear in a nightcap, which he simply points to and says that's me. you don't have it in you to mention the fact that you're currently unpacking his seemingly never-ending assortment of doodads and you couldn't possibly know where one more would go. it's only when you're getting ready for bed that you catch the little bear in the glow of the alarm clock light. there's already a turtle with a hat in the medicine cabinet (jeju, last summer). on top of the fridge, a woodcarving that says EAT. (tj maxx, 2 years ago. it still makes you laugh). even though you just moved, all these little seungkwan-isms make home a little more home.

you wouldn't call vernon a planner. his version of housewarming is watching you play the sims. but real life doesn't have nearly as much poolside drama or five story houses--just packing peanuts and 50 page appliance manuals. aren't boxes just drawers? vernon asked you one day. no, but that's how it always starts. two weeks after move-in, vernon cooks you breakfast with a pan procured from a cardboard box. by three weeks, you know the exact box everything is in. (you still haven't been able to find vernon's avril lavigne let go album, though.) it's only when you're eating dinner on top of the box that your dining table is in when you say, vernon, baby, i think we need to actually move in. he takes one look at you, who's wearing mismatched socks and his boxers because your shorts are underneath the tv box, and his smile nearly splits his cheeks. yeah, i think so too.

if you had asked chan what his dream house looked like, he would say it had a wraparound porch, a white picket fence, and a pool. your new apartment has none of those things. the length of your bedroom is a little more than one and a half times the length of his body and he's not even that tall. if he looks out the window he can see right into his neighbor's apartment (three cats and no bitches. almost like he's living next to wonwoo). and his feet stick out of the tub. but he's learning how to live in small spaces. he likes the squeeze of your bathroom, how you have to sit on the counter if you want to both brush your teeth together. he likes the bump of your elbows when you wash the dishes together. most of all, he likes falling asleep with you slotted to his side--even in your tiny bed, he wouldn't mind having you a little closer.

#sorry this took forever it got stupidly long #thank you for asking!!!!#ask #anon #mine #seventeen x you #seventeen fluff #seventeen imagines #svt fluff #svt imagines #seventeen scenarios #svt scenarios #svt x you #svt x reader #3k celebration

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the-cinnamontography-is-amazing · 1 month ago

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I'm thrilled to bring my first submission to @blind-dates-fest! Thank you to the wonderful @mercurygray for hosting this event! I've been saying forever we need more women in the OSS around here, so for the Band of Brothers fandom, I'd like to introduce my OC, Charlie Ayres! Here's a little vignette between her and our favorite S-2 officer, Nix, guest starring Harry Welsh. This is my first time diving into fanfic, so what better way to test the waters? I also love any chance to info dump about the OSS. This piece is in 1st POV, and heavily inspired by the song, No Choir by Florence + The Machine. Anyway, I hope everyone enjoys!

REPORT: LONDON STATION, OSS: 02/1945 AYRES, CHARLIE (SO) Agent en route to LONDON via MOURMELON, FR. Waiting on contact:

“Un autre verre, Madame?”

“Non, merci.”

My hand was tingling from the lack of circulation as I peeled my big head away—if my big head was smart, I’d down about three more drinks and continue to pretend I was back New York. Springtime, when the final grasps of winter eased up, and a cool breeze would sweep across our faces—before I let myself spiral into a deeper yearning, I stood up from the bar. Perhaps one day, I’ll yearn for this moment too. That’s what frightened me. Would I be able to stop the idealization of a place that I hardly existed in?

“Combien pour la boisson, Monsieur?” I asked the tired bartender.

“Deux, s’il vous plaît.”

I dropped a couple of coins on the counter, and lugged on my coat.

“Merci, Madame. Au revoir.”

“Bonne soirée,” I gave a halfhearted smile, and slipped out onto the corner of the street.

It felt much later than it truly was. The overcast of clouds made the sky darker, illuminating the wet streets in a blue haze, and although it was a bit warmer than yesterday, few people were out enjoying the shitty weather. A few soldiers here and there trying to escape boredom, trying to forget...

I headed down the cobblestone street, around the corner, and up to the hotel I was billeted at. My room was small, and if I was staying for more than two days, I might have gone crazy in the close quarters. I stripped off my coat and uniform jacket, tossing them on the chair in the corner of the room. I wasn’t sure if I should try to sleep, pace around like a caged animal, or stare at the chipped paint on the walls.

I settled on reading, and pulled out a book from my small suitcase—my only form of ‘off duty’ entertainment in these last few months. Intelligence doesn’t offer a lot of closet space. I threw myself on the creaky bed, noticing the dust fly up around the lamp, and opened where I left off. I only made it through the first page before I couldn’t stomach any more fantasy or adventure. Another thing I will miss about my pre-war life, my attention span. It seemed like the only things I could focus on were the timings of detonations, risk analysis, and the intra-political dealings of resistance groups.

I considered a second attempt in fixing the small radio propped on the side table, but I wouldn’t have the option to quit in a rage again. It would be considered in poor taste to show up at the bar for a second time in one evening.

I got up and dug through my bag to pull out a cigarette. I thought I had carefully planned out my stash, but only one laid in the silver case. I had promised myself that I would have the last one on the plane back to London. I didn’t smoke much before the war, and didn’t want to continue after. I don’t think I would be able to bare the taste again, taking my mind back to all those nights I’d rather forget—cheap cigarettes and incendiary powder… I started to get restless, irritated even. I wanted to be in London now, but was also disappointed I’d been called back. I had hoped for some closure for my time here, but it’s all ended with a quiet irreverence.

I walked over to the small window overlooking the street and threw it open for some air. Below, there were a two men enjoying a loud conversation. I didn’t like this aggravation that seemed to plague me over innocuous things. I’ve always been good at focusing my anger towards the things that matter. Maybe that was my problem… I haven’t blown anything up in awhile.

In my attempt to slam the window down, hoping that would grant me the catharsis I needed, a piece of the wooden ledge below the window frame came loose and fell two stories down. The two men jumped behind them starting at the splintered wood, then up at me.

Son of a bitch. I opened up the window again.

“Sorry.” I yelled down to the inquisitive eyes.

I quickly raced out of the room, down the stairs and onto the street while wrestling my jacket, all witnessed by a few concerned citizens as I rounded the corner. I slowed my gait and approached them hovering over the two by four, like they were watching bugs under a rock. I caught the edge of their eagle patches. Paratroopers.

“I’m so sorry, the window…got stuck.” I lied.

The men looked up at me with bright eyes. I braced for impact at the numerous ways this could go. One was shorter than the other, curly blonde hair, a lieutenant. The other man, completely opposite—tall, dark eyes and hair. A captain.

“It’s fine, windows have the tendency to fall out.” The Captain smirked as I picked up the wood.

“It’d be swell if they didn’t while I’m around.” I gazed up, "This is going to be fun to fix."

“Just charge it to Uncle Sam.” He smiled.

“One Sherman, one window…” I muttered. They both seemed to enjoy the joke. I let out a breath and focused back down to the sidewalk.

“Harry Welsh.” The Lieutenant stuck out his hand, wasting no time. “Or should I salute…Captain?” He gazed at my bars on my epaulets.

“Handshake is fine.” I smiled, awkwardly moving the wood piece to my other hand. “Charlie Ayres.”

“Pleasure,” Harry smiled.

“Lewis Nixon.” The Captain extended his hand.

“Hi.” I nodded, returning the pleasantries.

“So what brings you to Mourmelon? You with the WAC’s?” Harry asked.

“I’m with Intelligence, actually. Just passing through.” I bit my lip, wondering if they would actually believe me.

“Boy, you’re in luck,” Harry shook Lewis’ shoulder, “Nix here is our trusty, S-2 officer.”

“Ah,” I glanced towards the Captain, he was looking down, humbled at his friend’s flattery.

“I’m sure you both have a lot in common,” Harry slyly glanced between the both of us for several uncomfortable seconds.

“Weren’t you on your way to send a letter Kitty?” Lewis teased, breaking the stagnation.

“Yeah, I am.” Harry narrowed his eyes, all too aware of what he was alluding. “I also better go make sure Dick isn’t having a wild night out.”

Lewis laughed, “Yeah right. I’ll catch up with you later.” It seemed like there was a joke between them I was not privy to.

“Captain, pleasure to meet you. Good luck with the window.” He half saluted—almost bowed over for that matter, and turned on his heels.

“Thanks.” I nodded. We awkwardly stood there for a moment, watching Harry fade into the distance. I examined the dumb piece of wood—It’d be a good piece of shrapnel to plant somewhere.

“So, intelligence huh?” Lewis asked. I shifted my weight, pretending like I just wasn’t planning a detailed method of destruction,

“Uh huh—you don't have to stick around on my account, I think I can manage—”

“OSS?” he nodded to the pins on my jacket.

“Well, I’m not SOE.” I quipped.

“Right.” He pulled out a pack of cigarettes, placing one in between his lips. “I’ve come across a few of you, well not—”

“A woman?”

“Yeah,” he said after a few painful seconds. I don’t think he knew how to respond to my bluntness. He offered the pack over, as to make up for any possible inconsiderations.

“Thanks, I was just teasing.” I stuck one between my own lips. “Though I should be offering you some, since I almost killed you with a window.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time dodging things from the sky, ” he snickered and lit his own, then offered me the light.

“I’m sure.” I took a full drag. “You guys in the 101st got the hell beat out of you.”

“A few times.” His tone was less playful, but still blasé about the whole thing.

“I should also apologize for Market Garden on behalf of intelligence.”

“What?” He laughed with an edge of nervousness, furrowing his eyebrows.

“Actually your grievances should lie more with the British. They didn’t trust the Dutch resistance groups…” I stopped myself from saying anymore out loud. Although the war was pretty much decided at this point, the Germans were still hanging on. I better not test any luck.

“Can’t disagree with that.” The Captain sighed.

“Holland is a great place to jump though. All flat.” I smiled.

“You jumped into Holland?” He turned to me with furrowed eyebrows.

“No,” I took another drag. A smug smile crept across his face, one that all men share when they are proven right.

“I was too busy jumping in and out of France. My Dutch isn’t all that great anyway.” I returned the smug disposition. Outside of bad timing and poor communications, SFHQ sent the Jedburghs in the day of the invasion. No time to mount a true resistance against the Nazis. In France, we spent months coordinating sabotage and resistance after D-Day and beyond. The Netherlands seemed to be the middle child in the invasion of Europe.

“Anyway, doesn’t really matter now,” I snapped back into reality, forgoing my detailed explanation, “There’s nothing wrong with extending things for six more months.” I shrugged.

This time he let out a genuine laugh, “Yeah, wouldn’t want to end the fun.”

He looked ahead, finishing the cigarette while gazing down the street. It seems like we shared the same dark circles under our eyes.

“You wanna get a drink?” He abruptly asked. I quickly looked away to avoid being caught staring,

“Maybe one. I’ve already reached my limit for the night.” I said.

“It’s only six o’clock?” He looked at his watch.

“I like an early start, so by the time happy hour hits, I can go straight to regret.” I dryly said.

“Right, a spy can’t loose their inhibitions.” He teased.

“I’m not a spy—in the technical sense.” I muttered. “But don’t let me stop you, if you had something else planned.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that.” He smiled.

“What did you have in mind?”

“How about that small place around the corner?”

“Would you believe that’s the exact place I reached my limit?” I cocked my head back towards the building.

“You think the bartender took the night off after you left?” He smiled.

I shrugged, “If he’s a good union bartender.”

“I suppose we could go back to my side of town?” He suggested.

“I don’t know, I’m not quite used to…standing out.”

“Why would you? You’re a captain, you jump out of planes?” He reassurance was strangely comforting.

“Right, nothing else unusual about me.” I pondered my options—a bartender that might judge, or some decent quarters to hang out in with the risk of ogling paratroopers. Lewis caught onto my contemplation,

“We can sneak you in the back, if you really don’t want to be noticed. Should be easy for a spy.” He smiled. “I think it’d be fun.”

I rolled my eyes, “I’ll come if you stop calling me a spy.”

“I didn’t think you were a real spy…in the technical sense?” He quoted me almost perfectly.

“You should know saying that out loud, has the potential to be very compromising.” I snipped.

“You think Germans are around?” He stepped closer. “Next to an airbase full of paratroopers?”

“I see you didn’t watch your training videos.”

“It’s been awhile.” He is charming, I’ll give him that.

“Let me go up and grab my coat,” I realized the wood was still in my hand, “And dispose of this.”

“You need help with the window?”

“Well, you’re more than welcome to come up to safety.”

We made our way back around the corner,

“So is Charlie a nickname?” He asked.

“Yeah, I don’t like Charlotte.” I said. “And it also lets me…blend in more, on paper at least.”

“Makes sense. How long are you here for?”

“Uh, until tomorrow night.”

“Then to?”

“Back to London, the states, maybe east, I don’t know.” I had a feeling my field work would be over and I’d be stuck in a lab with Dr. Lovell or at that uppity country club, training men who won’t listen.

“Damn, no jumping into Berlin?”

“Afraid not.” I exhaled.

“I’ll send a postcard.”

“I’ll be looking out for it.” I looked down, trying not to smile too much. It felt strange… We got back to the hotel, and I ran into the receptionist on our way up the stairs.

“Ah Madame, je suis désolé pour la fenêtre…” I quickly explained what happened as Lewis lingered a few steps behind me. The woman was very forgiving, even apologetic. She took the wood, and of course, her face was painted with that specific look of judgement, while passing Lewis on the stairs. That would not be happening tonight. Lewis looked a little embarrassed himself.

"You have good accent." he said.

"Thanks. It could be better."

"Better than mine." He confessed.

We continued up the stairs and to my room. The door was locked,

“Shit,” I dug around my trouser pockets.

“Do you have a key?” He asked.

“Yeah, in there.” I sighed. “It must’ve latched while I ran out.”

“Should we call after the woman?”

“Let me see if I can break in first.” I started to jiggle the door handle. “Oh, so the window falls apart but not the door?” I groveled, as I shoved my shoulder into it.

“Let me try.” Lewis offered, attempting the same move to no avail.

“You’ve gotta have some sort of spy gadget on you, right?” He smirked.

I glared at him while I was already pulling out a hairpin. I knelt down and started picking the lock.

“Did they teach you that, or was that a prerequisite skill?” He continued. Despite many fellow members of the OSS having nefarious backgrounds, the principle of the comment irritated me,

“No, they taught me, but if you must know, I have a background in engineering. Picking the lock was the easiest option, sans blowing off the door.”

I got it unlatched and kicked open the door, obnoxiously waving my hand, gesturing for him to enter.

“Engineering, huh?” He said, while walking in. He seemed to be impressed.

“Yeah, know any?” I quipped, following him into the room.

“I may have studied some of it.”

“Where?” I headed towards the window.

“Yale. You?”

I was glad the sound of the window closing covered any physical cringe I may have shown due to my under-assumption, Of course he comes from wealth...I turned back towards him,

“Cornell. Physics and chemistry—on a scholarship.” I didn’t want him to think my parents bought my way in. I was proud of working my way up from nearly nothing. “I was working on my doctoral degree when this all broke out.”

He whistled, “Impressive.”

“Cause I’m not a man?” I laughed, grabbing my coat off the chair.

“No, not at all.” he started to get flustered. “I mean, good for you. That’s great.”

I was being unfair, he has been nothing but gracious. I’m always primed for a knee-jerk reaction.

“Thanks. Did you like engineering?” I asked.

“Yeah, it was alright,” He didn’t seem interested in talking about himself. I had no interest either. For once in my life, I was content with inconsequential conversation.

“But let me guess,” he followed up, “You’re in demolitions?”

“Something like that.” I narrowed my eyes, I don’t enjoy guessing games.

“Don’t worry, I won’t pry. Classified information.” He mocked.

“Physical sabotage is only a small part of my work, even if could tell you, there isn’t a whole lot of interest to share.”

“Oh I’m sure there’s at least one crumbled bridge in Europe with your name on it.” He mused.

There were buildings, modes of transportation, even people, all with my name on them. I shook my head, as if I could erase it all.

“Only one bridge, but that was a group effort.” I admitted.

He enjoyed the comment, “I don’t know, that’s pretty interesting.”

“I appreciate the support.” I let out a quiet, involuntary laugh as I took a seat on the edge of the bed. “I hardly remember doing it.”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure you will when this is all over.”

“That’s a frightening thought.”

“Oh I know.” He took a few steps over and sat in the chair. “It’ll make for a good story.”

“I’m not going to be in any history book.” I relaxed, fumbling with the buttons on my coat.

“You could write it yourself?” He suggested.

“And do you, Captain Nixon, have a desire to write a book?” I leaned towards him, lifting the corner of my mouth.

“Why would I write about all this? Then I’d have to re-read it.” He scoffed.

“I don’t know, for someone else too? Historical representation?” I agreed with his sentiments, but I’d like to think there could be a greater purpose to it all.

“Then what’s stopping you?” He retorted. I knew he was trying to get an answer out of me. I sighed, gazing down to my boots,

“I don’t know. How often do you think the whole story gets told in those books? I’m not good at exaggerating things.”

“There is always some truth to it somewhere.” His gaze was on the edge of the chair, fidgeting with the old threads.

“I’m not so sure I could do that either.” I furrowed my eyes, forming my lips into a straight line. “I’m too good at censoring my own thoughts.” I attempted to laugh to lighten the mood, but instead it was just a shaky exhale.

“Yeah, better to forget the details...” His smile slowly faded into a stark indifference, but his eyes gave away something deeper. We said nothing for several moments.

His eyes soften as he caught my gaze. I almost felt like I was standing in front of a mirror; two sets of brown eyes, dark circles...two people so deeply indulged in their own delusions, as if that would protect our sanities. Then again, maybe I'm just projecting myself... He looked away after a moment, I think he was becoming unsettled.

“Well,” I sprung up, breaking the silence, “Here is to forgetting. Shall we start?”

“Good idea—” Lewis stopped the upright momentum and reached behind his back, “What’s this?” He held up the green, baseball sized device.

“A beano.” I said matter of factly. It must’ve fallen out of my coat pocket.

“Looks like a grenade.” He quickly stood up, following me to the door.

“Cause it is.” I put my coat on. He wasn’t concerned per se, but it looked like he was doing a math problem. Causal concentration to his predicament.

“It’s a dud, I’m pretty sure.” I smiled, I knew it was safe, but I wondered if I could pull any other emotion or reaction out of him.

“Pretty sure?” He laughed, eyes still narrowed on the device.

“It’s a prototype, really. You can pull the top off and everything. Supposed to throw it like a baseball.”

“Model or not, it would get people to listen.” he muttered.

“I would offer it to you but ya know, classified materials.”

“I appreciate the gesture.” He carefully set it on the side table.

“Well, I have been instructed to cooperate with the armed forces.” I smirked, quoting the endless OSS manuals as we stepped out the door.

Notes:

I know first person POV is a little uncommon for fic, but I love getting directly into the heads of characters! I also wanted to make this historically accurate as possible, referencing elements of the OSS and its operations. If anyone wants to learn more about the OSS, especially the role of women in the organization, check out my tag! This is a long piece, so if you make it to the end, thank you so much! 🫶

#I literally have to stop myself from rereading and becoming perfectionist about this so just sending it out as is!#writing #my writing #blind dates fest 2025 #OC Charlie Ayres #band of brothers fandom #bandofbrothersedit

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