#and it hurts. there's still love. but it hurts. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thelov3lybookworm · 3 days ago

Text

Flicker Out

Summary: Azriel's chest becomes hollow, and the place where once love bloomed, only emptiness remained.

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Word Count: 1950

Warnings: angst, angst, death (but she comes back) az in agony, a lil bit of me being poetic ofc 🤭 did i mention angst? oh and more angst and angst

A/n: based on this request by an anon. i adore this request and it was litterally one of my fav ones to write. i just couldnt stop writing once i started tbh 🥹

(@potatoplace this is the fic i mentioned hehehe 🤭😏)

anyways, enjoyyy🥹🤭

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There was almost nothing that could distract Azriel when he was locked in battle. He could not afford to let his mind stray from plotting the next defence, the next manoeuvre, the next attack. It was almost similar to a dance, except he did not know the song and hated his partner, and he also had to be mindful of anyone who might attack him while he was focused on this waltz between life and death.

The soldier whose sword had come within an inch of Azriel’s throat- only the second one since the battle began, unsurprisingly- sneered at Azriel, his teeth stained red and almost half of his face slashed by a vicious stab wound.

Azriel almost pitied the male. Almost. And only because he knew a thing or two about having untreatable scars after escaping the clutches of death.

Still, Azriel heaved his whole body weight against his sword forcing the soldier to yield a step. Azriel’s eyes moved quickly, searching for places the soldier might have left open for him to attack, and gleefully, Azriel noted that his ribs were open. His armour seemed to have chipped off in a corner, and seemed a size entirely too big.

That’s stupid, but good for me.

Azriel moved his blade away from his opponents, swiftly bringing it down to the side of his ribs. The blade had almost touched the male’s unarmoured body when Azriel faltered.

Too empty.

Void.

How?

Azriel breathed in, his eyes losing their focus before a sharp sting brought his attention to the dagger that now seemed to have befriended the skin and bones of his thigh. He looked up, feeling the blood drain from the wound on his thigh- though the concern was in the back of his mind- and his heart. The place where constant love from his mate flowed, a gaping wound had appeared. That hurt more than any fatal wound to his body could.

How?

Azriel did not see nor hear anything around him, his consciousness too busy scrambling to figure out why he could no longer feel her. But it was the warrior instincts in him that his peers had drilled into him, making him instinctively raise his sword, eyes slowly moving to meet the spooked gaze of his enemy, and within the moment, those same eyes stared up at the open, vast sky, unseeing and unfeeling.

But Azriel was already bolting towards where he had felt the last pump of love coming from, and nothing and no one, even the mother, could have stopped him from cutting through the soldiers trying to get in his way as smoothly and viciously as a hot knife cut through butter.

Y/n. Please.

Azriel’s chest heaved, tiny needles stinging his sides and the muscles in his thigh protesting, but still, he ran. Ran towards his love, the one he doubted but refused to admit was…

Gone.

Azriel spread his wings, despite knowing it would just drain his energy faster. He could not walk through his shadows either. They were tired too. Running took too much out of him, and flying would take him to her faster, even if it hurt his muscles and wounded wings.

Please. Just please stay.

From the height his wings took him to, he looked around, and then leaned forward, gliding through the air and riding the breeze that took him closer to where his mate was.

The first thing he saw was a small crowd of his family members. Mainly, Rhys, Feyre and Cassian. The second thing he saw as he touched the ground was the cauldron.

And then…

Y/n.

She lay motionless on the ground, staring up at the sky.

And in that moment, Azriel didn’t care that Rhys stood over his sister’s body, crying. Azriel did not care that his family members who did not know of his relationship with Y/n stared at him wide eyed as he pushed them away from her.

He simply dropped to his knees, his thigh protesting. But he gently grabbed Y/n’s cold hand, his own scarred ones shaking and covered in blood. He let loose a ragged breath, eyes filling up with water as he stared into the empty gaze of his beloved.

He screamed.

A loud, wordless scream ripped from his chest, the sheer pain and longing and regret echoing through the battlefield, even worlds not his own. His heart no longer beat in that familiar, unnoticeable rhythm people come to ignore most of the time, instead beating like a wardrum.

Hollow and empty, but still too loud for him to not hear.

Where once love bloomed, only sadness and pain remained, and Azriel continued screaming.

When he could no longer scream, he weeped.

He let his forehead rest on his mate’s chest, and he wept. Deep, sorrowful sobs ripping from his throats. They were as deep and powerful and soft as his love for his mate.

And when he couldn’t weep, he whimpered. Sorry, quiet whimpers resembling the silence and lack of warmth in his body and the bond that had once tied the bridge between two souls. The sounds escaping him were low, almost silent, but they were just as loud and impactful as his silent love for Y/n when they could not afford to love freely and loudly.

Azriel’s shadows had regained enough of their power to brush against his ears, his hair and shoulder like Y/n’s hands had once touched him, gentle and soothing and calming.

But there was no calming now, for the storm rising from the shattered pieces of his heart would no longer let him live in peace.

The only peace for him now was death and burial with his beloved.

"Az." The unmistakable shakiness in Rhysand’s voice made Azriel raise his head and meet the sorrowful eyes on his friend.

Azriel said nothing, only letting his eyes wander and take in the crowd that had only grown bigger since he had arrived. The high lords, all seven of them, stared down at him, some with tears in their eyes, like Rhysand, Helion and Tarquin. Some with empathy and pity, like Thesan and Kallias. And then some with quiet sadness and understanding, like Tamlin and Beron.

Under other circumstances, Azriel would have wondered why Beron looked like he knew and had been through what Azriel was experiencing, but in the moment as he tightened his grip around his mate’s hand and curled closer to her cooling body, he could not care less.

"Az," Rhys repeated. "What are you doing?"

But Rhys looked like he already knew what Azriel was doing. So Azriel said nothing, just let his forehead go back to resting on her shoulder.

Muffled words surrounded Azriel, but he heard none of them as he focused on somehow reaching his mate. There must be some way, some sort of… connection to bring her back. Maybe her lingering soul.

Something, anything.

Moments later, Azriel felt a familiar hand grip his shoulder. Despite his lack of will to look at the person, he lifted his head slightly to meet Cassian’s gaze.

"Move back, they’re trying to bring her back."

Azriel stared at Cassian, the words looping in his head for a moment before he could truly process them, then he nodded and scooted back. It was almost unrealistic, but still, Azriel was a drowning male and the hope a wood plank that he latched on without thought.

Azriel watched as Rhysand stepped forward and lifted his hand, staring at it for a moment, tears rolling down his cheeks before he turned his hand, a drop of moonlight dropping straight onto Y/n’s chest.

All the high lords took turns repeating the action one after another, and Azriel watched numbly, still on his knees on the ground, refusing to lose hope but at the same time forcing himself to not hope.

At last, Tamlin stepped away from Y/n’s body, and Azriel leaned forward, his eyes wide as he waited for that feeling to take root in his chest again, the one he had cherished for the past ten years.

But nothing happened for a long moment, and the flame of hope that had begun warming his insides began to flicker out.

"Rhys." Azriel mumbled, his voice cracking. "What happened? Why is she not…"

"Oh Az." Cassian whispered, wrapping an arm around Azriel’s shoulder from the back.

Azriel just stared at her. "Why?"

Long moments passed, and then…

There.

Life.

Just life, pure and untainted, began glowing at the end of the bond, and Azriel laughed.

He laughed, tears pouring from his eyes.

"Az?"

It took Azriel a while to form the two words he uttered, the smile on his face making it impossible to speak.

"She’s back."

Azriel felt Rhysand’s gaze on him, but after Y/n’s eyes slid closed, his gaze was ripped away.

Then Y/n opened her eyes again, blinking twice before her eyes found Azriel’s, unprompted and instinctive.

"Hey." She whispered, and Azriel laughed again. He leaped forward and tackled her into a hug, his hands shaking worse than they had before.

"Hey." He whispered in her ear, and she giggled, patting his back before she stopped suddenly.

"Az… Rhys."

Azriel pulled away, glancing up. He did not care about what Rhys might do to him anymore, considering he had very nearly lost his mate without even having the chance to scream and proclaim his love for her from the tops of Velaris’s mountains like he had sworn to her he would one day. Rhys’s wrath was the least of his worries.

Everyone who was not a part of the inner circle had departed while Azriel had been busy breathing in the fact that Y/n was alive, that she was here. Rhysand stood with his arms folded against his chest, in that protective stance every brother had when it came to their sisters.

But there was that slight tilt to the corner of his lips, a happiness in his stern eyes.

Azriel could not tell if it was because of Y/n being alive or something else.

"Uh…" Y/n mumbled, sitting up. "Hey, Rhys."

He sighed, rubbing his brows as Azriel helped Y/n stand. He quietly stepped forward and gathered his little sister in his arms, holding her close to his heart as Azriel watched, his chest feeling full again.

Though a certain hollowness lingered, and Azriel almost knew it would follow him around like the ghost of his past.

Rhysand pulled away, holding the back of Y/n’s head.

"I don’t know what you two have been up to, and frankly, I don’t think I even want to know, but I will not interfere. When you’re ready, I want to know everything." He glanced at Azriel, the single glance telling Azriel he would have been ten feet under ground by now if his sister was not watching.

Azriel dipped his head, gaze moving back to Y/n. She smiled at him, reaching out to take his hands.

Rhys turned to Feyre, taking her hand too. "Freshen up, rest. Then we’ll talk."

Cassian was already gone, left to find Nesta by the time Rhys winnowed Feyre away. Azriel turned fully to Y/n then.

"Don’t you dare do that again."

She giggled, grabbing his collar and pulling him down. She pecked his cheek, then turned her head to rest it against his chest as he lifted his arms in a practised motion to hold her close.

"Will try."

He pinched her waist, making her squeal. He savoured the simplicity of the moment before pecking the crown of her head.

"I love you, Y/n."

The bond flickered.

And stayed.

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moody-alcoholic · 2 days ago

Text

Part 2 as promised.

Part 1

CW: Dead dove don’t eat, assault, mentions of SA, torture, suicidal thoughts, hurt/comfort.

_____________________

Ghost flicks the ash off his cigarette.

“Do we know who we’re looking for?" Gaz asks. It's a pointless question. They know who they’re looking for. You’ve been mentioning a guy at work who has been getting a little too handsy.

You were going to confront him in the new year with your boss. You didn’t want to ruin anyone's Christmas, now yours is ruined.

People are starting to leave the office building now, it’s just past midnight. They watch in silence concealed in the darkness down an alleyway a few buildings from your workplace. Maybe this was the alley you were found down. It’s dark and cold, the businesses are all closed, it would have been easy to coerce you down, it makes his stomach drop. Someone hurt you, he hurt you.

“Should have taken care of this sooner.” Gaz says. Ghost just hums watching as the lights in the buildings go off. The last few people are filtering out the building. Ghost straightens up flicking his cigarette but to the floor.

“That’s him.” Ghost says, blowing out the smoke before reaching up to pull the familiar balaclava down over his face.

_____________________

When the police arrive you feel somewhat sober. Your body is sore, your head throbbing. Seeing them walk in with all their gear makes you nervous. All of a sudden you feel like you’ve done something wrong.

Johnny never leaves your side, he holds your hand stroking it with his thumb while the female officer asks you questions you don’t know how to answer. You still can’t remember what happened. You can piece it together though, you can tell by the hushed voices and the somber looks from people.

The worst is the pain, the ache in your body every time you move, the bruises hurt the most. Sometimes Johnny runs his fingers over them, his eyes going dark and he lets out a sigh. John stands at the end of the bed still, his gaze never leaves you unless someone enters the room. You just want to go home.

The most embarrassing part is when they have to take pictures of your injuries. Your swollen eye is now turning black and blue. There’s bruises around your neck, talking hurts, swallowing’s worse. The nurse gives you more painkillers but it just makes you feel sick.

John talks with the officers and the nurse after they’re done. Johnny tries to keep your attention on him. You feel embarrassed, the nurse said they did a rape kit, you don’t even remember that, the police need to take it for evidence. That makes silent tears come, you can’t stop them.

“C’mon, none of that love.” Johnny says reaching up to brush them away.

“I want to go home,” you sob.

“We’ll be home soon, promise,” he smiles. You want a shower, you want to scrub your body clean. You feel dirty, your stomach is turning as your mind wanders to the unthinkable. You hope you never remember what happened, you fear you won’t be so lucky.

_____________________

Ghost’s fist meets his cheek, his nose is broken, his jaw will be next. Not now though, now they need him to talk.

“Price says he’s on his way.” Gaz says as he walks back over to him. “Asked you not to kill him.” Ghost just grunts.

Ryan, that's his name. You never mentioned that to them, you didn’t mention much just that he was making you uncomfortable. Gaz was right they should have dealt with this sooner. They shouldn’t have let you go to the party alone. Even before you left you had reservations.

Ryan hasn’t said much. He was very drunk when they picked him up. He seems pretty sober now, he’s scared.

Good, he should be.

Ghost wonders if you were scared, when you were assaulted. It doesn’t seem like you remember much, for your sake he hopes it stays that way.

The door to the secluded warehouse opens, the sound of slamming metal echoes in the space. John bought this place a few months ago, used to store scrap metal. The place still smells of rust, but it’s outside the city center, it’s quiet and that's all they need.

Price walks over coming out of the darkness. He doesn’t say a word, just takes in the scene. Ryan looks up, his eyes glued on the new person walking up to him. Price grabs the back of a chair and places it in front of him before sitting down.

“Ryan, right?” He asks. The man nods. “Had a good night? He doesn’t move.

“Do you like your job?” He nods again. Price leans forward. “So, let's have a chat about what happened tonight.”

“Nothing happened tonight,” he says, swallowing hard. Price smiles at him for a second before sitting back up.

“Let’s try that again. What happened at the party?” Ryan looks confused for a second. Blood is still dripping from his nose, Price sighs this is going to be a long night.

“Wait, is this all about her?” He asks looking up past Price at Ghost. “Look I don’t know what you think happened but she came onto me.”

Price hums his hands gripping his thighs before getting up and moving the chair away. “Thing is, I just don’t believe you.” Ghost steps back over to him.

“I’m telling the truth.” He pleads.

“Nope, try again.” Price says. Ghost’s fist crashes into Ryans face. His head snaps uncomfortably, he spits blood coughing.

“So what happened at the party?” Price asks again.

“Who the fuck even are you!?” He shouts looking round at the 3 men standing in front of him.

“That doesn’t matter.” Price says, Ryan scoffs spitting again.

“Why do you care?” He asks, looking around at everyone.

“It’s a simple question.” Price says bending down so his head is level with his face. “We can be here all night. Or you can be honest with us.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He says, there’s a shake in his voice. The adrenaline and alcohol pumping through his system is filling him with confidence. They have to break that first. Price sighs moving back to stand with Gaz.

This time Ghost’s fist slams into his stomach. He buckles over in pain, crying out as he pants. Price doesn’t wait, striding over to him grabbing his hair, pulling his head back.

“Okay, okay. But she was drunk!” He shouts, trying to fight Price’s grip. His arms and legs are tied to the chair. Price doesn’t let go of his head holding it back as far as it will go.

“No. Try again.” Price says through gritted teeth.

“I didn't do anything!” He says between breaths. Price looks up at Ghost and nods, Ghost unfolds his arms going back over to the car.

“We can make this very uncomfortable for you. All we need is the truth.” Price says, pulling his head again.

“I don’t know anything.” There’s a whimper in his voice, a crack in his confidence. They're getting there. Price forces his head straight as Ghost comes back over to them twirling the knife in his hand. Ryans eyes go wide, his arms and legs pulling on the restraints. Price keeps his grip firm on his head forcing him to look at Ghost’s hulking figure moving towards him.

“Last chance.” Price says. Ryan doesn’t say anything, his eyes still locked onto Ghost.

“I-I didn't-” He sucks in a breath of air swallowing. “She was drunk!”

Price sighs, shaking his head. He looks up at Ghost, he can see the disgust behind his lieutenants eyes.

Ghost plunges the knife into his thigh. Price lets go of Rhyn’s head as he screams.

_____________________

John left almost an hour ago. Johnny recommended a bath instead of a shower, so you could soak and warm up. He gets in the bath with you pulling your back up against his chest as you sit between his legs. The bath was a good idea, the water is almost too hot but you don’t mind.

It feels good to be in Johnny’s arms. He helps you rub soap over your body. He’s gentle, pressing kisses on your shoulders avoiding your neck. You sigh, relaxing back into him. Your head is still stuffy, it feels like you’ve been run over by a truck.

“Where is everyone?” You ask.

“Out, they’ll be back soon don’t worry.” He says his voice is warm in your ear. His arms squeeze you closer to him. The memories of the night seem to be just out of reach, you remember a face though.

“I know who it was,” you say your voice catches in your throat.

“Shh, we don’t have to talk about it.” His hand comes to push hair behind your ear. You smile, you don’t want to talk about it but maybe it will help.

“I have work tomorrow.” Your stomach sinks. The thought of going back to that place with him there. Having to spend the days avoiding him, brushing off his hands as they squeeze your ass or his fingers press against your breasts. You were going to talk to your boss about him in the new year.

“No you don’t, don’t worry about anything.” He says kissing your shoulder again. You shiver, the water has lost its heat. Johnny shifts pushing you forward.

“C’mon let’s get you into bed. You’ll feel better after a good sleep.” You don’t know if you believe him but he gets out the bath leaving you alone and cold. You feel dirty, used. You feel panic rising in your chest. As soon as you hear the door to the room open you lay down in the tub closing your eyes and holding your breath.

Your mind goes back to the alley, it’s like flashes in your vision, the dump trash bin you’re uncomfortably bent over. A hand over your mouth then round your neck. The pain, the pain is unbelievable. You don’t remember how it happened, how you ended up there, the next thing you remember is a party of drunk women finding you. Then the paramedics showed up.

Your lungs burn but you don’t care. You deserve the pain. Hands grip your arms pulling you up out of the water.

“Christ love,” Johnny says, holding you against him as you pant sucking in breaths of air. The panting turns to sobbing. He reaches, pulling the plug out the bath and picking you up in his arms.

“I know, love I know.” He takes you into the bedroom putting you down on the bed. You pull your legs up to your chest. Johnny dries you, rubbing you down while you sob. He brings pyjamas over, he helps you change, pulling the fresh clothes on you. You still feel dirty, maybe it will always be like this. You don’t want it to be like this.

“It hurts.” You say as he climbs into bed behind you. His arms wrap around you pulling your back against his chest.

“You’re okay lass, you’re safe.” He kisses the top of your head. It’s not, it's not going to be okay. You just hope whatever the others are doing they’re safe. You miss them, you want to see them again. You want everything to go back to normal

…

Simon crawls into the bed with you and Johnny. You’re asleep on Johnny’s chest. He shuffles up against your back wrapping his arm around you both. His hair is still wet from the shower. He kisses the top of your head. Johnny stirs feeling a hand grip his hip.

“Did you get him?” Johnny asks, his voice still sleepy.

“Yeah, we got him.”

_____________________

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ikeuluvr · 2 days ago

Text

Baby, can we make up now? || sunghoon drabble

synopsis - bf!sunghoon and reader comforting each other and making up after you walk out during a fight (part 2 of I don’t wanna go to bed mad at you…)

non-idol!sunghoon x reader / established relationship - angst + fluff / warnings - crying, fighting/arguments, mentions of neglect / word count: ~1k

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It was a rarity for you and Sunghoon to fight like this—so badly that swears are echoing off of the walls and choked sobs escape both of your lips. Any arguments the two of you may have were typically nothing more than about picking up dirty socks off of the bedroom floor or making sure to turn off the lights before leaving the apartment. In the three years you’ve been together, you had never had a fight so severe until tonight. The whole situation was surely a result of pent up frustration and exhaustion from your daily lives, but that didn’t make the words hurt any less.

You let out a shaky breath as you approach the door of you and Sunghoon’s shared apartment, resting your hand on the door knob as you try to suck in the tears threatening to already escape. With a gentle twist, you push the door open to enter the dimly-lit space. Before you could mutter a single word, make any sound, or even take off your shoes, the warmth of Sunghoon’s body was quickly being wrapped around you. The silence was immediately broken by the sound of his small sobs and sniffles into your neck, instantly making your own tears start to fall again. You wrapped your arms around his body and held him close as if he would vanish into thin air if you didn’t. The two of you stood in the doorway just like this; your bodies pressed together and choked cries filling the common area for a few minutes more.

“I’m- I’m s-so- I’m so sorry Y/N,” Sunghoon manages to stutter out against your neck, his arms squeezing you even tighter if at all possible, “I’m such a- I’m such a fucking idiot.”

You gently shake your head as you slightly pull away from him, making his head raise to look at your face. A pang of guilt rushed through your body at the sight of his red and puffy eyes, his nose a bright pink from all of the crying—his eyelashes soaked in tears as more kept falling down his face. You let out a deep sigh as you reached up to cup his cheeks, wiping away the tears with your thumbs. Sunghoon’s eyes fluttered shut, causing a few more to fall as he leaned into your touch.

“It’s okay my love,” you breathed out in a small whisper, “We are both going through a lot right now and just ended up taking it out on each other… I know you didn’t mean it.”

Sunghoon takes a deep breath and keeps his hands on your waist, rubbing small circles with his thumbs, “I know but I still shouldn’t have said what I did. It came out so wrong and it made you think I didn’t love you and that-” he pauses and squeezes his eyes closed tight while letting out another sob, “that is the last thing I ever want you to feel from me.”

“Oh sweetie…” you say under your breath before taking his hand into yours and walking a few steps to the couch to sit the both of you down, “Let’s take a few deep breaths first, hm?” you suggest as the both of you take a seat, knowing that if Sunghoon didn’t stop crying now, he never would. You take a couple deep breaths together, letting both of your emotions settle. A soft smile tugs at the corners of your lips as Sunghoon nods to you, letting you know he’s ready to talk.

Sunghoon holds your hands in his, taking a brief second to collect his thoughts before he begins to speak, “Y/N, I’m so sorry. For the argument, for what I said, for making you feel the way you did, for causing you to walk out… I was just-” he pauses to take another breath, “I was frustrated and my mouth started working faster than my brain was.”

You give him a small nod to let him know you’re listening, your eyes never leaving his face even for a brief second, “I know, Sunghoon. I was irritated too, and I surely also said things that I know I shouldn’t have. Besides, I was the one who started it so it’s really my fault,” you say, your voice growing softer as you look down at your hands intertwined in your lap.

“What?” Sunghoon questions, his eyebrows furrowing, “Look at me baby,” he tells you as he brings one hand up to your chin, gently tilting your head up to look him in the eyes, “I deserved it, honestly. You were right. I’ve been neglecting you and treating you like a second priority to my work and that’s just unfair to you.”

“But I also need to be more understanding that you-”

“No buts,” Sunghoon immediately cuts you off, moving his hand from your chin to cup your cheek, “You are my life, Y/N. You are my first priority in every way possible, and I intend to make sure what’s what you receive from me until we’re six feet under. There is nothing on this planet that will ever be more important than you, understand?” he explains a bit more firmly, making sure your eyes never leave his.

“Yeah love… I understand,” you reply in a soft whisper, a tiny smile trying to make its way onto your lips.

With a soft sigh, Sunghoon plants a gentle kiss to your forehead and pulls you in for another embrace, your head fitting perfectly in the crook of his neck as his chin rests on top of your head, “Baby, can we make up now? Cause I can’t sleep through the pain.”

A quiet chuckle leaves your lips as you nuzzle impossibly closer into his chest, “Yeah babe… we’re okay.”

“I love you with my whole heart, Y/N. Never forget that.”

“And I love you with all of mine, Sunghoon.”

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masterlist

#enhypen #enhypen x reader #enhypen au #enhypen scenarios #enhypen fluff #enhypen angst #enhypen imagines #enhypen sunghoon #enhypen sunghoon x reader #enha sunghoon #sunghoon drabbles #sunghoon imagines #sunghoon #park sunghoon #sunghoon fluff #sunghoon angst #ikeuluvrcreations #ikeuluvrsongseries #Spotify

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loveesiren · 1 day ago

Note

What about jj saving rafes gf instead of Sarah when she falls off the boat? Even though jj and Rafe hate each other

of course babes! sorry this took a while, i hope you enjoy! :)

𝕆𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕓𝕠𝕒𝕣𝕕

warnings: not proofread, language, slight angst

wc: 2.4k+

Before you were Rafe Cameron’s girl, you were a Pogue through and through. You grew up with JJ and John B, learning to boat, fish, and work hard for the things you wanted. Life was simple but full, with endless summer days spent on the water and nights filled with laughter. When Pope and Kiara joined your crew, it felt like your family was complete—especially since having Kiara around meant you finally had someone who understood what it was like to be a girl surrounded by all that chaotic, masculine energy.

But things changed when you caught the attention of Rafe Cameron. At first, it seemed impossible. A Kook and a Pogue? The idea alone was laughable. Yet, against all odds, there was something magnetic about Rafe—a spark you couldn’t ignore. And to your surprise, he felt it too. It wasn’t long before stolen glances turned into secret meetings, and those meetings turned into something deeper. But every step closer to Rafe felt like a step away from your childhood friends.

Sure, it was fine when John B started dating Sarah Cameron. But when you got with the older Cameron sibling, it was a problem. Rafe’s constant harassment didn’t help your case. Sarah was much kinder than her brother, and the Pogues saw her as someone who genuinely cared for John B. Rafe, on the other hand, had a reputation that preceded him—a volatile temper and a knack for trouble that made him nearly impossible to trust. Except when it came to you. Your presence seemed to calm the storm in his mind.

Choosing Rafe wasn’t easy. It wasn’t that you stopped caring for the Pogues. In fact, you still loved them fiercely, even if your paths had diverged. Being with Rafe meant walking a tightrope. While he harbored a burning hatred for your old crew, he knew better than to act on it—because hurting them meant risking you. And losing you was unthinkable for Rafe, who had grown to see you as the one thing anchoring him in his stormy world. But even his restraint couldn’t erase the tension. The Pogues saw your relationship as a betrayal, and you feared they’d never forgive you.

Now, you sat alone on the edge of a boat, staring out at the vast expanse of the Atlantic as it stretched endlessly before you. The journey to Morocco wasn’t one you’d ever imagined taking. But here you were, caught between two worlds, trying desperately to keep the peace. It was your idea to bring Rafe and the Pogues together for this mission. You’d convinced Rafe to help them track down Groff, who had made off with his money, knowing it could also give JJ and Pope a chance to evade capture. Even if you weren’t close anymore, you couldn’t bear to see the people you once called family thrown behind bars.

But, as expected, not everything had gone to plan.

The Pogues didn’t trust Rafe—and for good reason. His track record spoke for itself. As soon as they got him on the boat, they tied him up in the tiny bathroom, keeping him under lock and key. You understood their logic, but that didn’t make it any easier to see your boyfriend treated like a prisoner. Worse still, they’d forbidden you from seeing him until you reached Morocco. You didn’t fight them on it. Confrontation had never been your strong suit, and besides, you knew better than to argue with JJ when his mind was made up.

So, you sat in silence, listening to the rhythmic crash of waves against the hull, the salty breeze brushing against your face. The solitude of the sea was both comforting and suffocating. It gave you time to think—about the choices you’d made, the people you’d hurt, and the fragile balance you were struggling to maintain. You wanted to believe this trip could be a turning point, a chance to bridge the gap between Rafe and the Pogues. But deep down, you knew the odds were slim. Trust was hard to rebuild, and the wounds on both sides ran deep.

As the sun dipped lower on the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, you let out a weary sigh. All you could do now was wait—for land, for answers, for the moment when everything would inevitably come to a head. Until then, the sea was your only companion, its endless expanse reflecting the tangled mess of your heart.

Sarah was kind. She always had been. Even after all her brother had put her through, she still cared for him enough to make sure he was fed and hydrated. She did the same for you.

“Brought you some dinner,” she said, plopping down beside you.

“Thanks,” you responded softly. You took a few bites of the sandwich she brought you before putting it aside. Your appetite had been wearing thin the entire trip.

“I think it’s stupid too,” she said, looking out at the horizon while the late sun cast bright ripples on the calm water.

“What do you mean?” you asked.

She shrugged her shoulders. “The whole Kook versus Pogue thing. Rafe’s done his fair share of bad shit, but haven’t we all? I really think he wants to help this time.”

“He does,” you said. “All he wants is to get his money back from Groff. He doesn’t care about the crown. Honest.”

“I know,” she said, offering you a soft smile. “We’ll be there soon. Try to rest.”

You pondered her words as she walked off. You weren’t overly close with Sarah. It was almost as if you and she had swapped lives. You started seeing Rafe around the same time Sarah and John B got together, and for the last three years, she’d been getting a taste of life’s adventures while you enjoyed the finer things. You loved Rafe. You were in love with him. You couldn’t imagine being without him. But you often found yourself missing the life you once lived with the Pogues.

You cringed as you swallowed one final shot of whiskey, a vice that did close to nothing to take the stress away. You tossed the bottle to the side and rolled over, closing your eyes and trying your best to relax to the soothing sounds of the ocean. Eventually, you were lulled to sleep, dreaming of Rafe. He smiled as he took you into his large arms, and you felt secure in his warm embrace.

The dream was short-lived, though, as you were thrown roughly against the hard wall of the boat. Disoriented, you struggled to find something to grip. Rain lashed against your face as the boat pitched violently from side to side.

You made your way to your feet and took in your surroundings. The storm had hit fast. You could see movement inside the helm as the Pogues scrambled to navigate the chaos and secure the boat.

“Rafe,” you whispered, your breath hitching. “Rafe!” your voice rose into a frantic scream as you stumbled toward the helm. You knew you had to find him—if he was left unsecured, he’d drown.

“Y/N, get inside!” JJ’s voice cut through the storm. You turned to see him and John B holding the door open, JJ’s hand extended toward you. You reached for him, but another violent wave threw you to the deck.

“Where’s Rafe?!” you yelled, coughing as salty seawater stung your throat.

“Kiara’s getting him!” John B shouted back.

Moments later, Rafe appeared in the doorway, drenched but alive. “Y/N!”

Relief flooded through you at the sight of him, but your joy was short-lived. A massive wave loomed on the horizon, crashing into the boat with terrifying force. You screamed as the water dragged you off the stern, the world disappearing into a churning abyss.

“Y/N!” JJ and Rafe shouted in unison.

“Rafe!” you screamed, fighting to keep your head above water. The sea clawed at you, threatening to pull you under. “Rafe! Help!”

“I’m coming, Y/N!” JJ’s voice rang out as he dove into the water after you.

“JJ, what are you doing?!” John B yelled, trying to hold Rafe back from following. “JJ, no, no, no!”

But it was too late. JJ had already disappeared beneath the waves.

“Y/N!” Rafe’s scream was raw with desperation, tears streaming down his face. John B had never seen him so unhinged, so consumed by fear.

John B pressed his hand firmly against Rafe’s chest, forcing him back inside. “Come on, man! We can’t help them if we drown too!” he yelled over the howling wind. He shoved Rafe into the cabin and slammed the door shut.

“No, no, no, no, no!” Rafe sobbed, pounding his fists against the wall. “I have to go help her! I have to find her, man!”

“Rafe!” Sarah’s voice cut through the chaos as she wrapped her arms around him. “Rafe, it’s okay! Let’s just get to land. I’m sure they’ll find their way back!” She rubbed his back as he crumpled, his sobs echoing through the small cabin.

The water finally calmed as you and JJ struggled onto the sand, every muscle in your body screaming with exhaustion. The cold night air bit at your skin, but the relief of solid ground beneath you was overwhelming. Collapsing onto the beach, you coughed violently, lungs burning as you fought to catch your breath.

“Are you okay?” JJ asked, his voice ragged between gasps for air.

You nodded weakly, words feeling like too much effort. After a moment, you managed to rasp, “A-Are you?”

“Yeah,” he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper.

Minutes passed as you both sat in silence, trying to steady your breathing. The ocean stretched out before you, dark and infinite, illuminated only by a pale sliver of moonlight. A single tear slid down your cheek as your thoughts turned to Rafe—his face, his voice, and the uncertainty of whether you’d ever see him again.

“They’ll be okay, Y/N,” JJ said softly, his tone more reassuring than he probably felt. “At first light, we’ll head down the beach. We’ll find them.”

You nodded, swallowing back another wave of emotion. “Hey, Jayj?” Your voice was barely audible.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you,” you murmured, gratitude lacing every syllable.

He turned to you with a tired but genuine smile. “Can’t kill a Pogue, right?”

The next thing you knew, the sun was warming your skin, its gentle rays coaxing you back to consciousness. The once-violent sea was calm now, its rhythmic waves bringing an unexpected peace. You stretched, muscles stiff and aching, before glancing toward the shore.

JJ was standing near the water, absentmindedly dragging his foot through the sand. You rose to your feet, brushing off grains of sand stuck to your damp clothes, and made your way over to him.

“Hey,” you greeted softly.

He turned, offering you a small smile. “Hey. Sleep okay?”

“Guess so,” you chuckled. “Didn’t even realize I passed out.”

“Not surprising,” JJ said with a shrug. “You were pretty wrecked.” His tone was light, but concern lingered in his eyes. “I was thinking we head up the beach toward where the boat was headed. If they made it to land, that’s where we’ll find them.”

You winced at the word if, the uncertainty slicing through your chest like a blade. “Okay,” you replied firmly. “Let’s go.”

For the next 45 minutes, the two of you trudged along the beach in silence, your shared determination a quiet bond. Every step brought a mix of hope and dread as you scanned the horizon for any sign of your loved ones.

“You know,” JJ said suddenly, breaking the silence, “they’re probably feeling the same as us—like they might never see us again.”

You shook your head, gripping tightly onto hope. “We’ll find them, Jayj. We have to.”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice soft but resolute. “We will.”

A few more minutes passed before you gathered the courage to speak again. “JJ?”

He glanced at you, his brow furrowing slightly.

“Do… Do you hate me?” The question felt heavy on your tongue, dredging up years of unspoken tension.

JJ’s expression shifted, a flicker of pain crossing his features. He sighed, raking a hand through his damp hair. “No, Y/N. I don’t hate you. I don’t think I could hate you even if I wanted to.”

His words caught you off guard, and you looked down, fiddling with your hands. “It just… it felt like you did.”

JJ’s voice softened as he continued. “I was hurt. You were my best friend, and when you and Rafe got together, it felt like he stole you away. From me. From all of us.”

A tear slid down your cheek, and you quickly wiped it away. “I’m sorry, Jayj. I never wanted to hurt you.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” he said firmly. “All you’ve ever done was try to keep the peace. I should’ve seen that sooner. And last night, when you fell off the boat…” His voice wavered, and he looked away. “All I could think about was how I couldn’t let you die thinking I hated you. You’re my sister, Y/N. You always will be.”

Tears blurred your vision as you stepped forward, wrapping your arms around him. JJ hugged you back tightly, resting his chin on your head.

“I love you, Jayj. I’ve missed you so much,” you whispered.

He pulled back, his hands on your shoulders. “We’re gonna fix this. All of it. I’ll even make an effort with Rafe if it means getting you back.”

An hour later, the sun was high in the sky when you spotted movement in the distance.

“J, is that them?” you asked breathlessly, shielding your eyes with your hand.

JJ squinted at the figures. “Let’s find out,” he said, quickening his pace.

As you got closer, the shapes grew clearer: Sarah’s golden hair, Kiara’s familiar stance, and Rafe’s unmistakable silhouette towering above the group.

“Rafe!” you cried, breaking into a run.

He turned at the sound of your voice, his eyes widening before he sprinted toward you. The moment he reached you, his arms wrapped around you, lifting you off the ground.

“Oh my God,” he murmured, his voice breaking as he buried his face in your neck. “I thought I lost you. I thought I’d never see you again!” He cried.

“I’m here,” you whispered, tears streaming down your face. “I’m safe. JJ saved me.”

When Rafe finally pulled back, his gaze shifted to JJ, who stood a few feet away, watching the reunion. Without hesitation, Rafe approached him and pulled him into a hug.

“Thank you,” Rafe said, his voice thick with emotion.

JJ stiffened for a moment, then relaxed, clapping Rafe on the back. “Yeah, well… couldn’t let her die on my watch,” he said with a crooked smile.

As you stood there, watching the two men who meant so much to you, hope swelled in your chest. For the first time in years, you felt like things might finally be okay.

Tags: @torturedtypewritersdept @bigenergy777 @outerbankspov @purplerose291 @shayofandoms @mirellef2001 @seojunandsoju @niktwazny303 @jjmaybankmylovee @simp4f1 @faephoria @toftomgmf @bunnykoo901 @adarkskinarchives @millietozier @babybreadamericano @hwaaholic @dilfluvr4evr @wtfdudesblog @harrys-housewife @sereneera @lizziesangel @akobx @kieeslove @serrendiipty @esquivelbianca @agnxstic

#rafe cameron x reader #jj maybank x reader #outer banks #obx #obx fandom #obx fanfiction #jj maybank #rafe cameron #obx 4 #obx 4 spoilers #rafe fanfiction #rafe x reader #jj fic #obx fic

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r1kixs · 2 days ago

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riki is a tease

he knew his dick is big.

he was confident in himself and ever since he started dating you he wore grey sweatpants more often only to tease the shit out of you.

you two didnt have sex yet, just made out so far. and he LOVED how shy you got when you saw that big bulge in his sweats.

you always wondered how big it is, but you were too shy to ask. it bugged you so much you were even looking up on Google how to find out a guys dick size.

"big hands equals big dick" and you stood by that even though you wanted so badly to know from the source, not fucking google.

until one day, you were at his practice, sitting in the sofa that was placed in the corner of the big room.

your boyfriend came up to you when he needed water since his water bottle was laying next to you. god, he was wearing these grey sweatpants again.

your mouth watered and your pussy drooled at the very visible print in his pants. he reached for water, standing right in front of you, his dick almost right in your face shamelessly.

he knew what he was doing, he had this shit eating grin on his oh so stupid but handsome face.

"grab it."

"huh?" was all you could choke out of your throat at these two words.

"you keep staring at it. just grab it." he smirked, gulping down more water like he didn't just say something so freaky.

"i won't... do that..." you murmured shyly, pink pooling on your cheeks. he grabbed your wrist, guiding it to his crotch. you squealed, pulling your hand away.

"why not?" he chuckled, licking his lips. he knew what he was doing and he was doing it too well.

"not in front of... everyone..." you looked away, not knowing what else to say.

he rolled his eyes dramatically and looked behind him. the boys were play fighting and doing some weird shit.

"they aren't looking, just get a feel."

'should i...?' you thought, looking up at him then quickly stealing a glance at his crotch.

you reached out, hesitating for a second before cupping the bulge, squeezing. oh my god, it was so big. he was holding back from smiling too hard, looking down at your hand.

"enjoying yourself?" he teased, biting his lower lip.

"oh my god, shut up. fuck you." you whined, smacking his thigh and curling up on the couch.

"fuck you? I can do that." he flirted, enjoying it a little too much. he threw the water bottle on the couch, ready to walk away to the boys.

"how big is it?" you blurted out when he almost turned around.

"you don't need to know that."

"oh so it's small?"

"you know damn well it's not."

"then tell me."

"eighteen centimeters." woah.

"....really...?" he smirked, looking away. he was blushing.

"maybe." he walked away, going to the boys that were still play fighting.

'my pussy will hurt' was the first thought that came to your mind.

#enhypen niki #ni-ki smut #niki #niki smut #nishimura riki #riki smut #enhypen #enhypen smut #smut

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willaminareads · 2 days ago

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too busy

PARING: exhusband!drew x reader

SUMMARY: you and drew had been divorced for a little under a year now. while drew had your two kids this weekend, zach unfortunately let it slip, that mommy had a new "friend". drew was anything but thrilled.

WORD COUNT: 667 words

WARNINGS: possesive drew, angst, fluff, cursing, kids.

WILLA SPEAKS: hey! this is my first fic, on this blog, and i'm so excited!! please note that english is not my first language, so if any mistakes occur, i'm so sorry! enjoy<3

you stand outside his door, waiting for him to open it. you were a little nervous. you didn't exactly have a reason to be, but you were.

"y/n," drew says as he opens the door. "hi, baby, come in. the kids are in their playroom." he ushers you inside, hoping you didn't notice he let the nickname slip. old habits die hard.

you smile softly at the nickname but quickly stop once you notice. this is your ex. hell, not even just your ex—your ex-husband.

you follow him inside his new house. you liked it, though it did remind you of the house the two of you once shared.

"can i get you anything?" drew breaks the silence.

"you have tea?" you ask softly.

"the kettle is already on, sweetheart," he responds in the same soft tone. god, he knows me so well, you thought.

he finds a cup for you and starts preparing the tea. silence falls between you. it wasn't awkward per se, but not exactly pleasant either.

drew is the first to break the silence, still keeping all his attention on your tea. "zach says you've got a new friend." his tone is sharp, not at all soft like the one you'd heard just a couple of minutes ago.

a quiet "oh," was all you could muster up. you didn't know what to say. i mean, what could you say?

he turns his attention to you, handing you the cup of tea. "yeah, that was my reaction as well," he says bitterly.

you sigh. "come on, drew, don't do this." guilt written all over your face.

he lets out a dry laugh. "i didn't do shit, y/n."

"i'm allowed to move on, drew," you say softly, catching his gaze.

"the fuck you are," he sneers, placing his hands on the countertop. "i can't, so you don't get to either." his statement hangs in the air as you stare at each other.

you scoff. "no, you don't get to do this, drew. you fucked up. you didn't have time for us," you say, knowing how to hit him where it hurts.

"don't say that." he looks down, unable to meet your eyes.

"why not, drew? it's true," you state. "you were too busy with your big dreams, and, i mean, it worked out for you," you say, waving your arms slightly. "you have everything a man could want," you taunt.

"you know that's not true," he glares at you.

you shrug. "you can't have your cake and eat it too."

he scoffs at your comment. "right, okay. you're getting on my nerves, y/n," he bites. "you know how much i wanted to make this work. you know how much i love you—"

you cut him off. "loved."

"no, fuck that, and fuck you for saying it," he raises his voice at you. he doesn't do that often. "i'm sorry..." he takes a deep breath. "you know that i still love you. i just want another chance, y/n. let me show you that we can make this work," he says softly, reaching for your hand.

you shake your head at him. "we can't put the kids through another divorce, drew," you say softly.

"we won't," he says. "come on, y/n. we can make this work."

you sigh. "drew..."

"please," he says, bringing a hand up to caress your cheek.

"there's no new guy." drew stares at you, a little confused, waiting for you to continue. "that friend zach says he saw me with?" drew nods along. "it was chase."

"chase? as in my co-star chase?" drew asks, utterly confused.

"yeah... he and maddie came by to help me build a dresser." you bite your lip, your nerves taking over your body.

"oh," he falls silent.

"drew?" you ask.

"so, no new guy?" he asks with a glint of playfulness in his eyes.

"no new guy." you confirm.

"so... do you wanna marry me again..?" he asks.

"drew!" you exclaim with laughter as you smack his arm.

#drew starkey #willaminareads #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey imagine #drew starkey x you #drew starkey x y/n #obx #drew starkey obx #outer banks #rafe cameron #dad!drew starkey #ex!drew starkey

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jungwnies · 1 day ago

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wreckage - charles leclerc

୨ৎ : pairing : charles leclerc x wife!reader ୨ৎ : synopsis : after a heated argument with charles, you watch in horror as his car crashes during a race

୨ৎ : genre : angst ୨ৎ : tws : car accident/injury, arguments/conflict, anxiety/panic, trauma, medical trauma. ୨ৎ : wc : 1318

part one | part two | part three | part four

They say life can change in the blink of an eye. One second, everything feels steady, solid, like the ground beneath your feet couldn’t possibly give way. And then it does. Maybe that’s the irony of it all—you never see it coming. Not really. You think you’re prepared, think you’ve braced yourself, but you’re never quite ready for the moment it all falls apart.

You fought this morning. Not just a little spat about something trivial—no, this was one of those fights that echoed louder than it should have. The kind that lingered, thick in the air, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth even hours later.

It wasn’t about anything catastrophic, either, but somehow, with Charles, the small things had a way of snowballing. His schedule. Your schedule. The time you didn’t have together. The things he didn’t say and the things you did.

“I’m trying, okay? You think it’s easy for me?” he’d snapped, his accent sharpening the edges of his words. “You know what this life is like.”

“Yeah, Charles, I do. But I also know you don’t get to use it as an excuse every single time something gets hard. I’m here, too, and I’m trying to make this work just as much as you are.”

His jaw had tightened, his gaze flickering to the ground before meeting yours again. “Sometimes it feels like no matter what I do, it’s never enough for you.”

You’d felt the sting of those words, like a slap across the face. But you weren’t one to back down, not even when the weight of his frustration pressed heavy on your chest.

“You don’t get to say that to me, not when I’m the one waiting, worrying, wondering if this is ever going to feel… stable. Do you know how hard it is to love someone who’s never really here?”

The silence that followed was deafening, his features a mix of hurt and anger, like he didn’t know which to lean into more. And then he’d said it.

“Maybe it’s hard because you don’t trust me enough to believe that I’m doing my best.”

You hadn’t answered, and maybe that was the problem. The fight ended there, not because either of you wanted it to but because there was no time to fix it. Not when he had a race to prepare for, and you had to pretend like none of this was tearing you apart from the inside out.

When you arrived at the paddock, it felt impossible to mask the weight of the argument. You greeted a few people with forced smiles, but you could see some of them watching you a little too closely. It didn’t help that Charles seemed just as tense, his jaw set and his usual ease nowhere to be found.

Carlos was the first to pull you aside, his brown eyes narrowing slightly as he leaned closer. “¿Qué pasa, eh? You look like someone stole your churros, and Charles… well, he looks worse. What happened?”

“Nothing,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “It’s fine.”

Carlos raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “Amiga, por favor. I know you, and I know him. Whatever this is, it’s not nothing.”

You sighed, glancing over your shoulder where Charles was talking to his engineers. “We just… had a fight this morning. It’s not a big deal.”

Carlos gave you a skeptical look. “Not a big deal? You’re both walking around like someone cancelled Christmas. If you’re not okay, neither is he. You should talk to him before the race.”

You hesitated, the memory of this morning’s argument still fresh in your mind. “I don’t want to distract him. He needs to focus.”

Carlos clicked his tongue, shaking his head with a small smile. “Tch. If you think he’s focusing now, you’re wrong. You being upset is a bigger distraction than anything else. Go.”

Reluctantly, you nodded and made your way toward Charles. He was still in deep conversation with one of his engineers, but when he saw you approaching, his expression softened—just slightly.

“Hey,” you said quietly, folding your arms across your chest.

“Hey,” he replied, his voice lower than usual. There was a pause, the tension between you lingering like a storm cloud.

“Good luck out there,” you finally said, your voice steadier than you felt. “I mean it. Be safe.”

Charles studied you for a moment, his green eyes searching yours. Then he nodded. “And… I’m sorry. For earlier.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could, someone called for him, signaling it was time to get ready. He gave you one last look, then turned and walked away, leaving you standing there with words unsaid.

The race began, and for a while, the roar of engines and the blur of cars distracted you. Charles was in good form, holding his position, making clean overtakes. You found yourself exhaling with relief every time his car flashed across the screen.

But then it happened.

It was almost too fast to comprehend. One moment, Charles was rounding a corner, perfectly in control. The next, there was smoke, debris, and the sickening crunch of metal against metal.

Your heart stopped.

The commentators’ voices rose in panic, their words a jumbled mess that barely registered in your mind. “Oh no, that’s Leclerc… that’s a big one.”

Everything else faded—the noise of the crowd, the hum of your thoughts—until all that remained was the image of his car, mangled and still.

“Red flag,” one of them said, and that’s when it hit you. They’d stopped the race. It was bad.

Your hands trembled as you gripped the edge of the table, your breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be happening.

The minutes crawled by like hours, every second another layer of dread settling in your chest. You kept your eyes glued to the screen, desperate for any sign, any update, anything to tell you he was okay.

When they finally cut to the scene, you saw the medics surrounding his car, moving quickly but carefully.

“He’s conscious,” one of the commentators said, and you felt a rush of air leave your lungs, but it wasn’t enough. Not until you saw him. Not until you heard him.

You thought back to the fight, to the last thing he said to you, and it made you sick to your stomach. This couldn’t be the last memory you had of him, the last words you exchanged. It couldn’t.

You were already reaching for your phone, dialing his team, someone, anyone who could give you more than the vague reassurance of the broadcast.

“Please,” you whispered, the word barely audible over the pounding of your heart. “Please let him be okay.”

It’s strange, how quickly everything can unravel. You think you’ve got it all figured out, that the argument was just another bump in the road. But in the back of your mind, there’s always that voice whispering, telling you that things might never be the same.

And now, with every second that ticks by, your thoughts spiral, faster and faster, until you can’t breathe. What if this is it? What if those were the last words you ever said to him?

You close your eyes, trying to steady yourself, but all you can see is that image of his car, broken and still. Your pulse races. You told him you loved him today, but did he really hear you? Was he ever truly certain, or was that last moment of tension, the words left unsaid, enough to make him doubt everything?

You hate this. You hate the fear gnawing at you. You hate that you're sitting here, helpless, as he’s out there fighting for his life. That feeling of powerlessness—it’s unbearable.

Please, you think again, clutching the phone like it’s the only thing tethering you to reality. Please, don’t let this be the end.

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maxrspeaks · 13 hours ago

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Dating sukuna is difficult.

He’s not soft and tender, love comes like tidal waves, lapping at the shore before ultimately pulling back, distancing, and then, like wet sand you chase after him, texts, calls, notes, only the remnants of salty water answer back.

Sukuna is not a bad boyfriend. No. He remembers birthdays, he remembers anniversaries, he remembers every occasion that is important to you. On these days he makes an effort to be present, but that’s all you get, his presence, like the shell of a man he lingers, phantom like. He’ll light the candles on a cake, but he won’t take a bite out of it. He’ll help you tie the balloons together in clusters, but won’t smile for a picture next to it. All he does is be present, like he’s repaying a favour long overdue.

You understand him, you know him. Your skin is bruised from the hard, jagged edges of his enamel that nip and bite at your flesh, raw, hard bone sinking into you, pearly whites stained red. Then he’ll lick the wound, and it becomes love.

You still hurt.

But you understand him. You understand he’s not devoid of sentiment, he’s just robbed of expression. You know this because you see him, you notice him. The downturned edges of his mouth when he takes his shirt off in public spaces and there’s fingers pointed in his direction, children stop and stare, the appendage on his back grins in mocking victory, he doesn’t cower. But his frown is evident.

Sukuna never told you of his disability. No. To this day you haven’t heard him bring it up, the slits under his eyes gleam at you, only under proper lighting can you see them glimmer in pearly whites. The skin on his back prods out, extra bone and flesh accumulating atop each other, he doesn’t speak of it. But the first time he took shirt off in front of you, he waited, patiently. As though he was waiting for approval.

It’s difficult sometimes. He knows you deserve softness, gentleness. A kind of love that makes your face glow, your sides soften, a kind of love that doesn’t fuel the anticipation in your gaze that maddens you. But he thinks he’s getting around to it.

So when he sees you break down, crying, randomly on a tuesday evening. He realises how abysmally fucked he is.

“You’re hurting me.”

So he stops. It happens in a week. You see flowers in vase, your favourites, snuck into the corner of the hall, an embarrassing attempt at something. Then he starts coming home on time, he picks your handbag and slings it over his shoulder before you can, he tries.

Sukuna loves you. He chants it into the mirror every morning like a prayer. He loves you, he loves you, he loves you. He loves you so he won’t subject you to his sharpness. His crudity.

He loves you so he will soften himself for you. Why lick a wound clean when he can cease the very creation of the wound itself.

He loves you, so he will.

And its not blatantly obvious. But you notice it. You notice the grunt of the recipe book against the marble counter top, you notice the sickly sweet smell of cake wafting off the oven on the morning of your anniversary. You notice the way his fingers curl into yours when you drag him away for photos, and he mimics a smile as well as he can.

#jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #ryomen sukuna x you #jjk sukuna #sukuna x y/n #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna ryomen #ryomen x reader #ryomen sukuna #jujutsu kaisen x reader

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dreamsteddie · 2 days ago

Text

Nancy knows what people think when they see her and Steve together these days. People mostly include Robin Buckley who, despite what they both say, Nancy doesn't completely believe isn't carrying some kind of torch for the man.

They aren't dating, but it's obvious to anyone who knows them that's what Nancy is angling for. She's not subtle, and she's not trying to be. Doesn't see any reason why she should be. But she knows what it looks like. Nancy Wheeler, fresh off an amicable but heartbreaking end to her relationship with Johnathan Byers has turned tail for a rebound with former boyfriend Steve Harrington. She's using him. She's leading him on. She's going to break his heart, again.

The truth is that Nancy has always liked Steve, was in love with Steve for a fleeting moment when they were both young and stupid and full of mistakes waiting to be made and in the end they had hurt each other, misunderstood each other, too many times to last through their tumultuous teenage years.

The Nancy and Steve of 1984 couldn't have loved each other right, but Nancy knows in her heart that the Nancy and Steve of 1987 could make something beautiful.

Steve is so different from who he used to be. There's a steadiness in him that he always tried to emulate but never fully embodied until the summer of 1985. He always knew how to make her laugh, how to get her to tap into that adventurous spirit within her and live life, but now he also makes her feel safe.

She wants to hold him the way he used to hold her. Wants to whisk him away to New York and build a life perfectly balanced between her ambition and his steadfastness. So she's putting everything she has into rekindling those embers that have always smoldered between them into a steady fire.

She just has to convince Robin that she's in it for the long haul this time.

------

Robin thinks that before she met Steve Harrington her life was never so much like a soap opera.

Her best friend seems to attract danger, betrayal, and romance to him like the world is full of moths and he's the only flame for miles. It would be funnier if it wasn't so god damn annoying sometimes.

Steve doesn't know it, despite how much he insists on being some kind of love expert, but he's got two very eligible bachelors vying for his hand at the moment. She's pretty sure they both see themselves as tragic heroes in this tale of romance, but from her vantage point, it's more like two ornery cats fighting for the prized spot of their owner's lap.

Nancy and Eddie have made themselves both near-permanent fixtures at the Family Video. Ostensibly, they come in because Hawkins is still in the process of rebuilding and there isn't much to do at the moment outside of wandering the woods, loitering at the convenience store, and watching movies at home. In actuality they're both trying to monopolize as much of Steve's time as possible, each trying to lock down his weekend plans before the other.

The first couple of weeks it was funny just to watch, now the only enjoyment she gets out of the whole circus is ruining their plans. She relishes the pissed-off-priss look she gets from Nancy when she asks Steve to go to the drive-in the next town over and Robin turns it into a group outing instead. It's equally funny to watch Eddie's puffed-up shoulders droop when he can't figure out a way to say no to Robin enthusiastically asking if she can join them at the trailer to smoke up on a Saturday night.

In truth, as much as she enjoys messing with them, Robin knows who she wants to win this war. She knows too much about Steve and Nancy's past and all the ways they weren't good for each other to trust her deceptively fragile best friend in Nancy's capable hands.

Eddie, on the other hand...well she's still going to make him work for it before she throws him a bone.

------

Eddie's never been one to fall in love.

He's had crushes, shared a few kisses with girls and boys alike, and lost his virginity in the same fumbling but meaningful way most teens do.

But love? He's never had that before, wasn't sure what it would even feel like.

It turns out that for Eddie, being in love feels a lot like being an overgrown house plant that's finally been moved into suitably a larger pot.

You see, Eddie knows a lot about growing up on his own. Raising himself and finding ways to survive, if not thrive, with a distinct lack of nurturing. He knows how to grow under someone, to grow under the clumsy guidance of his uncle Wayne who never intended to become a parent. And most of all he knows a hell of a lot about growing despite. Growing under the harsh boot forever trying to push him back into the hard dirt he came from.

It's something else entirely to grow with someone in the way he's been growing with Steve.

Steve who was there when he woke up, almost equally as injured as Eddie himself after a second, world saving round with Vecna. Steve who let Eddie lean on him in the difficult month of physical and emotional recovery that came next. Who helped Eddie come to terms with the new reality he was living under the way Steve wished someone had been there for him after his first encounter with the Upsidedown. Steve, who on paper should have been one of the people pushing him down, always gave Eddie the space to be himself and never tried to force either of them into a box they didn't fit.

Eddie knows he's not The Girl. He's not the one who got away, he's not the stalwart princess in one of his campaigns who saves the day herself but still gets the guy. He's not Nancy Wheeler.

But he's also not a quitter, and even if everything about the world and the narrative arc of their lives says that Steve will never end up with him, Eddie knows he would regret it for the rest of his life if he didn't put his hat in the ring for the hand of the fair Sir Steve.

------

Steve's not stupid.

He knows that there's something happening between Nancy, Eddie, and himself. Knows that if he chooses to look a little closer, to examine why exactly all his weekends are suddenly booked up and Robin has taken to stealing the Recese's Pieces off the shelf whenever either one of them comes into the store like she's settling in for a show, he would come to the conclusion that two of his best friends are essentially courting him in competition with each other.

But Steve isn't looking closer.

His mom always said that he was just like his father, too stubborn for his own good.

Robin says he's a control freak, pushing non-life-threatening problems off until he knows how to deal with them on his own terms.

The truth is Steve already knows how this will end, and he knows how this should end.

Because in the eyes of society, in the arc of the narrative, Steve and Nancy should already be making plans to move out to New York and start a life together. Steve should be looking at apartments while Nancy finalizes her class schedule. He should be looking into getting a job at his dad's New York office to support his future wife through her college education where they both know she'll breeze through her classes and move onto the world-changing career she was always meant to have, while Steve stays home with their children like a perfect little modern family.

And the thing is, if the story had gone like it was supposed to, if the world had been saved the fourth time around and Eddie Munson had died on the cold, hard ground of the Upsidown, that's probably exactly the future that would have happened and Steve would have never known to not be content with it. But Eddie did make it, and while Steve mourns the future he could have had, he knows it's not the one he's going to choose in the end.

Even though Steve knows exactly what will happen when he allows himself to face the ever-mounting tension between the three of them, it's scary to take that plunge.

Everything about Steve's world up until Robin has told him that what he's going to choose will damn him forever, and even if he's never put much stock into God and the church, he knows that the future in front of them will never be easy. There's a part of him that wants to take the easy way out. He's never been attracted to a man before Eddie, never had to imagine himself loving someone discreetly, and the thought of it makes his heart hurt prematurely. It would be simpler, he knows, to choose the path most taken.

But Steve has always thought more with his heart than his brain, and he knows that after everything they've been through, after all the time they've spent healing together and growing as one that he could never choose anyone but Eddie.

The time is coming for him to make his final decision, he can feel it, but for now he'll let them sit in this liminal space a little longer.

#steddie #stranger things #dreamer speaks #fanfiction #eddie munson #steve harrington #nancy wheeler #robin buckly #this one is a little different #but it's been floating around my head for a while #lmk what you think!#Edit: 12/22 for spelling and gramatical errors

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s4kura-tr3 · 2 days ago

Note

Could you make a crybaby reader with JJK men? Like just an overly sensitive/nice reader? It’s okay if not! Have a good day!

Sensitive!

Characters: Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Toji, Sukuna, Megumi, Yuji

Gojo Satoru

Gojo Satoru never meant to upset you—he rarely ever did. But today, his usual playful teasing hit you harder than usual.

You were sitting on the couch together, scrolling through your phone while he flipped lazily through the channels on the TV. Out of nowhere, Gojo chuckled and said, “You know, you’re so dramatic sometimes. It’s kinda cute, but it’s like everything’s the end of the world for you.”

You froze, his words hitting a nerve. Dramatic. That’s how people had dismissed your feelings for years. You tried to brush it off, but your chest tightened, and your vision blurred slightly as you blinked back tears.

Gojo didn’t notice at first, still flipping channels and humming to himself. But when you didn’t respond with your usual witty comeback, he glanced over and saw your downturned face.

“Wait,” he said, sitting up immediately. “Did I say something wrong?”

You didn’t answer right away, biting your lip to keep your emotions in check.

“Hey,” he said more gently now, setting the remote down. “What’s going on? Talk to me.”

Finally, you looked at him, your voice quiet. “You called me dramatic. Do you know how many times I’ve heard that? It’s like every time I feel something, people just… dismiss me.”

Gojo’s eyes widened as realization dawned on him. “Oh no. No, no, no, that’s not what I meant,” he said, scooting closer to you on the couch. “I wasn’t trying to dismiss you. I swear, I just—ugh, sometimes I don’t think before I speak.”

You didn’t reply, still feeling the sting of his words.

Gojo reached for your hands, holding them in his warm, large ones. “I’m really sorry,” he said softly. “You’re not dramatic. You just feel things deeply, and I love that about you. It’s one of my favorite things about you, actually. You care so much, and that’s rare. Honestly, I wish I was more like you sometimes.”

You glanced at him, surprised by the sincerity in his voice.

“I mean it,” he continued. “I’m sorry I made you feel like that wasn’t a good thing. It is. You’re amazing, and I’m lucky you put up with my dumb jokes.”

A small smile tugged at your lips, despite your lingering hurt. “You really think that?”

Gojo grinned, his usual playful energy returning as he kissed your knuckles. “I think you’re perfect. And I’m perfectly terrible at saying things the right way. Forgive me?”

You sighed, the weight in your chest easing. “Okay. But maybe think before you speak next time?”

“Deal,” he said, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. “I’ll even let you pick the movie tonight as a peace offering. But only if it’s not boring.”

You laughed softly, and just like that, Gojo had you smiling again, his arms wrapping around you to hold you close.

Geto Suguru

It was late in the evening, and you and Geto Suguru were sitting together in a cozy café. He had insisted on taking you out to unwind after a long week, and for a while, the warm atmosphere and his gentle company had done just that. But then, the conversation took an unexpected turn.

You were talking about a project you’d been working on—how much effort you’d put into it and how nervous you were about how it would turn out. Somewhere in the middle of your rambling, Geto chuckled softly and said, “You really overthink things sometimes, don’t you?”

His tone was light, and you knew he didn’t mean it maliciously, but the comment stopped you in your tracks. Your heart sank, and your chest tightened as those familiar insecurities reared their heads. You looked down at your tea, your appetite for conversation disappearing.

Geto immediately noticed the shift in your mood. He tilted his head, his dark eyes softening with concern. “What’s wrong?” he asked gently, leaning closer.

You shook your head. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s clearly not nothing,” he said, his voice calm but insistent. “Did I say something wrong?”

You hesitated, but his steady gaze encouraged you to speak. “It’s just… when you said I overthink things. I know I do, okay? I hear it all the time, and I hate that about myself. It feels like no matter how hard I try, it’s never enough, and people just see me as… too much.”

Geto’s expression shifted immediately, a flicker of regret crossing his face. “Hey, no, that’s not what I meant at all,” he said softly, his voice full of sincerity.

You looked away, but he gently reached across the table, his hand brushing against yours. “Listen to me,” he said, his tone warm and steady. “I wasn’t trying to say that in a bad way. I know you overthink because you care. You care so much about everything, and that’s not a flaw—it’s a strength.”

You blinked at him, his words catching you off guard.

“You put your whole heart into what you do, and yeah, sometimes it makes you nervous or unsure, but that’s only because you want things to be perfect,” he continued. “And honestly? That’s one of the things I admire most about you. I could never think of that as a bad thing.”

The tightness in your chest began to ease as his words sank in. “You really mean that?” you asked softly.

Geto smiled gently, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. “Of course I do. And I’m sorry if what I said made you feel like I didn’t. I’ll be more careful with my words next time.”

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Thank you.”

He chuckled softly. “You don’t have to thank me. It’s my job to remind you how amazing you are when you forget.”

Your cheeks warmed at his words, and the tension that had settled between you melted away.

“Now,” he said, his tone lightening as he leaned back in his chair, “how about I make it up to you with dessert? I hear they’ve got a mean matcha cheesecake here.”

You laughed quietly, shaking your head. “Fine, but you’re paying.”

“Always,” he said with a playful smirk, raising his hand to call for the waiter.

Nanami Kento

Nanami Kento had had an exhausting day. Every step he took up the stairs to your shared apartment felt heavier than the last, and all he wanted was to come home, see you, and let the warmth of your presence melt away the stress.

When he opened the door, you greeted him with your usual enthusiasm, rushing over to pull him into a tight hug. “Kento! You’re home!” you exclaimed, your excitement practically radiating off you.

He managed a small smile and placed a hand on your back, but the weight of his day still hung over him. “Hi,” he said softly, his voice tired.

You didn’t seem to notice his exhaustion as you began talking a mile a minute. “I missed you! You won’t believe the day I had—oh, and guess what? I tried that recipe you love, and I think it turned out amazing! Oh, and Louis did the funniest thing today—”

“Can you give me a second?” he snapped, his voice sharper than he intended.

The room fell silent, and the warmth in your expression dimmed instantly. You stepped back, your arms falling to your sides. “Oh,” you said softly. “Sorry.”

Nanami immediately felt a pang of regret as he saw the hurt in your eyes. You weren’t upset because he was tired—you were upset because he’d made you feel like your excitement didn’t matter to him.

You turned away, mumbling something about letting him settle in, but he quickly reached out and gently grabbed your hand. “Wait,” he said, his voice softer now.

You hesitated, looking at him but avoiding his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said sincerely, his grip on your hand firm but gentle. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you. It’s not your fault I had a hard day. I… I was looking forward to seeing you all day, and then I let my frustration get in the way.”

You blinked, your lips trembling slightly. “I just wanted to make you happy,” you admitted quietly.

“And you do,” he said immediately, stepping closer to you. “You’re the best part of my day. Always.”

Your eyes met his then, searching his face for the truth in his words. His expression was soft, full of remorse and affection.

“I don’t deserve to have you greet me with so much love after the way I acted,” he said, gently pulling you into his arms. “But I promise I’ll do better. You’re everything to me, and I should have treated you like it.”

You rested your forehead against his chest, feeling his arms tighten around you. “I just got too excited,” you murmured.

“And I love that about you,” he said, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Your excitement, your energy—it’s what makes this place feel like home. I’m sorry I didn’t appreciate it like I should’ve.”

For a moment, you stood there in his embrace, his warmth and steady heartbeat easing the lingering hurt.

“Do you want to sit down and tell me about your day?” he asked after a moment, pulling back slightly to look at you. “I want to hear everything.”

You hesitated, then nodded, a small smile creeping onto your face. “Okay. But only if you let me heat up dinner for you first.”

He chuckled softly. “Deal. But don’t rush—just being here with you is enough.”

And as you led him to the table, the weight of his day began to lift, replaced by the comfort of knowing he was home—with you.

Toji fushiguro

Toji Fushiguro wasn’t the type to watch his words. His bluntness was just part of who he was—sharp, quick, and sometimes careless. Most of the time, you brushed it off, knowing he didn’t mean to hurt you. But tonight, it cut deeper than usual.

The two of you were in the kitchen after dinner. You were putting away dishes, humming softly, while Toji leaned against the counter with his arms crossed, watching you.

“I’ve been thinking about trying something new,” you said, your tone excited. “Like a cooking class or maybe painting—something creative. I think it could be fun.”

Toji grunted in response, not looking up from the dish he was drying.

You hesitated but kept going, trying to draw him into the conversation. “What do you think? Would you want to try something like that with me?”

Toji sighed and set the dish down a little too hard, the sound making you flinch. “You don’t stick with stuff like that, do you?” he said, his voice flat. “You get all excited and then drop it a week later. What’s the point?”

You froze, his words hitting harder than you expected. You knew he had a point—sometimes you did lose interest in things quickly. But hearing him say it so bluntly, so dismissively, made your chest tighten.

“I…” Your voice wavered as you set the plate in your hands on the counter. “I just thought it’d be nice to do something together.”

Toji finally looked up, his brows furrowing when he saw the way your shoulders slumped. “Hey, don’t get all upset about it,” he said, his tone softening, but it didn’t help.

“I’m not upset,” you said quickly, though the slight tremble in your voice betrayed you. “I just… never mind.”

You turned away, trying to hide the tears that were already welling up, but Toji wasn’t one to let things go.

“Hey,” he said, his voice quieter now as he stepped closer. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing,” you mumbled, but when you tried to brush past him, he caught your wrist gently.

“Look at me,” he said firmly, his tone still low but insistent. You hesitated, and when you finally met his gaze, he could see the hurt in your eyes.

“Damn it,” he muttered, his grip on your wrist loosening. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“You didn’t have to say it at all,” you whispered. “You make me feel like I’m… not good at anything.”

Toji’s jaw tightened, guilt flashing across his face. He wasn’t good at this—at saying the right things or fixing mistakes—but he hated seeing you like this, especially when he was the one who caused it.

“You’re good at plenty of things,” he said, his tone softer now. “And… I’m an idiot for saying that to you. I wasn’t trying to put you down. I just… I don’t know how to say things without sounding like a jerk sometimes.”

You glanced at him, surprised by the vulnerability in his voice.

“I think it’s a great idea,” he admitted after a moment, rubbing the back of his neck. “The cooking class or whatever. And I’d do it with you if that’s what you want.”

“You don’t have to just say that,” you murmured.

“I’m not just saying it,” he said, stepping closer until he could wrap his arms around you. “You’re trying to do something fun, and instead of supporting you, I ran my mouth like an idiot. I’m sorry.”

His arms around you were warm and steady, and you could feel the sincerity in the way he held you.

“You’d really go with me?” you asked, your voice still small.

“Yeah,” he said, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Even if I suck at it, I’d go. For you.”

Your lips quirked up into a small smile, the sting of his earlier words starting to fade. “Okay,” you said softly, leaning into his chest.

Toji smirked, holding you a little tighter. “Good. But don’t expect me to wear an apron or anything. That’s where I draw the line.”

You laughed, the sound lightening the room, and he sighed in relief, grateful to see your smile again.

Sukuna Ryomen

The Heian era was a time of beauty and chaos, and life with Sukuna Ryomen was no exception. Known as the King of Curses, Sukuna was feared across the land, but to you, he was something else entirely. His presence, though intimidating, had always been a source of strange comfort. However, his sharp tongue often betrayed him, and tonight was one of those nights.

You had spent the entire day crafting something special—a delicate embroidered cloth featuring patterns of crimson and gold, colors you knew he favored. Each stitch was precise, your fingers aching by the time you finished, but the thought of presenting it to Sukuna filled you with anticipation.

When you brought the finished piece to him that evening, you entered his chambers with cautious excitement, kneeling before him as he sat on his throne-like dais. “My lord,” you began softly, holding out the cloth, “I made this for you. I thought you might like it.”

Sukuna’s four crimson eyes flicked to the offering, and for a brief moment, there was silence. Then he spoke, his tone as sharp as ever.

“You spent all day on this?” he said, his voice laced with disdain. “What use do I have for something so… trivial?”

The words hit you harder than you anticipated. You had poured your heart into the gift, hoping to please him, and now your efforts felt meaningless. You lowered your hands, clutching the cloth tightly as your vision blurred with tears you desperately tried to hold back.

“I… I just wanted to give you something,” you murmured, your voice trembling.

Sukuna’s brows furrowed at the shift in your tone. He could sense your emotions as clearly as the tension in the air, and the sight of you so visibly upset stirred something in him—something he wasn’t used to feeling.

“Tch,” he muttered, leaning forward slightly, his gaze fixed on you. “Why are you crying? I didn’t tell you to do something like this.”

You shook your head, your voice breaking. “I know. I just… I thought it would make you happy.”

Sukuna let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair. He wasn’t good at this—at softening his edges. But seeing you like this unsettled him in a way that battles and curses never could

“Look at me,” he commanded, his tone firm but quieter now.

Reluctantly, you raised your eyes to meet his. His gaze wasn’t as harsh as before, and for a moment, the room felt less heavy.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said, his voice low but sincere. “I’m not good with… things like this.” He gestured vaguely at the cloth in your hands. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate it.”

Your breath hitched slightly. “You… you do?”

“Yes,” he said, almost impatiently, but his tone lacked its usual edge. “I’m just not someone who knows how to handle… thoughtful gestures. But that doesn’t mean they’re wasted on me.”

You blinked, the sting of his earlier words starting to fade. “I just wanted to give you something that reminded you of… us. Of me.”

Sukuna’s lips quirked into the faintest smirk. “And you think I could forget you?”

Your cheeks warmed at his words, and he chuckled lowly, clearly pleased with your reaction. He reached out, taking the cloth from your hands, his fingers brushing yours briefly.

“It’s well-made,” he admitted, running his thumb over the intricate stitching. “Better than I expected.”

A small smile tugged at your lips, and Sukuna leaned back, his gaze softening just slightly. “Next time, don’t exhaust yourself for my sake,” he said. “You don’t need to prove anything to me.”

“I just wanted to make you happy,” you said softly, your earlier sadness melting away.

“You do,” he replied, his voice quiet but steady. “Even without this.”

The warmth in his words made your heart ache in the best way, and as he set the cloth aside carefully, you knew that, in his own way, Sukuna was trying.

Megumi Fushiguro

Megumi Fushiguro was in a foul mood. Gojo had been pestering him all day—constant teasing, unnecessary tasks, and endless comments that pushed his patience to the brink. By the time he walked through the door, his mind was racing, and he felt like he was ready to snap at anything that moved.

You had been waiting for him to come home, your excitement bubbling as you thought about sharing the small surprise you’d planned for him: his favorite snacks arranged neatly on the coffee table and a cozy spot on the couch waiting for him to relax.

When he walked in, you greeted him with a bright smile. “Megumi! Welcome home! I set up—”

“Can you just give me a second?” he snapped, not even looking up as he kicked off his shoes and dropped his bag with more force than necessary.

You froze, startled by the sharpness of his tone. “Oh… I didn’t mean to bother you,” you said softly, your voice already trembling slightly.

Megumi sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not about you, okay? I just need some space.”

Your chest tightened at his words. He didn’t even glance at the effort you’d put into making his evening better. The snacks, the cozy setup—it all felt meaningless now. “I just wanted to help,” you whispered, your voice barely audible as you turned away, your shoulders slumping.

The sound of your soft, hurt tone stopped Megumi in his tracks. He looked up and finally noticed the care you’d put into the room—the snacks, the cozy setting, and the clear effort to make him feel better. Guilt hit him like a wave.

“Wait,” he said, his voice gentler now as he stepped closer to you. “I… I’m sorry.”

You didn’t turn to face him, your hands nervously fiddling with your sleeves. “It’s fine,” you said, though the crack in your voice betrayed your true feelings.

“It’s not fine,” Megumi said, his tone firm but remorseful. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you. You didn’t deserve that.”

You glanced back at him, your eyes glistening. “I was just trying to make you feel better,” you murmured, “but if you don’t want me here, I can—”

“No,” he cut in quickly, shaking his head. “I don’t want you to leave. Please.”

He hesitated for a moment, searching for the right words. “It’s been a rough day, and I let my frustration get the better of me. But I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. You were trying to do something nice for me, and I acted like an idiot.”

You stared at him for a moment, his rare vulnerability catching you off guard. “You mean that?”

“I do,” he said, stepping closer and gently taking your hand. “I see what you did here. It’s thoughtful, and it means a lot to me. I’m sorry I didn’t see it sooner.”

Your lips trembled as a small smile broke through. “I just wanted you to relax after your day.”

“And I’m lucky to have you,” he said, squeezing your hand gently. “Let me make it up to you.”

You hesitated before nodding, letting him guide you to the couch. As the two of you sat together, Megumi reached for one of the snacks you’d prepared, a small but genuine smile tugging at his lips.

“Thank you,” he said softly, glancing at you.

“For what?” you asked, tilting your head.

“For being patient with me,” he said. “And for always knowing how to make things better—even when I don’t deserve it.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you leaned against him, letting the tension of the evening fade away. Megumi might not always get it right, but moments like this reminded you why you loved him so much.

Yuji Itadori

Yuji Itadori wasn’t the type to snap at people—he was always upbeat, kind, and quick to laugh things off. But after a long day of missions, training, and dealing with the stress of being Sukuna’s vessel, he’d finally managed to steal a rare moment of relaxation, engrossed in a video game he’d been trying to beat for weeks.

You, excited to share some news with him, entered the room without realizing how deeply focused he was. “Yuji! Guess what happened today?” you said cheerfully, walking over to him.

“Not now,” he muttered, his eyes glued to the screen, fingers flying across the controller.

You hesitated, unsure if he’d heard you properly. “It’ll only take a second! You won’t believe—”

“I said not now!” he snapped, his tone sharper than you’d ever heard before.

The sudden harshness of his voice made you stop in your tracks. Your excitement vanished, replaced with a sinking feeling in your chest. You stood there for a moment, unsure of what to say, before mumbling, “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to bother you.”

Your voice was so soft, Yuji almost didn’t catch it. But when he heard the hurt in your tone and turned to see the way your expression had fallen, his stomach twisted with guilt.

“Wait, no, I didn’t mean—” he started, but you were already backing away. “I’ll just… leave you alone,” you said quietly, heading toward the door.

Yuji quickly paused the game and jumped to his feet. “Wait! Don’t go!”

You stopped but didn’t turn around, your arms crossed tightly as if trying to protect yourself from the sting of his words.

Yuji rubbed the back of his neck, his face filled with regret. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice softer now. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you. That was really uncool of me.”

You glanced over your shoulder, your eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “I just wanted to tell you something. I didn’t think it would make you so mad…”

“I wasn’t mad at you,” he said quickly, stepping closer. “I was just so caught up in the game, and I got frustrated. But that’s not an excuse. You didn’t deserve that.”

You bit your lip, unsure if you should say anything, and Yuji reached out, gently touching your arm. “Hey,” he said, his voice warm and sincere. “I’m really, really sorry. You’re way more important to me than some stupid game.”

His words made your heart ache in the best way, and you finally turned to face him fully. “You mean that?”

“Of course I do,” he said, giving you that familiar, boyish grin that made it hard to stay upset. “Tell me what happened today. I want to hear everything.”

“You’re sure? I don’t want to interrupt…” you trailed off.

Yuji shook his head quickly. “Forget the game. I want to spend time with you.”

The sincerity in his voice melted away the last of your hurt, and you let yourself smile again. As you started sharing your story, Yuji sat beside you, listening intently, determined to make up for his mistake.

And when you laughed at one of his playful comments, Yuji silently promised himself to never let a moment like that happen again. You were his safe place, his reason to smile, and no game—or anything else—could ever compare.

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comicaurora · 3 days ago

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Tahraim is my fav absolutely adore him! I love that you’ve made the smith deal in introspection and cryptic bs, a lot of times smiths are very straightforward characters in stories. What made you decide to shake it up?

Can gods be tied to concepts as well as cities? As Tahraim seems to be a god of blacksmithing (or at least has some serious motifs) does he have a city thats just forges?

He also seems a lot more mobile than the other gods, or is he just “tied” to Danix?

Tahraim is a conceptual god, a class of deity considered grander and more untethered than city or nature gods. Also in his weight class are Emnis and Erebas (dreams and nightmares), Shanyasi (music), Sennaia (knowledge), Jiya (war), and a whole bunch of others. They're gods of ideas, and their domains are in the collective consciousness of mortals. They can manifest anywhere they hold sway, and several of them have constructed domains of their own in pocket dimensions; Sennaia has a transfinite library hidden away somewhere, and Tahraim has a forge.

Tahraim's personality comes from my own experience with artists and craftspeople. Many artists are acutely aware that in order for their work to be better, they need to be better. The process of creation and introspection becomes inextricably linked. Forging a tool changes the forger, little by little.

There's also an element I've observed from teachers. I was always a firm proponent of "don't be cryptic or cute, just tell me the thing and I'll get it," and while that's true a lot of the time, there are concepts that cannot be Just Told in any meaningful way. They don't hit or stick if the person doesn't put them together themselves and construct a way that works for them. Teaching isn't always the impartation of information; a lot of the time it's guidance so the student crafts the tools that work for them. Even if the teacher can perfectly communicate what method works for them, everyone is different, and a student that does the exact same thing exactly right might gain no benefits or be actively harmed by the process. Instead, the student has to parse the lesson and create their own tools to execute the same goal.

Personal example under a readmore because it got a little long:

I've sporadically dealt with intrusive thoughts my whole life, though I didn't understand what they were at the time and they've mostly gone away on their own. When I was little, upsetting thoughts would get stuck in my head and stay there; things would give me nightmares that lasted for weeks, or I'd be stuck awake in the wee hours ruminating on every time in my life I'd done something shameful or harmful or wrong. My dad recognized I was upset, and tried to teach me a method of "counting thoughts" that worked for him, where I could sit for a few minutes and just passively observe the thoughts floating by, counting them and observing them and thus becoming aware that they were small, fleeting things with no power on their own. The problem is, this method didn't work for me at all, because "count the thought" didn't communicate to me "and that makes the thought not a problem anymore." The thought still hurt just as bad, all I was doing was reminding myself how many bad thoughts were happening. I would get overwhelmed and end up more distressed, and the fact that this thing that should have worked didn't work just convinced me that I was trapped and nobody could ever help me.

It took actual years before I found a method that clicked in my brain, and it was just one step further down the path of counting thoughts:

"Having that thought is harmless."

Every thought that got stuck in my head was about times or ways I might've harmed people. The things that distressed me most were things I'd done wrong that I had zero power to change, so the wrongness would just haunt me forever, making me miserable forever. But the root of the distress was that I had messed up and hurt people.

The thing that clicked was that having the thought does nothing to anyone but me. The thought is harmless, even if the event the thought is about wasn't or wouldn't be. Having the thought hurts no-one else. And since 90% of my distress was distress at the thought of hurting other people, it hit me that in reality, even in the depths of my angst, I was just sitting there, hurting no-one.

And suddenly I found that the last few intrusive thoughts rattling around in my brain withering, because the last thing that had been feeding them was gone. I was given the technique for Counting Thoughts, but it wasn't made for my hands. I had to make my own version out of it. And just because it worked for me and my own personal brain doesn't mean this method would work for someone else, just the same way the method that worked for my dad didn't click for me. If I wanted to teach someone a way to bypass intrusive thoughts, all I would have to work on would be what worked for me, but I could try to guide them through a path similar to the one I followed to find my method so they could maybe find their specific hangups and what specifically would work for them. Every mind is different.

This is also why it's so frustrating to hear someone say stuff like "Oh I used to worry about that too, but it's actually fine, you can just stop worrying about it!" And it's like, "oh, fuckin brilliant, just stop worrying about it? Absolute genius, I just hadn't thought of that-" like yea it sounds flippant and yea it's not helpful, but they are using the only frame of reference they have and describing what they did. They stressed about something, realized it was not actually a problem, and knowing that was enough to make it leave their mind alone. But saying that they "just stopped worrying" doesn't make you understand or internalize how they did it. And because they can't seem to help you, it makes you mad. But then sometimes, with time and perspective, you look back and think "wow, yea, at some point I really did just stop worrying about that." It doesn't mean their advice worked, it just means somewhere along the line something clicked in your mind and started working.

Tahraim is a smith who sees no difference between shaping a tool and shaping a person, but there are some ways that people can't be shaped from the outside, and instead have to shape themselves. He likes to be subtle and cryptic, but he also has good reason to be. The only way to make something click in someone's head is to guide them towards it and nudge them when necessary. It's not all hitting stuff with hammers.

#asks #aurora #writing stuff

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rainachaeri · 1 day ago

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She does, and with some stuffed dollies too :D No favorites though. They're pretty much just for the aesthetics

Absolutely! But I don't think she'd see animals as pets since they're more like friends to her. Not sure about the child one, she's gonna need a lot of help (hehe) with taking care of one.

I dont get this question, cuz I myself know who her love interests are but she doesn't yet. Should she still describe them anyway? Is that what the answer is supposed to be here? Idk lol maybe I'd back on this another time.

Hell yeah

Yeah! About anything! Snakes, rocks, flags, the word hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia, the first 10 digits of pi, a snowflake, the evolution of microphones, and pretty much anything that would interest her, and there's a lot that would interest her!

No matter what, she'll trust her fellow deities advice (and herself) since they know. And Papyrus too. So far theres no specific person she won't listen to advice for just yet.

Silly. Smart. Stupid. As for how she'd describe herself: Human. Student. Girl. OR! She is a B, C, and D. :D

She likes puzzles, no matter how complex it can get.

Nope.

She's totally fine with the age she has now and it's definitely her age, yep! She didn't just make it up or anything nope.

She'll give it away :) (you'd question why she'd join the lottery in the first place, but she probably just wanted to know what would happen and how it worked)

She can enjoy it

She would if she had any :D

She wouldn't. People should enjoy what they want without guilt!

Well, school and work is definitely not a waste of time for her. Everything she puts time and effort on is no waste :D there's always something to learn from everything she tries or does

Whatever it is she wears now

Yes! They're just smaller, younger mortals!

*shrugs*

Technically yeah she would

Math I guess (and other sciences related to it), if she's around dumb people (like me). And no one probably likes mosquitoes, or cockroaches, or pretty much any insect or living being that people are typically disgusted with or afraid of, but she does :D

Idk probably if she no longer feels comfortable? She's not one to stay silent on the important things I think, if she realizes there's a pressing problem/issue in the relationship then she HAS to address it. If they fix it, good, if not, well, they tried, but there's no point forcing things when they simply don't work. It's gonna hurt a lot, but it's gonna hurt a lot more otherwise. There won't be a last straw.

Not sure if she likes it. If it's a really good pet name, she'll love it at best and if it's meh she's neutral about it at worst. Pet names are kinda harmless, so even if she doesn't like a nickname someone gives to her she'll shrug it off I think. Just mortal things she supposed, may as well let them at it. An exemption though if the petname is just so insulting to her (congrats if you managed to find a petname that would be insulting for her), and in that case NOPE please call her something else. Please. She's not one to use petnames either. She prefers addressing everyone with their name. Even the ones she's very close with

Novelty

Honesty

Possibility

Effort

Forgiveness

Maybe

Sliding down a rainbow and landing on a pot of gold. Sometimes the gold is a pile of candies. Sometimes they're cotton candies. Sometimes the pot is just liquid chocolate. (She intentionally dreams all this by the way)

She's not gonna like that question 😅

oc asks that reveal more than you think

Do they sleep with a stuffed animal? If they have multiple, who’s the favorite?

Can they take care of a plant? What about a pet? What about a child?

Ask them to describe their love interest.

Do they look good in red?

Speech! Speech! Speech! Speech! Will they give one, and what about?

Who will they take advice from, no matter what it is? Who won’t they take advice from, no matter what it is?

Describe them in three words. Now let them describe themself in three words.

Do complex puzzles intrigue or frustrate them?

Do they empathize with non-sentient things (dolls, plants, books…)?

What age do they most want to be right now?

They’ve won the lottery. Spend, or save?

Do they like romance in the books they read (or in the book they’re in)?

Name one thing their parents taught them.

Would they agree with the term ‘guilty pleasure’? Do they have any?

What would they consider a waste of time– other than school or work?

If money wasn’t a limit, what would they wear?

Do they like children?

Kissing: tongue or no tongue?

Do they study before tests? Practice before job interviews?

What do they like that nobody else does?

What would it take for them to break up with someone? What would be the last straw?

Do they like being called pet names? Do they call other people pet names? What’s their go-to?

Stability or novelty?

Honesty or charity?

Safety or possibility?

Talent or effort?

Forgiveness or vengeance (or…)?

Would they date a fixer-upper?

What recurring dreams do they have?

What would they do if they knew it would be forgiven?

Support the author: all writing | book | ko-fi | Patreon

#I THINK EVERY ONE SHOULD TRY THIS ITS SO FUN #udbh #athena udbh #raembles

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koralcove · 3 days ago

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prompt: for 800 years, rafayel has waited for you. and now, it's your turn to get a taste of decades of longing and frustration. but he wouldn't make you wait that long. maybe only for 800 minutes. contains: edging, begging, praising, dumb fucked, rafayel calling you various pet names, oh, and did i already mention the absolutely indescribable blue balling for the both of you?

"a-ah! fayel, please-!"

"ooohhh, miss... i'll treat you so right. so good. you won't want anything else."

the snap of his hips makes your mind delirious, squirming under him, all red-faced and teary-eyed. your body magnets his as he presses himself against you, as if any lick of skin of his won't be satisfied without your full touch.

"rafayel- hah! fayel..." you beg hoarsely at him. your clit aches with every snap of his pelvis against yours, so sensitive, yet also so numb. minutes, hours, time, or even infinity pass by as he continues to pound into your pussy relentlessly. the tight ball in your core never snaps, and he keeps teasing and pistoning into you without any sign of stopping. only when he feels the tightness of your walls going snug around him with your thighs pressed desperately on his waist does he will himself to do so.

"want you so bad. want all of you. need you. need to be in you. fuck- cutie, i don't wanna leave you. need to be in you. forever... haaaaah!" he babbles into your neck, the words caressing hotly in your ear and spinning your mind into a heated and mindless frenzy. rafayel doesn't know how he's still going, doesn't know how he can still stop when your gummy insides hug him so warmly, so invitingly. and yet without fail, he does.

the heat and pressure grow impossibly fast, coming into you like a big tidal wave that's about to wash over you.

"pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease, fayel-"

and then he does it again. cruelly stops just as you're about to reach that heaven that you've been craving for hours. it rips out a sob of frustration out of you, eyes glossed with mourning over the loss of your euphoria. a hand comes to gently take your arm out of your wet face, cooing so softly at you that you think he would've felt sorry for you. and he is. but his cruelty runs as deep as his love in this moment, and he revels in the perfectly pink flush of your skin, wanting to etch that colour into his mind and recreate it into a canvas.

"shhh, shhhshhhshhhshhh. pretty girl, don't cry. don'tcrydon'tcrydon'tcry. i know it hurts. i know it does, sweet pearl. but you're doing so good. doing so so great. didn't cum yet, just like i said."

he feels your body tremble, walls spasming so deliciously around him that it spills a raw guttural moan out of his pretty pink lips. and his cock aches hard. so hard, that he's doing the best he can to breath evenly. to not fucking come inside you like he knows you deserve, that you want. but you don't now. not yet.

"breath for me, cutie. need you to breath for me." he swipes away the stray strands clinging on your sticky forehead. though he's just as wrecked as you — pupils blown so wide that the flecks of purples are practically swallowed by it, heart racing and reverberating from his chest in rapid breaths, skin glistening with a glossy layer of sweat, and thighs quivering from the exertion of fucking into you for hours while denying himself as well.

somewhere along the throes of the heated moment, rafayel had decided to play along with holding off his own end as well. he's already had his share of his own release, his sticky essence coating your thighs and the insides of your pussy with your juices that his studio was filled with nothing but the lewd noises of your skin slapping and rubbing against one another for hours. and, god, did it hurt. it hurts so good that his abdomen strains with ache from the denial. his cock so fucking swollen inside of you that it almost hurts to even keep on pounding into you with how your velvety walls stimulate him so beautifully into madness. but the pained look of pleasure on your face eggs him, and he has to hide himself into your neck so he wouldn't end up getting off immediately just from your expressions alone.

"been so long... too long. please. wanna cum, rafa. wanna cum so bad, it hurts." you hiccup. your body has been straining for hours, strung up so tight that even just the smallest stir of his cock or the slightest shift of his mons brushing against your clit would send electric shocks through you and probably push you to the edge. and rafayel was very aware of this, fighting to keep still in you, trying so hard to keep his hands away from caressing and groping onto your skin when it practically burns for you. sometimes, it gets so hot that you think that his evol is acting up.

"shh, it's not yet time, lovely. you know how long you still have to wait."

you honestly lost track of time of how much time you still have to endure this hellish circle of your body crescendoing to a high only for you to be pulled down so roughly from it. sniffles rack your body as you taste the saltiness streaming down your face. rafayel kisses it away.

he coos gently at you, whispering soft and reassuring words like one would to a timid shaking animal that needs to be calmed. you retort back with mindless babbles of whines and cries of him being so mean, incoherent words filled with empty bitterness at the situation, of how cruel this test was to you. he only answers with a nuzzle to your neck, pressing light kisses on your neck, catching the salty taste of your skin and desperation. distantly, he thinks that he knows that feeling all too well. the longing and aching, the desperation and desire of having something so close only to be tugged away from your grasp the moment it becomes too good to be true when it nears you... he lives and breaths with that feeling all too well.

the soothing caress of your hair and his frustrating resilience of keeping still in you eventually calms your body. you could only sniffle as you are left powerless from his skilled hands, grounding you from the high that he so deliciously almost took you to, but also pulled away from. your face turns away from him, an image of silent defiance from a petulant child who was denied the toy they wanted. but he takes his time with you with a patience that you didn't know was capable from the bratty man-child that you know.

when the buzz of your body dies down, you only lay in silence now. rafayel's head rests just beneath the beat of your heart, an instrument that soothes his own desires. he absently traces mindless shapes just above your breast, and your eyes take in the gradient hues of the sky. his eyes follow to where your gaze is, and he sighs lightly, breath fanning against your cooled skin.

he sits up slightly, tilting your head to meet his eyes that are only ever full of devotion to you. you can't help but melt from the sight. he's always so expressive yet so unreadable that he becomes a mystery to you at times. but when he looks at you with those eyes, full of fondness and longing that's incomprehensible to you, you can't help but mimic the affection.

he sweeps down for a kiss, tender and sweet, before he pulls away and rests his forehead against yours. when he intertwines his hand into yours, you brace yourself for what's to come.

a slow, sensual gyration of his hips, making sure to not overstimulate your poor clit too much, and a few small thrusts test your sensitivity. you can't help the hitched gasp that leaves your mouth, squeezing his hand as his pace is steady. but you know it's only a matter of time before that changes.

your ears pick up his voice, but not the words of his native tongue. but they sound sweet to you, until it eventually changes into breathy gasps and desperate whispers as his hips slap hard against yours. the gentle squeeze of his hand in yours turns into a dull pain as your nails dig into his knuckles, feeling the slow heat of euphoria build into you once more.

your mind reels at the thought of him thrusting into you violently, the squelch of your fluids mingling into the dusk air. he'll take you higher again, body moving with a frenzied fashion that will mush your brain into only thinking of wanting and needing more. and then he'll stop again as you come closer to your peak, kissing your tears away. and then he'll do it again. again and again and again and again, ruining you and building you back up.

you still have 160 minutes left.

#love and deepspace #lads rafayel #rafayel love and deepspace #qi yu #rafayel x reader #rafayel x you #rafayel smut #love and deepspace smut #lads smut

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