#mostly her laying down though | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

seelestia · 9 months ago

Text

✧ i'll show you (if you'll let me).

⎯ there is a certain touch of beauty to witnessing a side of theirs revealed to you so naturally. it becomes as easy as breathing if you just let it happen... so, will you? ( or in other words, a way you enable them to be themselves. )

#STARRING. aventurine, dr. ratio, sunday, dan heng ft. gn!reader. { 4.2k words }

#TAGS. fluff, established relationship. more: minor spoilers for aven's backstory (described mostly abstractly), ratio is referred to by his first name, i called sunday a nerd (sorry), dr. ratio & dan heng are certified workaholics.

#P/S. i think i may have yapped a little considering the word count but i hope it ends up being a good kind of yapping. tysm for reading! ♡

★ 〜 masterlist.

will you let aventurine hold you close when he sleeps? . . . whether it's an arm slung over your hips or his nose buried in your shoulder or fingers tracing shapes onto your skin. he doesn't ask for too much; only that you grant him the permission to cradle you in his arms, somewhere within his reach. it's a habit, he hopes you don't mind.

you have to wonder, though. considering the plenitude of pillows on the bed, why do his hands still seek you out? with all the credits he spent on those cotton-stuffed angels, you thought aventurine would relish them a bit more. but ah-ah, see? that is where you're wrong. sure, the pillows are extremely comfy but he always has a preference for things with much, much more value.

and the truth — well, his truth — is that even the softest cushions from oti mall couldn't compare to the privilege of laying his head on your chest, he'd say. especially when you brush his hair with your fingers - oh, one of the easiest ways to paradise. truly, the best value there is! can you blame a man for being honest and a little lovesick?

(“sappy,” you accuse. he pouts, offended.)

but aventurine has a flair for theatrics, you know that. his witty quips are as feather-light in weight as light-hearted they are in intent. but his touch - in the forms of kind caresses or rhythmic taps to a tune from his forgotten culture - lingers on your skin, with a yearning so heavy. you question whether it could be nostalgia or instead, silent awe at a reality he never imagined could ever be his.

(kakavasha remembers. clinging onto you for warmth like he once did to his sister, falling asleep with her prayers to mama fenge in his ears. the avgins believed gaiathra triclops to be the symbol of humility; so naturally, their prayers to her should also be humble, not too quiet but not too loud. all in moderation. for a frail child like him, those gentle prayers alone were enough to let him drift into a dreamless slumber and to ignore the shackles of reality if not for the briefest moments.

time passed. came a time where the melody he associated with slumber was no longer a soft voice lulling him but pure static, a noise to distract his mind from the chains around his wrists. they burned themselves onto his skin, searing, but he was already too familiar with the sensation to care. the mark on his neck was unwelcome, laughing at him, but he too laughed at his own pitiful reflection so what's the difference, anyway?

time passed again, the call of slumber then turned into clattering noises of chips doused in gold and dice thrown onto a surface. he thought it'd stay that way forever but before long, it morphed into up-and-down waves he couldn't decipher initially. they're gentle, faint like a human's breathing: your breathing as you allowed him to lie beside you for the first time, he realized back then. although he deems himself unworthy, an ugly grime on your pristine existence that still insists on cradling him — but despite it all, he finds this last melody to be his favorite so far.)

✧ a moment among the stars:

ticklish.

the sensation, minor yet still impactful enough, causes you to stir out of sleep. the light of noon greets your eyes and you become vaguely cognizant that the root of it all is the tufts of blond hair brushing against your neck.

there is a solid weight on your torso and a pair of slender arms loosely wrapped around your waist - but they're nothing you haven't grown used to. you comb your fingers through the messy locks licking at your skin, instinctively, and the fragrant scent of what you register as penacony's limited edition perfume kisses your nose.

“...ugh, what system time is it?” you let out a grunt, shifting around slightly to let your limbs breathe. you don't get an answer to your question, instead, aventurine's arms reestablish their hold on you. hooking you closer to him as if to wring out whatever proximity is left, if there is even any. his simple proclamation of “who cares?”, in a sense.

there it is again, that ticklish feeling. you feel soft lips grazing feather-like kisses against your collarbone. oh, he definitely isn't letting go just yet. truly merciless, a dozy morning thought accompanied by your tired sigh. the noise still comes out fond, however, so your feigned act of annoyance is fooling no one.

“it's warm, you know,” you grumble. but the yawn escaping your mouth right after betrays whatever stern image you're trying to adopt. not like you can ever be too stern with him. aventurine knows this, yes, and he gives you an A+ for effort each time.

“mhm,” he finally speaks, snuggling into your chest with no care about anything in the world, “g'morning to you too, lovely.”

his favorite mornings aren't his favorite if not thanks to your innocuous complaints and delightful attempts at pushing his pretty face away, no? a lazy grin graces the stoneheart's lips and eyes like exquisite gems, although sleepy, flutter open to gaze at you languidly. he takes the sight of you in then lets out a sigh - a fond noise just like yours earlier; the both of you really are two peas of a pod.

you must look a terrible mess right now and yet, the sight of you has aventurine smiling dazedly. “ah, what a spectacular sight. i really am the luckiest man in the galaxy,” he hums in approval. you want to roll your eyes but stops as he leans up to pepper (ah, one necessary correction: smother) kisses all over your face, arms dragging you closer to his chest like a cage. your eyes widen comically. what a nefarious trap, he has the advantage!

every remnant of sleepiness clinging to your mind evaporates. you squeal with laughter, shoving at his shoulder using the strength of a baby deer because no, you don't really want him to stop. he knows that too, of course.

“mwah, mwah, mwah—”

“pfft...! kakavasha, i can't breathe!”

(he has half a mind to pinch his skin, as if to remind himself that this is real. he can feel your giggles tickling his skin as if to tell him in return: yes, you are.)

will you let veritas pour his heart out after a long day? . . . well, that could count as too much of an overstatement. others say, “that man is like a brick wall!” some more dare to whisper, “doesn't his temper already exhaust whatever emotional quota he has?!” needless to say, everyone knows that dr. ratio is a man ruled by the mind, not by the heart. alright, that's quite true - but does that imply he has discarded the latter altogether? if so, then you beg to differ.

(not in the literal sense, of course! the heart is a vital organ of the body. saying otherwise would be akin to spitting on his shiny phd in biology... or his seven other phd's at that.)

the pedestal which the public places veritas ratio on reaches still great heights, even if it may not rival an ivory tower a member of the genius society resides in. it is so high up that mundane troubles of those below can't reach a genius like him, surely? well, as tall as he stands - somehow, the universe grants you a front row seat for a particular sight that proves otherwise.

if only they knew the doctor has a habit of mumbling these incomprehensible (more like barely intelligible) grumbles under his breath, striking a resemblance similar to a grumpy old cat. if you strain your ears hard enough, you might catch a “...this has to be it...” or “...i dare not think so...” from time to time as he roams around the room with materials in his hands.

(absurd, people would say. but you think it's extremely cute.)

veritas doesn't say it out loud - but you can tell by the hunch in his stiff shoulders, by the one or two sighs he huffs every six minutes - that he is itching to tell somebody of all the tomfooleries he has encountered today. of course, the topics he laments about vary; it's only when you hear him exhaling the loudest sigh that you get to find out.

mostly though, it's about his students and remarks on how they can further improve their performance — sure, he could phrase it a little gentler — but you still find it sweet that he cares. if not that, then it'd be about indolent colleagues, complicated formulae and more. on some days, he'll even let out an exasperated “truly mind-boggling! could you believe that?” to which you'd reply with an “uh-huh, go on.”

at the end of a ranting session, veritas takes careful note to leave a kiss on your person afterward. no matter where it is - on the lips, the cheek or your hand. no matter where you are - sitting on the couch beside him, behind the kitchen counter or across the room. the warmth that stays on your skin when he pulls away is somewhat tingly. appreciative, you think, especially when he looks at you with such loving eyes that his colleagues would be sure to retch in shock if they were a witness.

looks like you are right on the money; he has never discarded his heart, after all. so yes, to rephrase - will you lend veritas a listening ear when he needs it?

✧ a moment among the stars:

“...yet another headache.”

as unsubtle as ever, the doctor's complaint is barely hidden behind the guise of a mumble. those neatly styled violet bangs of his aren't doing an excellent job at concealing that frown strewn across his forehead either. veritas's posture is tense, a dead giveaway, as he goes over the piles of documents on his desk.

you cock an eyebrow upon seeing the stamp belonging to the intelligentsia guild on one of the papers. definitely work. it has been two system hours since he took a seat at the work desk, you concur, or lifted a finger to do something besides flipping through drafts. a mere glance at the stack of documents is enough to convince you that those researchers at the guild must really value veritas's input.

a perk of being a genius, maybe? the phantom of a weight lands alight on your shoulders. with a mug of black coffee in hand, you make your way to him. your footsteps are without a sound, only the noise of porcelain being placed down onto woodenware is enough to announce your arrival. “rough day at work?” you ask, peering down at his progress.

(a doctor's handwriting really is something. you resist the urge to squint.)

veritas doesn't seem to mind. if the way he smiles at the sight of you, albeit tiredly, is any indication. “hah,” he rests a hand on his temple and scoffs wryly, “so much grievances like you wouldn't believe.”

oh, he is teetering on the precipice of a tangent but stops himself. “...fret not, i'm fine. this is hardly something beyond my expertise,” he shakes his head, the motion causing his reading glasses to slide down a smidgen down the bridge of his nose.

you're too familiar with the self-assured bravado he puts on. you're quite endeared, actually. “okay, mr. i-require-no-rest,” you take the glasses off his face and he breaks into a frown. at the childish tone you're using or for having his reading glasses taken away, you don't know.

“why don't you take a little break?” you suggest. veritas sighs, “need i remind you that dilly-dallying is for fools who wish to waste their time?” and crosses his arms defiantly. he knows your strategy, he has come face-to-face with it several times.

“do you think a break with me is a waste of time?” you present him with a rhetorical question, quite the difficult adversary.

(and he keeps losing to it every single time.)

“well, that's—” the doctor nearly splutters, taken aback. “that's different if you insist on inserting yourself as a variable,” he infers, putting emphasis on the last part accompanied by an incredulous look.

“the answer is up for debate then,” you shrug with a cheeky smile. your hand then deftly lifts the mug you previously set down to your lips, veritas's eyes dilate in bewilderment. “so,” you hum at the rich taste of your handiwork, “wanna tell me about your day? haven't heard about the council in a while.”

“you—” he gasps in defeat, “i thought that was supposed to be my mug of coffee.”

(he has a slight pout on his face, but you dare not point it out lest it disappears in the blink of an eye.)

“our mug of coffee,” you take a few more sips with an innocent decadence. “all is fair in love and war, doctor.”

“i can never win with you,” he buries his face in his palm with a groan. you laugh heartily, a sound that chimes like quaint little bells in his ears - it elicits a reaction from his lips, for them to quirk up at the corners in the smallest of ways.

“regardless. . .” veritas relents and reaches for your free hand. you let him. “it seems a break wouldn't be so amiss, after all,” he then presses a kiss on the side of your wrist, affectionate.

(your heart skips a beat.)

will you let sunday regale you with facts you've never heard of before? . . . a man of eloquent words, no less a man of educated mind. you have no doubt that the books in the dewlight pavilion really aren't just there for show - not that you're allowed to browse through them at your own desire. a servant's voice would stop you in your tracks should your fingers ever brush against something in the family's secret bookshelf.

how mysterious.

but sunday makes it known to the staff that you, in particular, are allowed more access to the shelves - perhaps, not too much - but more than even mr. mccoy, at least. with the way you have to crane your neck far up to pinpoint the tallest height that the shelves reach, you wonder: has sunday gone through everything here personally?

your immediate answer is most likely. you know sunday fairly well; to have something that he hasn't scrutinized from the inside out in his possession will surely gnaw away at his psyche incessantly. not being in the know at all times is a looming fear for him. but of course, you have other ways to confirm the answer for yourself.

pick out a book from a shelf there, either intentional or purely arbitrary, and watch as sunday carefully traces his steps towards you. his curiosity is piqued, which topic has caught your interest this time? but he tucks it under proper cordiality. with a hand behind his back, he'd utter your name in the softest tone and ask the familiar question of “would you like to know more?” — asking for your permission to ramble, essentially — you find this tendency of his to be charming, so you nod each time.

(and he smiles when you do. a smile less refined at the edges, kinder and relaxed.)

the best place to start from is always the beginning. you think sunday agrees because he often starts by telling you the history and its origins before moving on to its impact on the galaxy, then his personal stance on the topic. it's a pattern, you notice, his ramblings have a pattern. and it's consistent every time, you might've believed he was reading off a script. and what's more? sunday is blissfully oblivious of it.

fascinating. you ponder: what kind of things you can do with this information? decisions, decisions, decisions. . . but ultimately, you opt for keeping it a secret like a treasure only you're allowed to see.

(that might be true in a way. you don't doubt that robin, his dear sister, is familiar with this side of him. does that mean he treasures you like he does her? your chest starts to feel a bit lighter.)

if you were to point it out, you fear you might never witness it again - goodness, to know that he has been displaying such foolishness or rather, what he viewed as an embarrassing freudian slip in front of you? his wings might as well resort to covering his face for good until the end of time.

as you listen to him talk (with such elegance at that), you can't help whatever tender look you have on your face. really, who would've thought the head of the oak family could be such. . . a nerd?

(you hope in secret that sunday will be more willing to show sides like these to you in the future. and that they're not a weakness at all, not when they're shared with you.)

✧ a moment among the stars:

“it looks like you're fascinated by the dreamscape nursery rhyme this time.”

sunday spares the article in your hold no further inspection. one glance at the cover and walls of memorized information rush to the front of his mind. he looks familiar with it; could it be a part of his childhood too? but then again, everything found here is within his knowledge.

“i am,” you say with intrigue, “it got me ruminating for a while.”

you meet his gaze, stumbling upon yellow irises that glimmer akin to gold under penaconian chandeliers. you think you see a hint of affection in them, swimming around your reflection like a school of fish in a pond. it makes you smile.

he smiles back, oblivious to your thoughts but returns your gesture. he asks, “how so?” and you reply without delay, “i read through it and the morbid undertone took me by surpri—”

or at least, it's supposed to be without delay until you realize sunday has stepped closer in order to peer down at the page you're holding open. and suddenly, you're extremely aware of every minute detail like how his breath brushes against the side of your cheek and how his chest rumbles as he hums in acknowledgement.

(you flush in the neck and he perceives this reaction of yours with mirth.)

“my apologies,” sunday chuckles and pulls away, “i've simply forgotten the rhyme and wished to refresh my memory.”

“somehow, i feel that isn't the case...” you mumble accusingly. that seems to amplify whatever little amusement he gets from flustering you. “oh, my dove. i can assure you that it is,” he caresses your head, a little placatingly.

most times, sunday isn't so laidback about giving affection in public — since he has an image to maintain — so you assume the fact that the servants are out and about, leaving only you and him here, plays a role in his unusual boldness. you accept the gesture with a bashful pout.

“now, where were we?” sunday clears his throat, “ah, yes. some people have noted on the nursery rhyme's strange quality but still, it retains its popularity in penacony. it is also widely assumed that the hound resembles the bloodhound family while—”

you hold back an amused sigh, but it's more out of fondness than anything. he'll start from the history then the effect on the general public, as per usual, but you're not the only predictable one here. you'd listen to him anytime too, won't you?

(you do adore when the head of the oak family would put off his public figure mask around you. if only for just a while.)

will you let dan heng rest his head on your lap when it's just you two? . . . the sense of comfort it provides isn't something he can explain with words. as if he has ever been good with words in the first place. saying a sentence bereft of logical reasoning or witty remarks doesn't come easily to the express’ guard. neither does intimacy. . . but you know that already, don't you?

after all, it isn't a secret that dan heng prefers speaking with his actions. if to show one's intentions is the end goal, then actions are the fastest route to choose. words, although able to sweeten the trip like how a beautiful scenery can, will eventually lead to actions regardless so why take the extra step?

but you're different from him; you articulate what you think and what you mean. you're honest in ways that keep catching dan heng off guard without fail — just like the first time you offered your empty lap to him when his head was swirling in pain — but he supposes that is one of your charms. “words can be useful. we're not all born mind readers,” you told him once and he hummed, accepting of your perspective.

(“look at you two! opposites attract!” march chirped. he recalled shooting her a look of indignation and she rubbed the back of her head sheepishly in response.)

dan heng has learnt to grow used to your propensities - but by far, your shameless invitations are still one matter that can't be comprehended even with time. he cannot understand; how you smile as you sit on his futon in the archives (he doesn't mind), how you link gazes with him so effortlessly, how you pat your lap knowingly and say, “why don't you rest your head here?”

(he has to restrain himself from bursting into flames like a heliobus.)

sometimes, he'll accept reluctantly or he'll decline with an underlying tone of longing he doesn't want you to notice. because as much of a good hold dan heng has on nonchalance, he cannot deny that this particular gesture of yours has left a mark on him.

(it remains persistently.)

when he rests his head on your lap, he can't help but take a deep inhale - your fragrance fills his senses and he discards the selfish desire to keep it all to himself. your fingers are soothing as they thread through his hair gently. the feeling that washes over him is serene, almost comparable to submerging himself in the pure waters of scalegorge waterscape.

when overcome by such a tranquil state of mind, dan heng wonders what expression he might be making at that moment? he always keeps his eyes closed, so it's a shame he may never know. but you do, and you don't think you've ever seen him look so at peace before like he does now.

(perhaps, that's why you keep offering him this in the first place.)

✧ a moment among the stars:

“someone looks tired,” you state with a pointed stare. the archives isn't a room too spacious and the only ones here are you and him. the target of your sentence is obvious.

but dan heng doesn't take the bait, barely looks away from the entry he is currently authoring. still, he spares you a glance and hums glibly, “are you projecting? if so, feel free to use my bed in the meantime.”

you let out a noise, something gibberish that conveys disappointment but it is effectively drowned out by the typing noises. “you haven't even touched the food i bought you,” your voice becomes mellow, “why don't you rest for a while?”

he isn't convinced, you think, since his fingers are still hard at work. the new info the team brought back must've been a lot if he's that focused.

“dan heng?” you try again, hopeful for the last time. you don't take him for a fool, of course, he'll know when he reaches his limit and have proper rest then. but would that really be ideal? a second passes and that hope flickers like a dimming light. but just an inch before the edge of giving up, the typing slows to a stop.

“. . .alright,” he murmurs. finally, after a good hour spent drawing patterns on his backside with your eyes, dan heng turns around to face you. he look tense, you note with abject concern.

“here,” you usher him to your lap, empty and conveniently so. dan heng shoots you a blank look - this isn't the first time you offered and this isn't the first time he reacted like that. you try to suppress a laugh, failing gloriously at it. “just for a little bit,” you utter through a stifled fit of chuckles.

dan heng shakes his head, not in rejection but in defeat. his eyes slip close, second nature, as he leans to situate his head on your lap. you welcome him with a hum and let your fingers card through his hair. a calm sigh falls from his lips like a water droplet in springtime.

“this. . . is nice,” he admits, sudden and unprompted. you nearly doubt your ears for a moment there. did he— “i don't hate it is, uhm, what i mean to say,” dan heng adds and it dawns on you that your ears are still working. his eyes are still closed, not that you'd expect anything else, he prefers to treat it as a shield from being face-to-face with embarrassment.

(or to avoid your ecstatic gaze. he can feel warmth rushing to his cheeks already.)

“i know,” you smile, brushing away a few messy strands from his forehead. he isn't an open book but you think you've read the pages enough to remember all the little details. “but thanks for telling me. i'm no mind reader but i think i can read yours pretty well.”

“i shall provide no further comment,” he holds back an incredulous exhale, yet his lips still curl slightly at the corner. you feel the teeniest desire to trace the curve of his lips with your fingertip but settle for silently admiring them instead.

“it's fine. i know the answer already,” you say, words dripping with affection. such a shame dan heng never looks up at you during a time like this. because if he did, he wouldn't have missed seeing the sheer fondness in your gaze that rains down on him in light showers. a true shame.

(one day, he'll gather the courage. maybe.)

— thank you for reading! reblogs with comments are most appreciated. ♡

#hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #aventurine x reader #aventurine x you #dr ratio x reader #dr ratio x you #sunday x reader #sunday x you #dan heng x reader #dan heng x you #hsr fluff #hsr headcanons #hsr imagines #seelestial.inks

7K notes · View notes

star-anise · 1 month ago

Text

Disclaimer: I like Anita Sarkeesian.

But also, I just saw a writeup of a Youtuber whose content has come a long way from his Gamergate days, and to explain that, the wiki says, "Anita Sarkeesian is a radical feminist who created a webseries about sexist tropes in video games"

AHAHAHAHAHA ANITA SARKEESIAN, RADICAL FEMINIST

HOO HEE EXCUSE ME THAT'S A GOOD ONE

Radical feminist. Feminist extremist. Anita Sarkeesian.

Anita Sarkeesian did her Master's Thesis in Social and Political Thought in 2010 on the trope of the "Strong Woman" in fantasy and science fiction TV shows, and produced Tropes vs Women, a series of online videos breaking down her work in a way that was accessible to a lay audience. She found a ready audience in geek feminist circles, since this was exactly the kind of thing we wanted and needed right then.

Tropes vs Women was extremely bog-standard cultural critique, what you'd find expressed in discussion between scholars of literary theory or media analysis anywhere, and exactly what 99% of feminists were saying at the time. It certainly talked about patriarchy as the complex system of sexism fused into our cultural matrix, so it's not like it wasn't radical feminism from that viewpoint, but it wasn't "radical" by way of being especially militant. Sarkeesian frequently pointed out how individual occurrences of a trope weren't harmful in themselves, but that a media landscape completely saturated with only that trope and nothing but that trope is, in the aggregate, a big feminist issue.

And the internet

HAAAAAAAATED

her for it.

Like, geek feminists got flak a lot anyway, especially when we wanted things like properly enforced policies against sexual harassment at science fiction conventions. And yeah, there totally were toxic keyboard warriors who said stuff about all men being scum - but Sarkeesian wasn't one of them.

It's probably because of her succinct, matter-of-fact, "this is not a debated issue, feminists have decades of theory and research to back this point up, sources abound if you google for thirty seconds so I won't stop to baby you through all the fundamental concepts" approach that she got such a big reach. She was calm, concise, coherent, and rational, everything feminists are told we need to be.

Unfortunately that just made her seem... attackable, I think. A good target, not actually scary or impassioned, unlikely to respond to violence with violence. The perfect kind of person to play five seconds of, and then spend the next five minutes yelling into your mic because IF ANITA IS RIGHT ABOUT VIDEO GAME SEXIST YOU MIGHT AS WELL SAY THAT EVERYTHING IS SEXIST AND SEXISM IS SYSTEMIC AND ENDEMIC TO ALL OF WESTERN CULTURE AND OTHER CULTURES TOO, WHICH IS CLEARLY RIDICULOUS, ANITA LADY BAD.

She literally spent five solid years as Enemy #1 in online geek spaces. It was completely insane. I am so sorry she had to take the brunt of it, and yet grateful that she did. She held the line and took the shit and kept doing good decent feminist work for years after, though she did admit to burnout and closed up shop on her nonprofit org Feminist Frequency in 2023. I hope to hell she's having a good day.

But even now, more than a decade later, dudes talk about her as though she were Geek Feminist Godzilla, the biggest baddest woman in the universe, off to lay waste to downtown Video Games and cut everybody's balls off.

When people (mostly dudes, but not all) talk like this, it's just very funny and unintentionally revealing because of the absolute averageness of her third-wave, trans-inclusive, western-centric, intersectional feminism. It makes them look absolutely pathetic.

Because it just makes it clear that she is probably the first and last self-described feminist the speaker has ever paid attention to.

#feminist discourse #anita sarkeesian #boogeyman of fanbros everywhere

3K notes · View notes

augustinewrites · 8 months ago

Text

yesterday afternoon - after an unsuccessful coffee shop date - you’d decided that dating sucked. it was much too awkward and formal and not at all like it was in the movies, putting too much pressure on the people involved.

last night - after watching shoko flirt her way into free drinks - you’d been tipsy enough to take her advice.

casual sex! it doesn't have to be with a stranger, just pick someone you know. someone you’re sure you won't fall in love with.

this morning you’d woken up to find gojo laying in bed next to you.

you lay shoulder to shoulder with the one person you should not have picked, staring up at the ceiling, waiting for the other person to speak.

“did we really–”

“three times,” satoru confirms happily, rolling onto his side to grin down at you. “i'm surprised we didn't do this sooner, really. our sexual tension has always been off the charts.”

when he leans in to kiss you, his lips meet your palm as your expression wrinkles. “don’t get familiar.”

“we’re naked together in bed– we slept together in more than the literal sense. can’t get more familiar than that.”

“and this never happen again,” you promise, refusing to look at him.

“why? because you’re afraid you’ll fall in love with me? it’s okay to admit it. i'm extremely lovable.”

you’ve seen the way girls fawn over him. how they swoon over his pretty eyes and confident smile. he’s satoru gojo. a legend amongst jujutsu society. you’re no one in comparison, not a user of an otherworldly cursed technique, not from a major clan.

people like him don’t fall for people like you. you’re afraid of rejection, afraid of being hurt.

“we’re friends,” you tell him honestly. “i don’t want to risk ruining our friendship over something like this.”

he tilts his head as your look at him. “shoko told you to try casual sex, didn't she? why not with me?”

“she told you?” you groan, dragging a hand down your face and making a mental note to never ask your roommate for advice for anything ever again.

“hey, look at me,” he urges, grasping your hand. you do as he says, meeting his earnest gaze. “i can be casual and chill, it’s not like i have a huge crush on you or anything.”

it’s so hard to say no to him. you really wish you could.

“i’ll think about it,” you tell him, rolling your eyes when he fist pumps. “but you need to go home before shoko sees you.”

but you’re dealing with satoru gojo, who almost never does what he’s told. “you’re not getting rid of me that easily. come here.”

he winds an arm around you, pulli my you in so you’re snug against his chest. explicit memories of last night flash through your mind, sending heat through your veins.

“i can’t.” you tell him (though you’re mostly reminding yourself.) this is insane— satoru, what are you—”

you’re cut off when he shushes you, whispering let’s sleep in for a little while longer.

he starts to drift off again as you struggle to escape his grasp, but your efforts are futile. even on the throes of sleep, satoru is stronger than you.

so you give up, resigning yourself to a few more minutes of…cuddling. shoko isn’t a morning person anyways.

after a minute, you find it's not entirely awful. it’s a purely physical reaction. gojo is good looking, even with his hair mussed with sleep and his mouth hanging open. because you know that under the softness of his skin lays defined muscle, and spending the morning in his nicely toned arms isn’t the worst thing in the world.

(it’s purely physical, is what your head tries to convince your heart, which is beating a little faster than usual.)

a very soft, content sigh slips past your lips.

then, shoko knocks on your door.

“hey! don’t tell me you’re too hungover for grocery shopping.”

“shit!” you whisper harshly, shoving him away from you. “she cannot see you in here.”

“afraid you’ll have to share?” he teases, narrowly avoiding being hit with a pillow. “okay, okay! where do you want me?”

“closet!” you instruct, scrambling my around the room to make sure none of his clothes are lying around. you thrust them into his hands, pushing him into your closet.

he catches the door before you can close it, smiling down at you. “aren’t you glad we’re doing this?”

you shove him inside, slamming the door shut just ask shoko bursts into the room.

“hey,” you greet, trying your best to appear casual as you lean against the door. your heart beats in your throat, as she squints at you, then lets her gaze sweep across the room.

“did you bring someone home last night?”

“no.”

she looks at you. really looks at you, you think.

“okay,” she finally says, though you can’t tell if she believes you. “i just– i thought i saw you leave with gojo. suguru said you two were flirting all night.”

“gojo and i?” you try to laugh, but it comes out a little strained. “never in a million years.”

shoko only shrugs, and you let yourself relax when she turns to leave…

…only for her to turn around once more, leaning the the doorframe. “well if you really don't like him, just let him down easy, alright? suguru told me he has a huge crush on you.”

wait–

“gojo?”

you hear a sharp inhale through the door.

“yeah,” she nods. “you really couldn't tell?”

gojo…has a crush on you. it takes a few seconds to truly sink in. “i had no idea.”

“of course you didn't. he’s definitely got a really weird way of showing it.”

she turns to leave for real this time, but you wait a couple extra seconds before opening your closet, finding a wide eyed, blushing satoru staring at you.

you can't help but laugh. at his expression, at shoko’s revelation, at this entire situation.

dating sucks, but maybe it won’t be that bad if it’s with him.

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #gojo fluff

4K notes · View notes

mooniiify · 8 months ago

Text

thinking about bakugo and how he definitely sometimes models for his parents.

like, cmon now, he’s a pretty boy and we all know it. though he never mentioned anything to his classmates. one day he’s sitting with you, his so by then, in his room. you’re on your phone, your head resting on his thigh as both of you are on his bed. it’s mostly silent, except from the low music bakugo is playing from a small speaker.

“that hag, doesn’t she know i’m busy?” bakugo grumbled under his breath as he furiously typed away on his phone.

that caught your attention. letting your phone to lay on your chest, you looked up at bakugo, eyebrows furrowed. “what’s up?”

“the hag wants me to go over to her studio on the weekend so i can model for her new collection.” bakugo scoffed. “as if i have nothin’ better to do.”

you blink once, twice, three times. “what did you just say?”

bakugo furrowed his own eyebrows, looking down at her. “what?”

you sit up properly so you can face bakugo, still in shock. “you model?”

bakugo scoffs. “hell yeah i do. my parents are designers, remember? i’m basically forced to.”

still in shock, you demand to see modeling pictures of him. bakugo rolls his eyes and pulls up some — from their spring collection from last year, apparently — and handed you the phone.

you go through the pictures, eyes wide. from what you could see, he was acting like he normally would, hands in the pockets of his pants, almost a scowl on his face, but not really. he looked so natural. and hot.

“ya know, instead of drooling over those, i can ask the hag if she needs a girl for the shoot. i’m sure they got the women’s section to photoshoot, too.”

you nodded, though you still couldn’t look away from the pictures. how did i bag that?

#bnha #bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki #mha bakugou #katsuki bakugo x reader #bnha bakugo katsuki #my hero academia #mha #katsuki x reader #x reader

5K notes · View notes

luveline · 8 months ago

Note

Jade can I please get a chatty af yapper sunshine girlfriend with Sirius?? Like May be someone tells her she talks a lot so she's super quiet around him cuz she's worried he'll get annoyed and break up with her but poor Sirius he misses his chatty girl and just angst with fluff

thank you for requesting! fem, 1.4k

James Potter means well. Honestly, you don’t think he has a mean bone in his body, so you try not to take it to heart.

Unfortunately, your attempts to do so don’t work. They really, unquestionably don’t. By the time you’re outside of Sirius’ flat that afternoon, James’ small comment is all you can think of.

“You’re so chatty I’m surprised you don’t run out of breath,” he’d said. Not without love. You’d bumped into him in Sainsbury’s and ended up talking for ages about one thing or another, you know him well, you’d even say you were friends, though he’s of course Sirius’ friend rather than your own. “But I’m the same. God, Sirius used to hate how much I talked, he’d be sick of me. I think I numbed him to it over the years.”

You can’t imagine it. Sirius and James are best friends. With Remus, they’re the most in love threesome of friends you’ve ever met, and it’s nice; it makes you very proud to have a boyfriend who cares for others as deeply as Sirius cares for them. It’s like a constant demonstration of how he’s a good man.

But you’d never stopped to consider that they weren’t always so seamless, and you’ve regrettably never considered that your constant talking is something that could put him off.

You talk to Sirius about everything. There isn’t a word to describe the excitement of having someone waiting to listen to you every single night. You could tell him every detail of a day down to what colour socks you wore and you know he’ll sit there listening with his hand on the small of your back, or his fingers twined between yours. You’ve never felt so loved as to be able to just talk about everything and have him talk back.

But… what if, this whole time, he’s been wishing for a little bit of quiet?

What if eventually, the talking becomes too much?

He must be with you for a reason. You aren’t holding the poor guy hostage, he acts like he’s mad for you ninety percent of the time (while the other ten percent is spent sleeping on your shoulder).

Like now —you knock his door and you can hear him scrambling up from the sofa, the sound of a book dislodged or a remote hitting the rug, you’re not sure. The door yanks open and Sirius smiles at you, pulling you in through the gap with a familiar hand on your hip.

“Hey,” Sirius says, tucking you against his side, “hey, did you get lovelier over the weekend?” He shoves the door closed and gives you a hug with one arm, pausing in the hall. “Sorry I couldn’t see you. I don’t think we should miss another weekend.”

You have a lot to tell him. It’s been ages since you spent nearly three days apart, but James’ conversation stays at the front of your mind.

You decide to be less overwhelming, but not less loving, curling your arm behind his head to pull his cheek down for a kiss. “I don’t think so, either.”

Sirius tilts his head away from you in an invitation for more kissing.

You’re at home in his flat. You take off your shoes and hang up your jacket. You change into a pair of jogging bottoms with loose legs and let him hoist you onto his bed for a few stolen kisses, though he isn’t propositioning you, and you end up laying across his bedspread with one of your legs in his lap as he tells you about his days without you, his thumb sliding with pressure down your calf.

“Mostly I wished I’d asked you to come over anyways, even if it was just to sleep together at the end of the day. Maybe next time we can do that?” he asks.

“Of course we can.” You smile at him indulgently. “I’d come over for twenty minutes if it was all I could get.”

“Or I can come to you,” he says, “even if it’s just twenty minutes.”

He smiles, a beaming thing, and leans down slowly for a soft kiss.

“So,” he asks, his breath on your lips, “how was your weekend? Lonely?”

“So lonely,” you tease lightly, eyes fluttering closed as he continues his massaging of your leg. “But it was okay. I missed you, really, and didn’t do much else.”

“No?” he asks.

Your voice takes on a shine as he squeezes your knee, “Missed your hands.”

“I missed your everything.” He grabs for your forearms and pulls you into a sitting position. “But everything was okay?” he asks more seriously.

“Everything was fine.”

He raises his eyebrows, but eventually lets them relax. “Well, okay. Good, sweetheart, I’m glad it was okay.”

He persuades you into the kitchen to sit with him as he makes dinner, refusing to let you help, and yet insisting you be there in the same room, as though you’d like to be anywhere else. Sirius makes your favourite of his usual rotation, offering you spoonfuls for tasting, gaps of silence stretching as he struggles to find new conversation. You start answering his questions but remember time and time again that Sirius could become totally sick of you. He might already be.

Sirius puts the food on a low heat and washes his hands. He wipes them dry, but when he takes your face, dampness lines the inside of his fingers.

“I’d like for you to tell me what’s wrong,” he says gently, stroking at the line of your startled frown, “before it gets worse. Do you want to talk about it?”

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“Please don’t, lovely. If I’ve done something wrong, please tell me. I want us to last forever, and we can’t do that if you won’t tell me when I upset you.”

“It wasn’t you,” you say instinctively, then regret it.

“So someone has?” he asks, still so gentle as his hands coast down your neck like he’s sculpting you, coming to rest on the slopes leading to your shoulders. “You can tell me anything. You don’t have to keep it to yourself… please.”

“Are you sure?”

“Sweetheart.” He frowns deeply. Couldn’t look more upset. “Of course I’m sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”

You chew it over, not wanting or willing to cause ructions between Sirius and his oldest friend. “Well, I saw James today at the shop, and… we were talking about you…”

He waits. “And?”

“And he told me you– you don’t like talking. That you didn’t like talking, that James used to make you sick of it. So I know I talk too much and you’ve never made me feel like I shouldn’t, but I guess I got into my head thinking you’d get sick of me, too.”

“When we were younger I didn’t like much of anything.” He curls an arm behind your neck to hold you in place, but it’s not a dominant sort of movement, only protective as your noses inch together. “Did you ever read that poem by Bukwoski? Let It Enfold You?”

“What?”

“I’m not very good at explaining myself. I thought if you knew the poem, you’d–” He laughs near your cheek. “I hated everything. It wasn’t James’ fault. He did make me sick of it sometimes, but I just wanted to hide from everything.” He breathes out slowly. “I’ve never wanted to hide from you. I can’t get sick of you. Do you get that? I can’t get sick of you. Listening to you is the best part of my day, you’re my personal chatterbox.”

“Chatterbox,” you repeat teasingly.

“You could talk for Wales,” he says. “And I love it, I don’t want you to stop, because I’ll never be sick of it.”

“I don’t want it to be some secret resentment.”

“I don’t resent you for anything. I knew exactly who you were when we met and I love it.” He takes your face again. “I love it,” he repeats.

You steal a little kiss against the corner of his lips. “What was the poem?” you ask.

“I’ll find my book, and you can read it to me. What do you think?” He takes a slow kiss as you had in the same place, words like honey. “I miss your voice.”

He’s basically pleading. It’s not like Sirius to plead, but you pull it out of him.

“Can I have my dinner first?”

“The one I made while you deprived me?” he asks. “Yes, if you must.”

He takes another kiss, but you’re happy to give it.

#sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black x fem!reader #sirius black x you #sirius black x y/n #sirius x reader fluff #sirius black imagine #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black fanfic #sirius black fic #marauders era #marauders #sirius black drabble #sirius black scenario #sirius black oneshot #the marauders #sirius orion black

4K notes · View notes

sourcherryandsprinkles · 8 months ago

Note

I have a request for Jacaerys Velaryon x reader. They have been married for some time, but Jace still had feelings for Baela. He has never cheated and was always respectful towards reader, though. Jacaerys and her performed their duties and eventually she got pregnant. The fact that reader is now carrying his child makes them grow closer and Jace starts to fall in love with his wife.

For this one, the legitimacy of Rhaenyra’s children was called into question and there was no betrothals between Rhaenyra’s boys and Daemon’s twins.

Warnings: pregnancy (I don't like pregnancies when I read/write, but this one was okay and mostly a small part of the story)

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

When King Viserys fell, a prince showed up to your home and asked your mother, Jeyne Arryn, for her support to Princess — now Queen — Rhaenyra’s claim. In her message, Rhaenyra didn’t fail to mention her mother, Aemma of House Arryn, and remind Lady Jeyne that she shared Arryn blood through her. Your mother was hesitant, knowing her support would make Daemon Targaryen king consort, but she couldn’t give her support to the Greens. So, she agreed but demanded to get something in exchange: a husband for her only daughter.

You didn’t like the idea of being sold for politics, but according to your mother it was part of being a woman.

Married life wasn’t bad like you thought. Jacaerys was a respectful and kind man, but there was one problem: he had feelings for another.

You didn’t take long to notice that his heart was elsewhere. It was written in the silence. The way he looked at Baela, the way he smiled at her — a special smile he kept just for her. He had undeniable feelings for her. You begged for attention, time, acknowledgment, but Jacaerys was never fully with you. Him and Baela spent a lot of time together riding their dragons together or practicing High Valyrian in the great hall, which left you hurt and jealous. Other than the red gem on your finger that matched the one of his cloak-pin, you had nothing in common.

Sitting in your chamber, you held a necklace of your house’s sigil. The gold was cool against your skin, a stark contrast to the warmth of the fire crackling in the hearth. You hadn't seen your mother since the beginning of the war and you missed her dearly. You exchanged messages by raven, but it wasn’t the same as seeing her in person.

A tear slipped down your cheek, wishing for this war to be over soon.

The door of your chambers creaked open, snapping you out of your sorrowful reverie. You glanced over your shoulder and saw Jacaerys in his armor after a day spent teaching the dragonseeds. It was a smart idea to get more dragons and riders on their side, but also a lot of work.

‘’What are you doing?’’ he asked, his voice a mix of concern and curiosity.

‘’Missing home, that’s all,’’ you replied, quickly wiping the tear away and forcing a smile. The weight of the necklace seemed heavier than ever as you clutched it in your hand.

Jacaerys stepped further into the room, running a hand through his tousled hair. He crossed the space between you in a few strides, his expression softening. ‘’Don’t cry. I hate it when you cry.’’ He wiped your tear and sat next to you. ‘’I’ll take you to the Vale when it’s safe,’’ Jacaerys promised, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. ‘’I would take you now if it wasn’t so dangerous to fly over Kingsroad. The Greens have taken Harrenhal and—’’

‘’Is my mother okay? You promised you would send a dragon to watch over my home.’’

He nodded. ‘’Rhaena left this morning with Joffrey and three dragon eggs. They should hatch soon and assure more protection to the Vale.’’

You let out a shaky breath, the news offering a small measure of relief.

A few moons later, you announced to Jacaerys that you were pregnant. It was a surprise as you only had the occasion to lay together two times, but it’s been two moons since you last bled and the maester confirmed your suspicions. You were with child.

The timing was not ideal, but the Queen was beyond happy for you and Jacaerys. She hosted a small feast in your honor, and made everyone keep your pregnancy a secret. Jacaerys was her heir, making your baby his heir. If the news got to their ears, she feared you would become a target for the Greens.

At the table, Baela congratulated you with a smile. You thought she would be bitter, but she was genuinely happy for you.

As the weeks went by, the walls that once stood between you began to crumble and you and Jacaerys started getting closer. He would spend more time in the evening in your chambers, talking by the hearth while eating lemon tarts. And ask how the baby was although your stomach was barely round every time he returned from teaching the dragonseeds.

You’ll never forget the look on his face when felt the baby move for the first time. The stars of complete amazement. He kissed you that night — a real kiss.

On the seventh moon, as you were getting ready for your bath, you felt blood dripping down your leg. Terrified, you asked one of the servants to fetch the maester and the Queen. She had other — more pressing — business to take care of, but you needed the reassurance of a mother by your side.

The news ran through the castle and made it way to Jacaerys, who dropped everything he was doing and ran through the corridors of Dragonstone to get to you.

His face pale with worry when he bursted in your chamber, thinking you were going to lose the baby like his mother did. An early bleeding was how it started.

‘’I’m fine, Jace. Maester Gerardys said bleeding can happen,’’ you said, taking his hand and pressing it over your belly. ‘’Our baby is fine.’’

—

House of the dragon taglist: @khaleesihavilliard @domoron @ididliquorice @lover-of-helios @lover-of-helios @shine101 @tanyaherondale@mikariell95 @serrendiipty @lantsovheiress @gilliananderfuckme @shine101 @tetgod @clayzayden@memeorydotcom @tnu-ree @futuregws @blackravena @winxschester @mysteriouslydelightfulchaos @xxlaynaxx @secretsthathauntus @pilarxxxaguayo @emmavan39 @stargaryenx @erylilly @bbblackmamba @rainedrop97 @dreamer087 @gothicgay14 @ashlatano7567 @superkittywonderland @justaproudslytherpuff @evesolstice @buckysmainhxe @padfootsvixen @scarletmeii @evesolstice @dkathl @kaywsworld @tetgod @padfootsvixen @domoron @weird-addiction @angeliod @xjennyx2 @adaydreamaway08 @mymultiveres @secretsthathauntus @puffycreamcakes @thirsty4nonlivingmen @naty-1001 @katiepie67 @moshpot24x @hc-geralt-23 @lovelynerdytraveler @saturn-sas @zgzgh @sssjuico10 @tabloidteen @timetoten @deekaag @wondxrgurl @aerangi @strmborns @astridyoo15 @daemonslittlebitch @queenbeestuffs @severewobblerlightdragon @agentstarkid @msliz @vane1999-blog @fairyfolkloresposts @todaywasafairytale07 @otomaniac @zgzgzh @thebeardedmoon @golden-library @kikyrizuki @hnslchw @camy85 @winxschester @armstrongscommentsection @withfireandbl00d @randomstory56 @JudgmentDays-Girl @darylandbethfanforever9 @darylandbethfanforever9 @aegonswife @dakotapaigelove @jays-bullshit

All and more taglist: @kenqki@hawkegfs@gillybear17@black-rose-29@fudge13@cece05@laylasbunbunny@gemofthenight@beautyb1ade@mellabella101 @vxnity713 @bisexualgirlsblog@queenofslytherin889 @thatbxtchesblog @softb-tterfly @ethanlandrycanbreakmyheart @xyzstar @graceberman3 @mikeyspinkcup @jackierose902109 @daisydark @laurasdrey @mischieftom @fanatic4niall @peterholland04 @idkwhattonamethisblogs @lexasaurs634 @notasadgirlipromise @zoeynicolas @thejuleshypothesis @multi-fandom-bi-bitch @lexasaurs634 @notasadgirlipromise @thejuleshypothesis @katherinejess @rafesgirlstuff @lafleshlumpeater @iamluminosity @Anouknani-2305 @books0fever @papichulo120627 @qardasngan @ghostlyvoidydragon @M0rgans1nterlud3 @dahlia-blossom21

#house of the dragon #jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys velaryon imagine #hotd jacaerys #prince jacaerys #hotd

3K notes · View notes

islandheartprincess · 1 month ago

Text

bully!rafe cameron x reader ˖˚⊹ ꣑ৎ‎

part 1 ✧ part 2 ✧ part 3

summary: rafe hated you, but he mainly hated how obsessed he was with you. placed during senior year of HS. both are of age

warnings: smut, swearing, masturbation (m), reader catching rafe masturbating, bullying, 18+ mdni

pairing: bully!rafe x reader

rafe cameron made sure to make your life at school a living nightmare. he went out of his way to trouble you, and despite your best efforts to ignore his childish behavior, you just couldn't seem to get him to lay off you. it was odd, the way he found pleasure in making you angry, or uncomfortable.

you never knew why he only treated you like this so consistently. you knew that he was in no means a kind person in general, other than the girls he often hooked up with and led on, but he never hung on to someone the way he did with you.

you weren't some annoying, loud, pogue. you kept to yourself on most occasions and found yourself finding peace alone and reading books, or hanging out with your small but close-knit friend group. you honestly couldn't wait till summer, or just graduation in general.

rafe cameron hated her, or so he wanted to. he hated the way she made him feel, vulnerable, and unlike his usual cocky self.

maybe it was the way she kept her calm, when anyone else would've ran away crying? or maybe it was the way she would look up at him, with her doe eyes, a slight glimmer that just told him how she could read through his arrogant front easily. she knew what he was. he hated, hated, that.

why couldn't he just forget about her? why did he find himself thinking about her at the most unconventional times. and why, when her face came up in his mind, he felt his body grow hot and an uncomfortable tightness in his pants. god, when it would happen, often so, he never felt more embarrassed. he was rafe cameron, he could find any dumb cheerleader at the school to fuck and throw away.

yet he found himself yearning after the girl in the back of the class, quiet, smart, and mature. in all his best efforts to make himself forget about her, he only made his obsession worse, and her hatred for him deeper.

rafe cameron was your worst enemy. you couldn't think of a more emotionally immature person than him. you heard the stories about how he ghosted this girl, or cheated on his girlfriend, or hooked up with his best friends ex.

you found yourself having to remind yourself how much of a horrible person he was. it was just that, when he would make fun of you, you'd look at him. really, look at him. you saw his insecurities, his vulnerability.

gosh, was he good looking though. you understood why so many girls at your school pined after him. when he would make fun of you, you felt a lot of things. you felt upset, mostly at yourself due to the wetness you could feel between your thighs. you didn't like how your brain heard his words, but focused on his distracting eyes, and smooth lips.

you wanted him to stay away from you. mostly, you just wanted the uncontrollable needy thoughts to stay away. you knew he would never, ever, be attracted to a girl like you. of course, that's why he hated you, right? he thought you were ugly, and a bother, that had to be why.

you were at your locker, as unbothered as anyone could be. until your locker slammed shut right in front of you, revealing nonetheless then rafe cameron.

this time, he didn't say anything immediately. his mouth opened, but shut after he eyed you up and down. his eyes trailed over the stockings you had decided to wear today, which you couldn't have regretted more in the moment. you squeezed tightly onto your books, just wanting to hear whatever snarky comment he had to make and get it over with.

"really? nice choice of clothes, you going for a degree in slut?" he laughed, and walked away. you were thankful he quickly left so he didn't see the way your face turned red. if only you knew the reason he left in a hurry was to avoid you seeing his rising boner, on a rush to the bathroom stall.

you knew you had to go neaten up, get yourself together. your panties felt damp, your shamefulness deepening. haven being so deep in embarrassment, you didn't notice the boys restroom sign when you walked into the bathroom.

looking into the mirror, you took a deep breath, brushing the loose strands of hair out of your face, until you heard a noise from the end of the bathroom. the bell had rung, so the stalls were all empty, except one. the one all the way on the end of the hall, which you thought you could've heard a small noise from.

taking a step closer with caution, but almost choking on your spit when you heard... a moan? you halted yourself, and your assumptions were true. you wondered who on earth would be jerking off in a bathroom stall, waiting for the next noise to try and recognize the voice.

rafe quickened his pace, feeling himself reaching his climax. he knew the bathroom was empty, but he still tried his best to control his voice. it almost made him mad how desperate he felt thinking about fucking you with those stockings on, or you sucking him off while looking up at him with your gorgeous innocent eyes. it was hard to control his voice thinking about you, so he naturally loudened his moans a little.

oh my god. it all clicked with you. you accidentally walked into the boys bathroom, and rafe cameron was in the stall jerking off. your throat closed up, mind unable to process how this was real. all you were able to do was slap your hand over your mouth to cover your gasp. until you heard- "fuck, y/n." how'd he- oh gosh. correction, rafe Cameron was jerking off, thinking about you. you froze, but knew you had to get out of there before he caught you.

coming down from his high, rafe cleaned himself up, his breathing raggedy. he was ready to get out of this stall, act like it never happened, and go back to class. until, his heart dropped at the sound of the bathroom door shut. no way someone was in here, how'd he not hear them? whatever, they probably didn't even know it was him.

@anitalenia for the borders! ♡

part 2 , part 3- follow for more (⁠◕⁠ᴗ⁠◕⁠✿⁠)

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron #rafe cameron smut #bully!rafe #mean!rafe #frat!rafe #islandheartprincess #rafe cameron imagine #outerbanks fanfiction #outer banks #outerbanks smut #obx smut

1K notes · View notes

sttoru · 1 year ago

Text

𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐎𝐋𝐃-𝐅𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐎𝐘 !

⟣ sypnosis. you were curious if your boyfriend would pass a ‘loyalty test’ that you’ve seen on social media and you decide to see for yourself, only to discover something much more . . . heartwarming.

⟣ tags. gojo satoru x female reader. mostly tooth rotting fluff. talks about cheating / a sprinkle of trust issues from reader. the rest is satoru just being lovesick.

⟣ note. uhhhh… idk just a random idea i got at three am on a saturday night after being woken up from a nightmare >_< enjoy .

you don’t think satoru would actually ever cheat on you. your curiosity just got the best of you when you saw that one girl do a ‘loyalty test’ on her boyfriend. it was quite simple—testing if your partner would hand you their phone without being suspiciously defensive.

therefore you walked into satoru’s room and spotted him laying on his side, his back facing the door. he didn’t have any earphones in so you could hear the sounds of a movie playing on the phone he held in his hands.

he seemed so peaceful and content that you were already feeling bad for disturbing him with your silly test. you moved to sit on the edge of the bed and cleared your throat, making your presence known as if the sorcerer hadn’t sensed it moments ago.

“are you cheating on me?”

blunt and straight to the point.

satoru pauses the show on his phone and looks at you like you had said the most outrageous thing there is (to him, you really did). he drops the device on the bed and turns his body to face yours; “well—hello to you too, baby.”

he runs a hand through his hair before sitting up against the headboard with a raised brow, one hand cautiously reaching out for you. satoru was thinking about all the things he has said or done previously that could’ve possibly make you think he was screwing around behind your back. his mind worked fast, though he couldn’t come up with any logical explanation.

“answer my question please, ‘toru.” you mumble, feeling slightly guilty for doing this to your lover. you could see the confusion plastered on his face.

“no, i am not.” satoru shakes his head whilst holding your hand in his, thumb brushing against the back of it, “what makes you think that?”

you weren’t about to say ‘oh nevermind then! just a dumb thing that i saw on tiktok’—no, there was still one thing left to do. even if you’re so super sure that your boyfriend was hiding nothing from you. maybe there was an one in a million chance that your intuition was wrong. or maybe it’s just your underlying trust issues speaking.

“uhh, just wanted.. to check.. i guess?” you clear your throat and take a deep inhale before putting your hand out to satoru, palm up.

the white-haired sorcerer looks from your hand to you, and back. he doesn’t know what that indicated, so he takes a simple guess; satoru places his chin on your palm, giving you an amused kind of grin. you raise an eyebrow as he rests his head on your hand—which wasn’t what you wanted to gain from your gesture.

but you couldn’t blame him. it was cute that that was the first thing he thought of doing.

“you’re always welcome to check. got nothin’ to hide anyway.” he shrugs, not offended by your accusation in the slightest. you see the way his blue eyes look up at you—in a way that shows his pure, unadulterated adoration for you.

you nod and scratch satoru under his chin, to which he smiles and closes his eyes, enjoying the tingling touch, “then can i .. look through your phone?”

without an ounce of hesitation, he had placed his phone unlocked in your hand. satoru doesn’t care much about privacy anyway—you’re his girlfriend, you’re the only one allowed to know every single thing about him, “of course, baby.”

your eyes land on the screen and your jaw drops as you see his home screen; a picture of you up close, sleeping with your cheek squished against his arm, own hands resting near your head and . . . is that drool trickling down your chin?

“oops, sorry, you were too cute not to take a picture of.” satoru chuckles as he sees your reaction. he lays back on his side, elbow propped on the pillow with his head resting against his hand—watching you go through his phone with a relaxed look.

you roll your eyes playfully before starting your search. your finger swiped across the screen and landed on the messenger app satoru uses. you click on it and scroll through his chats, but don’t find anything out of the ordinary. he recently talked to you, his first year students, nanami and shoko.

you curiously tap on his chat with shoko and don’t read anything interesting at first glance. you scroll up and take note of how satoru was the one who kept most of the conversation going. shoko’s replies were much shorter and curt—straight to the point.

but then your eyes land on a conversation from two weeks ago. satoru had showed shoko a bunch of selfies you had sent him that same day. he was telling her how ‘cute’ and ‘pretty’ you were, practically bragging about you being his girl.

you scroll up some more and see that he’s done the same many times before; sending shoko pictures of you and kind of rambling to her about how beautiful you are.

shoko—being the good friend she is—indulged into his little lovesick ramblings and agreed with every thing satoru said—even complimenting your looks herself. you begun to get embarrassed at this unexpected revelation.

when going through more of his chats with other people, you realise how much satoru loves to talk about you. you couldn’t possibly count the many times satoru had refused invitations from his students or other friends simply because he wanted to hang out with you instead.

you discovered that he even skipped two or three important meetings at the school to go spend the day with you—nanami scolding him via text each time he did so.

“damn..” you murmur and glance up at your lover after closing his messaging app. satoru was staring right back at you with the biggest grin you’ve ever seen on him.

he wasn’t embarrassed about you reading some of those cheesy and sappy texts at all. in fact, he was happy. he wants you to know how much he loves you (as if he doesn’t show you exactly that every day of the week).

“go on, sweets.” satoru nods towards his phone, encouraging you to continue your inspection. your eyes dart back towards the screen and you shyly swipe and scroll some more, eventually ending up in his gallery.

the first things you noticed: two albums dedicated to you. all were filled with hundreds of pictures of you (and him). one was named ‘my love,’ the other ‘me&my love’ — both with a heart at the end. scrolling through them, you noticed many images you hadn’t even realised were ever taken.

many of those pictures were also favourited in his gallery.

you nibble on your bottom lip and leave the gallery app even more flustered than before. you aimlessly click around some more on his phone. what really surprised you most was that you were named in his reminder app.

there were tons—all added in one long list. some were so pure that you couldn’t contain the slight tears in your eyes;

‘bring gf gifts’, ‘remind gf that she’s amazing’, ‘bring gf lunch’, ‘send gf daily selfie’, ‘daily cuddles w gf (if she wants)’, ‘give gf big smooch (important!)’, ‘check up on gf when away on business’, — satoru doesn’t actually need to have those reminders on his phone. his mind is so full of you that he’ll automatically remember to do everything, almost on autopilot. he just has those there for… well, just in case he somehow ends up forgetting.

you lock his phone after seeing enough and give it back to your lover. you wordlessly crawl over to him on the bed and snuggle up to his body, head resting on his chest.

“sorry.” you quietly apologise. you knew he wasn’t hiding anything, but the fact that you still went ahead and tried out that ‘loyalty test’ on someone as loyal and loving as satoru makes your heart ache a bit. especially after discovering just how smitten he’s with you.

“dunno why you’re apologising—but please don’t.” satoru whispers and rubs your back in a soothing manner, kissing the top of your head and smiling against your scalp afterwards, “it’s fiiine.”

he’s entertained by the reactions to your discoveries, even if those are but mere indications to the actual unending and undying love he holds for you in his heart.

you lift your head up and look at satoru. your bottom lip stuck out, corners of your mouth twitching slightly whilst your eyes started to get a bit glassy. you really felt bad—yet you also felt appreciated on the other hand. if you didn’t go through with your curious idea, you wouldn’t have gotten to know about any of this.

“aww, my sweet, sweet girl.” satoru coos and places two kisses right below each eye, tapping your nose with a grin. he adores the way you look and if it wasn’t for his self control, he’d have nibbled on those cheeks of yours out of playful aggression.

it’s then that satoru remembers one of his daily tasks; one he hadn’t properly done today.

you were caught off guard once more as satoru’s lips crashed down onto yours—no warning given whatsoever. his big hands held onto your cheeks, thumb rubbing the skin there whilst his glossy lips moved against yours in a gentle yet much sloppy way.

“there,” the white-haired man hums in content as he pulls away, giggling once he sees a bit of his saliva coat your mouth. he wipes it away with his thumb, “your smooch of the day.”

you couldn’t help but laugh at the exaggerated cringy way satoru said the latter—your boyfriend laughing right alongside you afterwards.

satoru wasn’t done with you, however. he had many other daily tasks that were yet to be fulfilled.

#sttoru writes.#jjk x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jjk fluff #jjk x you #gojo x you #satoru x reader #jjk fic #everyone boooo this bcs i hate the way it turned out ☝🏽☝🏽

10K notes · View notes

soaps-mohawk · 5 months ago

Text

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 36: To The Sea

Summary: It's time to move on. You're not sure where you're going exactly, but anywhere is better than Texas

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 7,811 words

Warnings: ANGST, injuries, medical stuff, descriptions of pain and injuries, brief discussion about strangulation, mentions of PTSD and nightmares, so much crying, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, angst, a very little sprinkle of comfort, language, mentions of medications, still very heavy emotionally

A/N: Not actually a lot of warnings for this one. It's a lot of dialogue and inner monologues. Not a lot happens, just mostly setting the scene for the next chunk of the story. Bring tissues though, the last part of the chapter emotionally wrecked me but also might be the best thing I've ever written.

11/30/24: **This Chapter has been edited and rewritten from its original version**

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

It’s warm outside.

Not even the shade from the building can completely shield you from the dome of heat that seems to surround the base. It seeps into the concrete and asphalt that lock it into place, trapping everyone in a bubble that may as well be an oven. It’s always hot in Texas, though. You hate it. You’ve been spoiled by the cold, rainy seasons in England. You’d gladly take that over Texas.

You’d take anything over Texas.

The heat prickles at your skin, your arm starting to get sweaty in the sling. It had been Dr. Keller’s idea to keep your shoulder as still as possible so you don’t continue to cause yourself pain when you move. It still hurts, but at least you won’t instinctively try to use your left arm now.

Despite the warmth, there’s still a chill deep in your bones. The warmth of the pain medicine has worn off and you’ve been left with the perpetual ice that has seemed to coat your insides. Dr. Keller says it's the stress giving you a fever. Every nightmare, every flashback sends your body temperature spiking, your heart beating right out of your chest. You’re not out of the woods yet. It can take a long time to recover from that level of distress and the omega taking over. You almost regret it, but there was no guarantee you would have lived either way at that time. You did what you had to do, and it did work out in the end.

But at what cost?

Dr. Keller’s phone buzzes in her pocket and she pulls it out, staring down at the screen for a moment. “Kyle wants to come by.”

You don’t want to see him. You don’t want to see any of them.

“I think you should see him. Even if it’s just for a moment.” She squeezes your hand. “I’ll be right here.”

It’s a predicament. Dr. Keller supports your decision to keep them away, putting some distance between all of you for the time being. Yet, she also says being close to your pack will help your healing. Having your pack around will help your omega settle once again. She needs that safety, that security before she finally lets go completely.

You don’t want to be close to them, but you may not have any other choice.

You sit there in silence, picking at the fabric of your sweatpants as you wait for Kyle’s arrival. Sweat has started to bead on your back, the day only getting warmer and warmer as the sun moves higher in the sky. You want to go back inside, back into the cool air conditioned building. You want to crawl back onto the hospital bed and lay there for the next few hours.

You can’t.

Footsteps approach, but you don’t look up. You know who it is. You don’t want to see him.

“Kyle.” Dr. Keller greets.

“Christine.” He says back. It still throws you off, hearing Dr. Keller's first name. She'll always be Dr. Keller to you. Kyle turns his attention to you, still standing a few steps from the bench you're perched on. “Hi, love.” He says. The affectionate nickname almost makes you wince. You don't look up at him. You don’t want to see his face. “I wanted to stop by and see how you’re doing.”

You don't move, don't give an answer. You don't have an answer to give anyway. You shouldn't have to give an answer.

He lowers himself onto the bench, sitting as far away from you as he can. “It’s hot today.” He says, adjusting his hat. Always wearing a hat. Maybe that's why he and Price work so well together.

He stares at you for a long moment but you don't bother moving, your gaze still on your sweatpants. They're starting to get a bit warm, even with your perpetual chill.

“I’m not here to apologize.” He says, breaking the silence. “You’ve probably heard enough apologies to last you a lifetime.” He shakes his head. “Words can’t fix what we did. Nothing can fix what we did. All we can do is give you what you need, try and make you as comfortable as possible.”

Tears burn your eyes as you listen to him. He's not wrong, an apology won't fix what happened. No words will ever be able to fix what they put you through. You're not sure there's anything they could do that would make up for it. An apology still would have been nice, despite the fact you know how guilty he is. Their avoidance of you, their willingness to give you such space in an unknown place just proves how guilty they all are.

That doesn't make things hurt any less.

You slowly turn away from Kyle, angling yourself towards Dr. Keller.

He doesn't say anything further in that regard, taking your movement as an answer to his non-apology. He leans forward instead, resting his elbows on his knees. “I just wanted to let you know that we’re getting ready to leave soon. We’ll be heading somewhere safe, somewhere quiet and secluded. I think you’ll like it.”

Dr. Keller had informed you of that earlier after she went to speak to them. They've decided what to do, what's best for the pack again. You might have protested, except for the fact it meant you were getting to leave Texas. Where exactly they're taking you, you're not sure. You just know it's not Texas.

“I want you to know that we’re here if you need us.” He stares at you for a moment longer before pushing himself up to stand.

If, not when.

Maybe they're finally getting the message.

Dr. Keller stands, touching your right shoulder gently before she steps away with Kyle, speaking quietly with him, but you can still hear every word in the nearly silent space around you.

“In an attempt to remain a neutral, professional party in this situation, I feel it would be appropriate for me to tell you not to beat yourself up too much about this.” Dr. Keller says. “The unprofessional side of me has many words I’d like to say to all of you.” She clears her throat. “That being said, on a positive note I can say you’re all doing the right thing for once, prioritizing your omega and fulfilling her needs, even if her needs require you to leave her alone for now. I know it’s hard, I know every instinct is screaming at you to help her, but just take comfort in knowing you are helping her. You’re doing the best thing you can do for her at this time.” Dr. Keller puts a hand on his arm, squeezing it gently. “Even if it is tearing you up inside.”

“Thanks, Doc.” He says.

“I’ll see you soon.” She says, patting his arm before she heads back towards your bench.

You turn your head just slightly, not missing the way Gaz lingers for a brief moment before he turns his back on you, walking back down the sidewalk.

It hurts.

You want to cry with every swallow. No matter how much you chew, it doesn’t ease the pain of trying to swallow solid food. Even the worst sore throat you’ve ever had pales in comparison to this pain. Tears burn in your eyes as you eat, unable to refuse this time in favor of choking down some liquid nutrients. Even liquids make your throat ache, but they are easy to chug to get it over with at once.

This feels like torture.

Dr. Keller looks guilty as she spoon-feeds you the soup. Chicken noodle, something simple and easy but still something with some substance. It makes you think back to when you were sick as a child, your mother dutifully feeding you homemade chicken noodle soup until you reached the age you could feed yourself.

You do feel like a child again, unable to even hold the spoon. Well, you could hold it, but it would have come at the expense of some burns from how badly your hand was shaking.

So instead you sit here, being spoon-fed soup you can barely stand eating.

“I know.” She says as a tear finally falls, your inhale shaky from the ache in your throat. “You need something in your system for the sedative. It’s a long flight and you’ll be sick when you wake up if you don’t have anything in your stomach. That’s going to hurt a lot worse than eating now.”

Yeah. You’ve already figured that out.

“Strangulation is a tough thing to survive.” She says, dragging the bottom of the spoon against the edge of the bowl to wipe off any soup that might drip on you. “Then again, so is getting shot, and distressing to the point of your omega taking over.” She holds the spoon up to your lips, and you’re tempted to refuse. “You’ve survived a lot, more than most could. And to look this good after...”

You blink up at her, teary eyed and sickly looking, exhausted and bruised. Your left eye is still almost swollen shut, and your hair is tangled perhaps beyond saving, tied up in a bun at the top of your head. All just reminders of what you survived, all reminders of what happened to you. Of what was allowed to happen to you.

You’re not quite sure when the last time you had a real shower was either.

“I know.” She says, spooning more soup into your mouth. “You might not feel like it, right now.”

“I want a shower.” You say, your voice still hoarse and cracking through your throat. A real shower might solve a lot of problems for you right now. It won’t fix much, but being truly clean would make a lot of things feel better.

“I wholeheartedly agree.” Dr. Keller says.

You give her a look. You don't smell that bad. She should know, she’s the one that cleaned the blood off of you and the one who gave you the sponge bath this morning.

She gives you a look back. “I meant it would be nice to take a real shower. Once we get where we’re going, we can work on the logistics of a shower.”

Right. You can’t exactly stand for a long time on your own, not to mention the problem of only being able to use one arm without bringing blinding pain upon yourself. That’s where the pack would come in handy.

The thought of one of them seeing you vulnerable like that, putting their hands on you right now makes your skin crawl.

A shiver runs down your spine, your body shuddering uncontrollably. You grunt as your shoulder screams in pain, another electric jolt burning straight through your nerves and down through your feet. Fuck. You mouth the word, squeezing your eyes shut. It makes your stomach churn, the soup starting to burn a path back up through your esophagus.

“Breathe for me.” Dr. Keller says, putting a gentle hand on your right shoulder.

In and out. You focus on your breath, the only thing you can do without feeling like you’re going to go insane from the pain. It’s all you can do in this situation. It’s the only thing you can do at all. Breathe. Just keep breathing.

Sometimes you don’t want to.

The pain passes as it always does, leaving behind a subtle ache that will linger until the next flare of pain. It’s a constant, never-ending cycle that you can’t escape from. Weeks, Dr. Keller had said. It can take weeks to heal. You’ll be stuck in this cycle for weeks and weeks. What if it never heals? That is a possibility. It’s always a risk with any injury.

What if the rest of your life is like this?

You’re crying again, hot tears blazing a path down your cheeks. They won’t stop, they never stop. There’s a constant stream down your face, even in your sleep. You’ve woken to find your face and neck damp from the never ceasing flood of tears.

How you can’t wait for the time to come when you have none left.

You’d welcome the numbness at this point, greet it like an old friend and invite it in for tea. Anything over the pain and tears that won’t stop. The depression-fueled numbness that had filled you when Price and Gaz left, then Soap and Ghost would be a welcome relief at this point. Anything would be better than the pain.

You almost wish you were in a coma right now. Then you wouldn’t feel anything at all.

Dr. Keller puts the spoon back into the soup bowl before rolling the table to the side. She puts a hand on your head, gently stroking your hair as you cry. The room is silent aside from your sniffles, Dr. Keller not having to say a single word. The silence is almost a blessing. You’re tired of hearing words, of hearing people speak. There’s nothing anyone can say that will do anything to help you, to comfort you, to make it better.

There’s nothing anyone can do to make it better.

You’re so tired of being like this.

The sedative is kicking in before you even reach the airfield. She can see the way your head is drooping further and further forward in the car, your body jostling without any complaint. It had started kicking in before you even got into the car, as you offered very little resistance when Kyle helped her mauver you into the front seat. She chose Kyle out of everyone to help her in hopes it would be easiest on you. Your claimed alpha’s beta is a good place to start in rebuilding the bonds within the pack, and his calm demeanor certainly helps. He is a caretaker through and through, that beta trait prominent above the others in him. He would have made a good medic, had he gone that route.

Your chin drops to your chest as the car comes to a stop in front of the plane, your body slumping to the side against the door.

“She’s out.” Christine says, unbuckling her seatbelt.

“Makes this easier.” Kyle says, getting out of the car.

They maneuver you into the wheelchair, Christine easing your head onto your right shoulder to avoid aggravating the left. The less pain you’re in when you come out of it, the better, though pain will be unavoidable. Kyle pushes the wheelchair up the ramp of the plane, Christine following close behind. She’s glad she gave you the sedative before you left the med center to avoid as much pain as possible. She almost wishes she had given it to you earlier, as getting you into a sweatshirt had been a battle of its own. Though, the longer it stays in your system, the longer you’ll sleep through the flight. The longer you sleep through the flight, the longer they can delay the inevitable emotional storm of being enclosed in a tight space with your pack.

If you’re lucky, you’ll be out of it long enough for them to reach the cottage without incident.

John is waiting near the front of the aircraft, his eyes watching carefully as Kyle helps maneuver you into a seat. Even with the turmoil in the pack bonds, an alpha will always feel protective over their omega. There’s some things that can’t be undone, even in such a fragile state. Some instincts can’t be unlearned, no matter what.

“I gave her a sedative.” Christine explains as she gets you as comfortable as possible in the seat. “It won’t last the whole flight, but it’ll take a while to wear off regardless.”

“Is that more for her or for us?” John asks.

“Both.” Christine says. “Mostly for her. It helps with the pain of moving around, but it will also keep her calm in close quarters like this.”

“Here.” John says, handing her something. It’s a blanket, brand new by the feel of it. “Johnny made a store run this morning. It’s going to get cold in here, so he got the warmest one he could find.”

Christine takes the blanket, the fabric thick and soft in her hands. It’s a touching gesture, speaking volumes of their desire to still care for you despite everything, their willingness to do what they have to, to keep the pack together. “Perfect.” She says, carefully draping it over you and tucking it around you before John gets you secured in the seat.

“It’s going to be a long flight.” John says, taking a step back.

“It is.” Christine says, pulling out her thermometer. She takes your temperature, letting out a hum at the number that pops up on screen. “I need to monitor her temperature.” She explains as John gives her a look. “It’s been spiking when she gets stressed.”

“She's not quite out of it yet, is she?” John asks.

“Not quite.” She says, putting the thermometer back in her bag. “I’ve only seen two omegas successfully come back from that point, and I know the number across the board isn’t very high. It takes a long time for the body and the brain to get back to normal.”

“And on top of everything that happened...”

She stares up at him for a long moment. “She’s very strong. I knew she was a fighter, but to come out the other side even where she is now...” Christine shakes her head. “I didn’t want to say this at the time, but I was expecting the worst. When that call came in about what state she was in...” She bites her lip, holding the emotions back. “Her resilience and fortitude is what kept her alive. That and Simon’s courage to do what needed to be done.”

“I know.” John says, looking past her. “We all owe a lot to him.”

Christine puts a gentle hand on his arm. “You’re doing what’s best for her. No matter how much it hurts, no matter how much it goes against every instinct you have, it’s what she needs.”

“That’s all that matters to us right now.” John says, staring down at her hand for a moment. “There’s nothing else we can do, so it’s time we start putting our priorities where they should have been the whole time.”

Christine gives him a small smile. “I’m proud of you for that. It takes a lot to unlearn the things you’ve been told since the beginning.”

The corner of John’s lips twitch before his face falls into the emotionless mask he’s been wearing for the last few days. “It’s about time we get our heads out of our arses.”

“I can’t blame you totally.” She shrugs. “We were all just doing what the initiative was telling us to do. We couldn’t have known. There wasn’t any room to question it.”

“I wish we would have figured it out sooner.” He sighs.

“Things might have been worse if the truth did come out sooner. If you started digging into the initiative too soon, Shepherd might have gotten antsy and taken more drastic measures to stop the truth from coming out entirely.” She glances down at you. “I think this was all inevitable.” She turns her gaze back to John. “What happened, happened. None of us can change that. All we can do is keep moving forward with what we have right now.”

He stares at her for a long moment. “The more time passes, the more I’ve come to realize why Kate chose you for this position.”

The corner of her lips turns up in a smile. “Well, I am rather good at my job, which, among other things, involves advocating on behalf of omegas.”

John huffs. “Wish we would have listened sooner.”

“You can’t change the past.” She repeats, looking down at you again. “But you can change the future.”

You woke from your sedation about four hours from Helston.

Well, ’woke’ might have been too strong of a word for it. Your eyes opened, but you were still hazy, movements sluggish and entirely unaware of the world around you. You floated between sleep and awareness for an hour before finally gaining consciousness completely. Awareness took quite a while to return, though. Not until they were moving you to the car from the plane.

Even still you’re groggy, slumped against the door in the back seat of the car. You blink slowly, eyes unfocused as you stare out the window at the blur of green passing by.

“How is she?” John asks from the driver's seat, glancing up at the rearview mirror.

“Cow.” You say, blinking slowly as the car passes a field of cows.

“Still out of it.” Christine answers from the back seat where she's sitting next to you. Your response might have been enough to answer that. “Better than being in pain, though.”

“How long will it take for her to get out of it?” Kyle asks.

“Hopefully she’ll be more lucid by the time we get there, but it could take a few hours for it to completely wear off.” Christine says, wiping a bit of drool from your chin. “Probably not a bad thing. This is a big change, and with everything that’s happened, it’s going to take some time to settle in.”

“Things are going to be rough.” Kyle says.

“Yes.” She agrees. “Being enclosed in a small space with the people you want to see the least in the world isn’t an ideal situation. It’ll be an adjustment for everyone. I trust all of your abilities to adapt, though. Just don't go in expecting things to be the way they were.”

John's hands tighten around the steering wheel, his knuckles going white. Kyle cracks his window open, prepared for the thickening of John's scent in the air. Christine knows she hit a nerve, but it needed to be said. Even if you were open to forgiveness right now, even if they had chosen to go after you right away, things still wouldn't be the same. Things won't ever be the same. It is their fault deep at the root of it. Those cameras were put up because of them, you were taken because of them. You were chosen for the “initiative” because of them, because Kate thought you'd fit in well with them. Their decisions shaped your life, and will continue to shape your life.

Can you ever come to forgive them? Christine likes to think so. She has the hope that they can put in the work and regain your trust and earn eventual forgiveness. She knows you'll allow them to try once the initial hurt and emotions begin to fade, once the two of you put in enough work to start processing the trauma around the events that happened. It will take time. Probably a long time.

She'll be there every step of the way.

“Ashley did some shopping for us, picked up some stuff to get us until we can get into town.” Kyle says, looking at his phone.

“Good.” John says, his shoulders starting to relax. “Should wait a couple days before going. Get settled in.”

“She's still working on cleaning up. Probably still be there when we get there.” Kyle says, putting his phone back in his pocket.

“That's fine. We’ll probably have to utilize her a bit.”

“Doubt she'll complain.” Kyle says, looking out the window. “Be thrilled to have something to do besides work.”

You let out a quiet groan, shifting against the door. “Hurts.”

“I know, honey.” Christine says, carefully adjusting your left arm. “I’ll give you more pain meds once we get to the cottage.”

“We’ll be there in half an hour.” John says, glancing up at the rearview mirror again before turning his eyes back to the road.

The half hour seems to take the longest as you continue to become more and more lucid and aware. The pain sets in first, your brain picking up on those signals before anything else. John’s knuckles are white around the steering wheel as you begin to whine and whimper around every bend in the road and turn he has to make, every jostle of the car. Every instinct in his body tells him to pull over and comfort you, but he can’t. It’s more important to get to the cottage, and there’s no guarantee you’d even let him. It might make things worse.

The last thing you need right now is for things to get worse.

Christine breathes a sigh of relief as they pull up to the cottage, glad she can finally get you somewhere more comfortable. You’ve been in far too many uncomfortable positions today, moved around too much. She would have liked to keep you in Texas a couple more days, but she knew as soon as you were able to travel, the better. The sooner they could get off the grid, the better.

The sooner they could get out of Texas, the better.

Kyle is getting the wheelchair out of the trunk when Johnny and Simon pull up, not having been far behind. They likely took a turn around the back roads to ensure no one was following and to keep things from looking too suspicious.

Christine keeps you from slumping out of the car as she carefully opens the door on your side. You’re more awake than you were, blinking up at her with almost startlingly aware eyes.

“Crutch.” You pout when she pulls the wheelchair closer.

She gives you a look. “Honey I'm not sure you could even stand right now.” You may be more aware, but that doesn’t mean your body is working as it should.

You let out a defiant noise as you attempt to get your legs out of the car, trying to hide your grunts of pain and discomfort.

She's tempted to stand there and let you try, but she knows all hell will break loose if she lets you fall. She's not willing to take that risk, not to mention it will cause you more pain to get you up off the ground.

“Come on,” She says, stopping you before you can get your feet under you. “Nice and slow.”

You let out a quiet growl of indignation but you allow her to help you, your legs trembling as she eases you up. Kyle is there with the wheelchair, getting it as close to you as possible so she can sit you down quickly.

“Ow.” You breathe, eyes pinched closed as you breathe through the pain.

“I know.” She says, patting your good shoulder lightly. She's glad she put you in the sweatshirt before you left Texas. It's chilly outside, chillier than it was further inland a few days ago.

It's hard to believe it's only been a few days since you were taken. Barely even a week. So much happened in such a short period of time. It feels like it’s been weeks since everything started, but then again, it had been weeks since John and Kyle first left. It had been weeks since you had been around your whole pack together by the time you were taken. The deep depression you sunk into before the events of the last week had been draining you slowly for weeks before this. It had started before John and Kyle were deployed, back to that day when you revealed the cameras and the secret you had been hiding from them.

How long you’ve gone in such turmoil.

How far you still have to go.

The path up to the door is rocky and uneven, the wheelchair jostling as she pushes it up towards the door. She can picture your face, the way it has to be screwed up in pain. You're silent though, holding it all in. She almost wishes you weren't being silent about it.

The door is already open, light shining from inside as she approaches. Kyle is in the house already, having gone ahead to greet his sister. John is right behind the two of you as Christine turns to wheel you up the steps into the house. His eyes are on you, focused and ready should you fall.

Christine would never let you fall, and from the way your hand is gripping the arm of the chair for dear life, you probably couldn't anyway.

She wheels you through the entryway, the inside warmer thanks to a fire that's burning. It's a nice cottage, far nicer than she had been expecting judging from the outside.

Johnny lets out a low whistle as he enters behind John, looking around. “Yer parents own this?”

“It was given to our mum by our grandparents. They did some...renovations before they passed it on.” Kyle says.

“Yer tellin’ me.” Johnny says.

It looks new inside. New wood floors, freshly painted walls. The furniture looks like she would expect to find in an English seaside cottage, though. Kyle’s parents went to France for summer vacation instead of utilizing the cottage, and none of his siblings had wanted to use it, he told them. It looks almost perfect, like it came right out of a home renovation show. Kyle’s sister must have worked some sort of magic to get it this clean.

It is a very nice cottage. It’s small, the door opening right to the main area. There’s two couches and a chair in the middle of the room around a coffee table. To the left of the couches is a fireplace, the fire already lit and crackling. It looks original, likely having been untouched in the renovations. There’s a door to the left of the fireplace closer to the main entryway. A bedroom maybe? To the right of the front door are two doors, one on the far wall and one facing the front door.

The stairs are in the middle of the house, leading up to the second floor where there’s likely more bedrooms. On the far side of the main area is the dining area and beyond that is a sliding glass door. Around the corner on the far side of the stairs is likely the kitchen. She can see the fridge from where she’s standing. It’s new. Very new. Makes her wonder just how long ago it had been renovated.

“Everyone, this is my sister Ashley.” Kyle says, introducing the other woman in the room.

“Hello,” she says, giving everyone a wave and a dazzling smile.

She’s dressed simply in jeans and a t-shirt, her medium box braids pulled up into a bun on top of her head. They look a lot alike, her and Kyle. Tall and slender and stunning. They have the same smile and the same soft brown eyes. She's wearing scent blockers, but Christine can imagine her having a soft scent like lavender or something fresh like mint.

“There's two rooms down here, and two upstairs.” Kyle says. “The main bedroom is through there.” He points towards a door to their left. “I figure we'll give that to our omega. The bathroom in there has a walk-in shower.”

“Perfect.” Christine says. That will make getting you in and out of the shower easier at least, and you won’t have to go far to use the bathroom.

“You should take the other room down here.” John says, looking at Christine. “So you can be close in case of an emergency.”

And so you don't have to be too close to them, so you won’t feel like they’re hovering.

He doesn't have to say that part out loud.

“I put new sheets on all the beds.” Ashley says. “I also picked up everything Kyle sent on the list. Food, some clothes, some other necessities.”

You let out a quiet groan, Christine patting your head gently. You have to be exhausted and sore after the day. She should give you another dose of pain medicine like she said she would. You’re going to need it tonight.

“Let's get you laying down for a bit.” She says, wheeling you towards the door.

Kyle opens it for her, revealing a spacious room with a big window looking out towards the sea. You're going to spend a lot of time in front of that window, she thinks. The bed is in the middle of the room, and there’s two chairs facing the window. She’s almost tempted to sit you in one of the chairs, but laying down will be more comfortable for you right now.

You're still too out of it now to care much as she wheels you to the double bed. With Kyle's help they get you horizontal, Christine draping the blanket at the end of the bed over you. It’s not very soft, but it will do for now. She’ll have to get the guys to pick up some soft blankets for you when they go to town. She has a whole list of things starting in her head she needs them to pick up.

She leans your crutch against the end of the bed just in case you might need it for an emergency. She hopes you’ll yell first, but you always have been stubborn. Being mostly bed-bound has only made that worse.

“I’m going to go look through the things Ashley picked up.” She says, patting your leg gently. “Get some rest.”

Christine leaves the door open a crack as she exits, wanting to give you a little privacy as you nap, or at least she hopes you’ll nap. It’s going to be a rough adjustment, and you’re going to need as much rest as you can get.

“I’m assuming you’re Christine.” Ashley says, walking up to her.

“I am.” She says, giving Ashley a smile.

She can’t help but get lost in Ashley’s soft gaze for a moment. The Garrick siblings seem to share the same magnetic energy. There’s something almost ethereal about them. She could easily imagine them with glowing halos and angel wings. It’s almost like she’s being blessed with the opportunity to look upon her. She could spend an hour staring at Ashley’s face and not grow tired of looking at her.

“I picked up the items Kyle said you needed.” She says, motioning to the bags on the coffee table, pulling Christine out of her daze. “I couldn’t find the exact nutrient powder you asked for, so I got one that was as close as I could find.”

Christine glances through the bags. She was thorough, getting at least two of everything.

“I got warmer clothes for her too, since it can get chilly out here this time of year. Just some simple things for now until you guys get into town.” Ashley says. “I did some research too and I read that omegas like comforting things so I picked up some extra blankets and pillows” Ashley says, motioning to a couple bags sitting on the couch. “I also picked up this,” She pulls a stuffed dog from one of the bags, holding it up. “It was the softest one I could find. I thought it might help.”

A small smile forms on Christine’s face, her heart fluttering in her chest from the sweet, thoughtful gesture. Ashley doesn’t even know you, nor did she know exactly what happened to you, and yet she went so far as to pick up some comfort items for you. You have nothing right now, only the borrowed clothes on your back. All of your belongings are still on base, all of the things that you had built to make your perfect nest. Would you want any of them still? Or have they been tainted by the events of the last few weeks?

That Ashley thought to do this has warmth flooding Christine’s body. You can have some comfort now without having to wait for their trip to town. She almost feels the urge to cry. She wants to hug Ashley, thank her over and over for her kindness. Ashley has no idea how much her small act of kindness means, how much it's going to mean.

A smile forms on Christine’s face as she stares at the stuffed dog. “It’s perfect.”

You can hear it.

In the distance, the quiet roar reaches your ears as you’re dragged from the sweet arms of sleep. It must be a dream, or perhaps the sedative is still clinging to your mind, making you imagine things.

No.

You’d know that sound anywhere.

The effort to push yourself up to sit is a momentous one, every cell in your body protesting after a day of being moved and jostled. The last thing you want is to move right now, but you have to.

The pain meds have done little to help.

The crutch at the end of your bed must be a thousand miles away as you sit there and stare at it. The ache in your body only increases as you become more and more aware of the pain, almost as if it can tell what it is your mind is planning.

The door is cracked open, letting in a slit of light from outside. It’s dark in the room, the curtains pulled over the window. It’s a blessing compared to the bright yellow light outside the door. You welcome the darkness as your head begins to throb. You could call for assistance. You’d get more help than you needed. More help than you want.

No.

You need to do this.

The effort it takes to get standing nearly sends you back onto the bed. The pain nearly blinds you as your feet touch the floor, your body leaning against the side of the mattress out of desperation. If you fall, you’ll never be alone again. You can’t afford that. You don’t want that.

If you fall, you’ll never get up again.

The breaths out of your nose are short and sharp as you reach for the crutch, fingers trembling in the effort to fight the pain threatening to blind you. You’re trembling like a leaf in a storm as your fingers finally wrap around the cool metal. The rubber bottom drags across the floor as you tug it over to you, holding it against your chest for a moment.

Breathe. That’s what you need to do. Breathe.

In and out.

Nice and slow.

The pain is only a memory. The pain is nothing. The memories forming at the edges of your mind will take over and wipe out the pain and the misery. You just have to be sure. You just have to be certain.

You push yourself upright using the crutch, tucking it under your arm. You should go back to bed. You should rest.

No.

You need to know.

You need to be certain.

The first step you take nearly makes you sick.

It’s like watching a baby deer walk for the first time, knees wobbling, feet shaking. You lean heavily on the crutch, your determination the only thing keeping you from tumbling to the floor in a heap. That might almost hurt worse than forcing yourself to stand upright.

If you fall, you’ll never get up again.

Inch by inch you move across the floor, silently grateful for the socks on your feet. They allow you to slide across the hardwood, but they also pose a threat. Slide too far and you’ll lose your feet.

If you fall, you’ll never get up again.

The determination and your desire for certainty is what keeps you sliding inch by inch across the floor towards that strip of blinding light in front of you. It’s hovering before you, threatening you. How do you know there’s not one of them standing guard, waiting for you to try and leave? You can’t know. You don’t have a clue what’s waiting on the other side of that door. It could be nothing. It could be your entire pack.

Breathe.

In and out.

You take a moment at the door, resting your aching feet. Your body is throbbing from the effort to keep yourself upright, the sedative still numbing your brain and your movements. It’s like treading through honey, everything twice as hard as it should be. You can walk. You’ve done it before. You did it in the medical center.

You can do it here.

You use the crutch to push the door open more, your free arm still tucked in a sling to keep you from moving it. Reaching for it with that arm would have put you on the floor, would have caused more pain than you needed, would have made you fall.

If you fall, you’ll never get up again.

Breathe.

The light burns. Explosions of yellows and whites erupt behind your eyelids as you screw them tight against the sudden onslaught. The sun is in the room, shining its rays directly into your sensitive eyes. Your stomach churns, your fingers tightening around the crutch so tight your knuckles begin to ache. The oppressive light makes you want to recede back into the darkness of the room behind you like a vampire shying away from the light of day.

No.

You won’t be defeated by the harsh artificial lighting. You need to know.

You need to be certain.

The others are moving around. You can hear voices around the corner, voices upstairs with thudding footsteps. The air is thick with a mesh of scents, cleaning chemicals, and the burn of scent blocker. Your nose wrinkles at the sudden onslaught against your senses, your sedated brain making it all seem so much worse.

You need to know.

The hardwood floors continue and you use them to your advantage as you shuffle your way across the main area. The fire crackles as you pass, the popping of a log making you startle. Your feet slide again, your body pushing up against the crutch to hold yourself steady.

If you fall, you’ll never get up again.

Your target is dead ahead, a mile away but so close you can almost taste it. Just past the dining table and straight on till morning.

Despite your snail’s pace, no one seems to notice you shuffling your way across the house. It should make you upset, the fact that none of them notice you moving around, but instead it makes you glad. They’d try to stop you if they noticed you, turn you around and shuffle you back to bed. Or worse, they’d carry you.

How easily you could slip away, though.

Well...in theory.

Perhaps that’s why they ‘re not paying you any mind. How far could you really go in your current state?

Why would you want to stray from the only safe space you have?

The world outside is more dangerous with the state you’re in. Not just because of your injuries and your status, but also because you know Shepherd is still out there, and for all you know Graves is as well.

He could be waiting right outside the door.

No.

They’d know.

They’d protect you.

They failed.

You push past the fear in favor of certainty as you push forward, passing the dining table in your slow crawl towards the sliding glass door.

It poses an entirely new threat as you stand before it, staring out the darkened glass. You have to get it open. Getting it open takes strength and you’re down to one hand that’s trying to keep you upright.

You have to know.

You have to be certain.

You lean your weight on the crutch, ignoring the way it digs into your armpit as you reach for the handle. You click the lock, wrapping your fingers around the plastic before pulling. Your body screams with pain as you tug, the door sliding in the track as slowly as you had moved across the small living area. It’s almost as if it's mocking you.

It’s open only as wide as you need to crutch your way through, doing your best not to knock your left shoulder against the frame.

If you fall, you’ll never get up again.

Breathe.

You can smell it.

The salty sea air invades your senses, slipping up through your nose and straight into your brain. Memories come flooding back of childhood vacations back when things were simpler. Back when nothing mattered but the sand and the water and avoiding getting chased by your brothers carrying the piece of seaweed they found.

Polkadot bathing suits, bright red to be seen easily. Toes in the water, sand everywhere. The nap in the silent car home.

How simple life was back then. How easy life was.

Your heart aches for those days again. The days when you could exist without a care in the world, trusting your pack would keep you safe, trusting your family would care for you. Your mind yearns for that sense of safety and security again.

The world is grey as you hobble across the porch, the grey seeming to go on forever. You missed it, the chill in the air, the gloomy grey overhead. How you yearned for the gloom of England while stuck in the heat of Texas.

Anything is better than Texas.

Your forward shuffle pauses at the edge of the deck, your eyes looking out into the grey. Your breath catches in your throat as you stare out into the distance, the ache in your chest intensifying. It blocks out the pain in your body, numbing you to everything else as you stand there, legs trembling from the effort of going the short distance from your room to the end of the porch.

You can see it.

Emotions swirl inside of you like a hurricane as you stare out where the grey water meets the grey sky in the line of the horizon. Those emotions threaten to choke you as you stand there trembling at the edge of the porch. There’s a breeze, a cold one that bites through the fabric of your sweatshirt and into the skin below, but you don’t care.

You can’t care.

Your legs shake from the exertion, the neverending exhaustion that’s settled deep into your bones. It’s not just a physical exhaustion, but a mental one as well. It’s been a long week.

Only a week.

So much has happened in a week.

You want to sit. You want to sink down onto the porch and rest.

If you fall, you’ll never get up again.

There’s a pain in your chest as your breath catches in your throat. The emotions are whirling, tightening around your chest, squeezing your lungs until they feel like they might pop.

Breathe.

In and out.

You needed certainty. You needed to know.

You can hear it. You can smell it. You can see it.

A single tear rolls down your cheek as you stare out at the sea.

NEXT ->

To be notified about new chapters, please follow HERE and turn on notifications

#call of duty #call of duty fic #poly 141 x reader #task force 141 x reader #john price x reader #captain price x reader #kyle garrick x reader #gaz x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #johnny mactavish x reader #soap x reader #alpha/beta/omega dynamics #a/b/o #omegaverse

2K notes · View notes

threadtalks · 2 years ago

Text

Anyway I'm technically a fashion designer and this swim top happened on accident.

I somehow totally mess it up (well, not totally but e_e it's a pain to go back and fix stretchy garments because of the zigzag stitching.) I really meant for this to be a day project but it's so hard to get things done when you're in pain. It's also tough because I did this 100% using draping and my dress form isn't actually my size.

#{and i'm talking to myself}#i've got insomnia and i feel so horrible that i called off work #earlier i was in severe pain amd SOBBING #now it mostly hurts when i sit or lay down #my job is sitting so that would have sucked but i thought i'd be exhausted and unable to stay awake #trying to convince myself that i'm not a fraud #i'm going to the pool with my friend and brother and SIL and her family in like 10 hours #I'm probably gonna have my friend help me with a few aspects of this if i don't have it done before she gets here #honestly so stoked that i did this though???? :O #NOW I CAN JUSTIFY GETTING PADDING FOR MY DRESS FORM SO WE'RE THE SAME SIZE 😭😭😭#i've felt guilty about it because i figured i'd buy them and then end up not sewing #man draping is SO FUN #i hate patterning e_e but i never had luck using draping until now #hard to use my own body due to lack kf flexibility #none of these are the final product of course since I... messed up a bit...

1 note · View note

crushpunky · 2 months ago

Text

drew’s lockscreen of actress!reader

masterlist | actress!reader masterlist

this is something a bit new— a sort of social media au / short fic based off an ask. let me know what you guys think <3

Though the video was a bit blurry and quick, the girl on Drew’s lockscreen was undoubtedly y/n. Wearing one of Drew’s button downs, her hair swept back by the wind and a smile on her face, y/n struck a pose on the beach. Behind her, the sun met the ocean, casting golden light that kissed y/n’s skin and bathed her in an ethereal light. The photo and memory was one of Drew’s favorites, and each time he opened his phone he was reminded of it.

He had just gotten back home to Charleston to prepare to shoot Outer Banks following his time away while filming Queer in Italy. Any amount of worry or stress that loomed over him about his hectic filming schedule quickly evaporated when y/n picked him up from the airport, her dazzling smile wide and voice like music to his ears. The two of them spent the rest of the day making up for “lost time”, the couple mostly sticking to the confines of their bedroom until they finally decided to take a break and make the trek down to the beach to watch the sunset.

The sun was hanging low over the Carolina landscape, the only sounds the lull of the ocean and the swaying of the trees in the breeze.

“Didn’t realize how much I missed these beaches.” Drew said with a sigh, looking down at y/n with a grin. The two of them walked through the sand hand in hand, swinging their hands between the two of them rhythmically as they approached the water.

“The beach you took me to when I visited was pretty nice.” Y/n said with a smirk, raising her eyebrows up at Drew playfully. One of the times y/n had come to see Drew when he was filming, he had surprised her with a day at the beach. The only problem was, Drew hadn’t researched quite thoroughly enough, and the two of them ended up hiking to a nude beach. Flustered and fearful of the prying eyes of fans or the paparazzi, the two of them had to hike all the way back to town with their unused beach gear. Instead, they opted to spend the rest of the afternoon exploring the city hand in hand. Even if the day hadn’t gone quite how they expected, they got to spend it together and that was all they really wanted.

“Haha, very funny.” Drew rolled his eyes playfully, pulling the beach towel out from under his arm and laying it down in a spot near the surf. Smoothing it out, Drew sat down before offering a hand up to y/n. With a giggle, y/n took his hand before sitting down next to him, resting her head on his shoulder. Drew’s arm snaked around her waist, pulling her flush against his side.

“These sunsets weren’t quite as fun to watch without you.” Y/n said quietly, peering up at Drew. He looked down at her with a grin, pressing a kiss to the tip of her nose before burying his face into her hair. Y/n could hear the steady thrum of Drew’s heart in her ear, his fingers tracing gently along her back in a way that made her cheeks warm.

“I’m happy to be back.” Drew whispered into y/n’s hair. The two of them sat in silence, basking in each other's presence, as the sun drew closer and closer to the horizon. Suddenly, an idea popped into Drew’s mind, his hand reaching into his pocket for his phone.

“Get up real quick. I wanna do something.” Drew smiled, climbing to his feet. Once more, he offered his hand out to y/n, who took it gratefully as she rose to stand next to him. Drew stood still, his eyes locked on y/n and a cheesy grin on his face.

“What?” Y/n chuckled, placing her hands on her hips as she faced Drew. With a gentle touch, Drew shifted her over to stand with her back to the surf, the setting sun illuminating her and the beach in an orange glow. Without another word and a lovestruck grin still on his face, Drew picked up his phone and pointed the camera towards y/n.

“Strike a pose for me, baby.” Drew grinned. Y/n smiled for the photo, not moving from her position.

“C’mon… please?” Drew said sweetly, his grin apparent in his tone. With a groan and a playful roll of her eyes, y/n popped her hip out in an exaggerated pose that caused Drew to let out a chuckle as he snapped a photo. Looking closely at the photo, Drew could feel his heart swell. Y/n looked so positively radiant, so positively y/n, the personality and beauty Drew fell in love with, all captured in just a single frame.

“Are you done?” Y/n asked, tearing Drew’s eyes away from his phone. He nodded before looking back down at the photo with a grin.

“Lemme see.” Y/n teased, coming towards Drew and raising up onto her tiptoes to peer at his phone.

“I think this is the best photo I’ve ever seen.” Drew whispered, causing y/n to giggle as she looked up at him. Quickly swiping through his settings, Drew set the photo as his lock screen. Turning his phone off, he turned it back on to display his new lock screen. The two of them laughed lightly before Drew put the phone back in his pocket.

“My little model.” Drew said, pressing a kiss to y/n’s cheek before lifting her in his arms. She let out a giggle, perhaps Drew’s favorite sound, as he spun her in the golden light of the beach. With a sigh, Drew sat her feet back down into the sand, his hands still wrapped firmly around her waist as he stared at her intently.

Despite being firmly on the ground again, y/n swore her head was still spinning because of the way Drew was looking at her: his eyes so wide, scanning over every inch of her, the icy blue bathed in a golden glow from the sun. Y/n reached up, wrapping her arms around Drew’s neck and smiling up at him. Slowly, Drew leaned in and pressed his lips to her own, his familiar taste caused her smile to widen. Curling her fingers into his hair, y/n pulled him even closer, savoring the beautiful moment the two of them were sharing… and wouldn’t soon forget thanks to Drew’s new lock screen.

#drew starkey #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey x actress!reader #actress!reader #drew starkey x actress!reader social media au #drew starkey social media au #drew starkey x reader social media au

981 notes · View notes

junislqve · 4 months ago

Text

THAT FEELING WHEN / ’she looks perfect’

enhypen ｡｡ their “she’s perfect” moments

n : f!r / 1683 𝑤𝘰𝑟𝑑𝑠 . . . 𝓬 — 𝗈𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗍 ⨾ kissing fluff enha in love est rs ⟢ 𝖼𝖺𝗍𝖺𝗅𝘰𝗀𝗎𝖾

𝗋𝖾𝖻𝗅𝘰𝗀𝗌 ♥︎ 𝖼𝗅𝑖𝖼𝗄

LEE HEESEUNG

one thing heeseung loved to do was watch his pretty girlfriend sit in front of her huge mirror while getting ready. loving the way you’d apply lip gloss on your lips knowing he’d kiss it all away in a minute anyway.

it was always one of those moments when he’d get to admire you as much as he’d like, his eyes chasing after every detail of your face in fear he’d forget about it if he didn’t.

“seung, can you pass me my bag?” you ask, unaware of the way his eyes glazed over, doe-eyed. “‘seung?”

“yeah?” he said, absentmindedly. you turn to him with a pout and only then did he snap out.

“my bag—“

“do you know how perfect you look right now?” your eyes flickered to his, “you look perfect all the time— how do you always look this pretty?”

PARK JONGSEONG

it’s always been hard to waver jay. he was never swayed that easily nor did he get shy a lot. so why was it so hard for him to focus on studying whenever you were around?

he had stacks of books all splayed out in front of him and a test to study for, yet all he could think about was how you looked smiling and laughing with your friends hours ago.

“jay?” hearing that voice, he thinks he’s never looked up that fast in his life, “hi, can i sit here?”

well, now he knows he can never get any studying done, “yeah, sure, of course.”

“have you been studying for long?” you ask, taking a seat right across from him, as if your mere presence wasn’t already a menace to his heart rate yet.

“no, i just started actually” a little white lie wouldn’t hurt. which he was glad for saying, because he spent the next two hours studying (mostly talking) with you. and he thought he’s gotten comfortable with talking to you, but that was until he attempted to crack a joke that gauged no reaction out of you.

“i mean, well, you’re always pretty— smart. smart and pretty” he sputtered, wishing he stayed silent, his dilemma was cut short by the soft chuckle you made. when he picked up the way your dimples showed and the way your eyes creased crescents, he knows he a goner.

SIM JAEYUN

your room was one of the places jake loved to be in. it didn’t matter what he was doing, it just felt better to do it in your room. it was nothing, however, without your presence. maybe it was because of your habit to leave music lulling away through every corner of your room, jake convinces himself.

he loved your room, and he loved you (though you didn’t know it yet) and he was completely fine with it. he was doing his project on your bedroom floor while you were sat on your window sill, typing up an essay.

it’s been hours since you both sat down in silence only letting the music to fill in the atmosphere.

“do you have a ruler i can borrow?” he asked, eyes still trained on his work. when you didn’t answer, his eyes turned to you for a moment, “hey, d—“

jake was reconsidering your friendship the moment he turned to look at you again, double taking at the sight. there was a beautiful sunset right behind you, and yet the only thing he could look at was you.

everything was fading away and you were the reason. all of his desires were begging him to reach out to you and ruin all that he’s built up until now, and while usually he’d create up a logical reason not to, this time, maybe a logical part of him wanted that too.

PARK SUNGHOON

sunghoon has never prioritized a day more than his day-ins. where all he needed to do was lay in bed and rest as long as he wanted. usually, he’d ignore everyone who tried to disturb him during those days. but if it was you, all it took was a call and he’s right outside your apartment.

“why didn’t you call me earlier, baby?” he sighs, fingers carving through your hair lulling you to sleep.

“i didn’t want to bother you” you pout, looking up at him. if you were any more adorable, sunghoon thinks he might not be able to restrain himself from kissing you breathless.

“bother me all you want, i’m yours to bother anyway” he says absentmindedly. unaware of the effect his words has on you, he always knew what to say at all the right times and that never failed to make you warm.

only after half an hour did you finally decide to let the sleep overtake you. sunghoon who was about to ask you if you wanted to eat, looked down to see his girlfriend’s arms around him.

he carefully moved the hair out of your face, brushing the little strands to the side. at first, he found you adorable looking this peaceful, but after a while he found himself not being able to look away. his hand cupping your jaw as his thumb gently rubbed your skin.

his eyes roamed your face possibly about a dozen times, hoping he’d remember every last detail of it to the way your lips pout slightly in your sleep. he found it baffling how you could look so perfect even while sleeping.

planting a small longing kiss on your forehead, sunghoon laid his head on top of yours. not realizing the slight smile on your lips nor the way you snuggled slightly closer to him.

KIM SUNOO

the door to the apartment drew open and sunoo looked exhausted. he needed his girlfriend and thankfully, the moment he was in, you were right there in front of him, sat on the couch.

sunoo walked to where you were, arms going around your body, face on your chest, hoping he could just stay like this forever. he caressed your sides and inhaled your scent until he looked up to you and noticed the familiar pattern of the hoodie you were wearing.

“baby, is this my hoodie?” he asks, heart melting when he saw you dig your face deeper into the hoodie in embarassment. he was about to shoot you a comment until your eyes peeped out of the hoodie and gazed at him.

this whole situation was ridiculous, more ridiculous as he was suddenly unable to think of anything except for the way you stared up at him so adorably. the doe eyes you shot him was enough to make him nervous.

just as fast as you did, you covered your whole face back under the hoodie, leaving sunoo trying to recollect himself, acting as if the fact that you were buried under his clothes and engulfed in his scent didn’t make him drunk on your existence.

YANG JUNGWON

music was blasting loudly. and somehow, jungwon wasn’t actively trying to avoid the place. reason of cause? you. more specifically, the way your hands wrapped around his arm. a simple action enough to drive him nuts. maybe if he was aware of the way he was following you like a lost puppy he’d snap out of it, but for now, he’s stuck to you.

“wonnie, do you want some punch?” you ask, grabbing a clean cup and pouring yourself a glass.

“hm?” he attempted to register the situation and once he did, he carefully took your cup away from you, “are you sure this is safe? we both know you can’t handle your alcohol”

maybe that’s exactly what you need right now though, some alcohol in your system because the way your boyfriend had his sleeves rolled up to his arms and the way his hair sat messily on top of his head was making you insane.

“come on, wonn, just a little” you tilt your head to the side. and that was when jungwon had his little shit moment. the way you looked tonight in the dim lighting and that smile of yours, it was all too overwhelming for him.

all those moments he’s had with you is all catching up to him and his heart feels so full of love for you, he doesn’t know what to do. only then can he gulp, and nod at his girlfriend as he watches her eyes light up, giving him a split second’s kiss that had him grinning from ear to ear while following her from behind.

NISHIMURA RIKI

“riki come on! the sunset’s about to start”

your voice echoing from ahead, riki was struggling to keep up with your pace, his legs running as fast as he could through the road.

“slow down” he huffs, breathing heavily as his feet finally lands on sand and his pace slowing down. despite the need to heave, he continued his slow walk towards you, who had your back towards him.

he stood beside you and he turned to you, just about to scold you for making him run with you, but all his words died on his tongue as he saw the way your eyes reflected the sunset.

he willed himself to look ahead for a split second before his eyes trailed back to you, riki wondered how someone could look so pretty compared to the view right in front of him. he wondered how even though you annoyed him most times, he couldn’t look away from you right now.

he told himself it was because of how you looked dumb gaping at a sunset but even then you looked unreal, riki didn’t understand your fascination with sunsets when you could just look at yourself in the mirror.

but he’ll never tell you that, in fact, he promised himself he’s only going to look at you for that long only for this moment. only because the orange hues reflecting off your skin made you look perfect, only because he knew he couldn’t pay any amount of money to get to see something as pretty as that smile of yours. only this time.

spoiler: that wasn’t the last time.

juni : this took too long bruh

2K notes · View notes

hopesangelsprite · 3 months ago

Text

His Little Angel

Pairing: ClanLeader!Gojo x Wife!Reader

Summary: Being the big boss of an infamous Jujutsu sorcerer family can be pretty hard, but being the wife of said boss is even harder.

Warnings: Groping, Dacryphilia, Size Difference, Gojo's Powers, Virginity Loss, Slightly Mean Gojo, Pet Names (Angel, Little Love, etc.), Overstim, Cunnilingus, Semi- Public Sex (behind closed doors but people are still around-), Creampie

MINORS/AGELESS ACCS DNI

Viewer discretion is advised.

The first few months at the Gojo estate were arguably the hardest months of your life.

Everything from the elders to the wedding day, the stares and whispers that came with your new title of Madam Gojo; all of it seemed to be a part of some elaborate scheme designed to drive you insane. It didn't help that your husband was almost never around, busy with meetings and overseeing that the Gojo name remained sacred. His absence only gave way to more rumors, whispers of you being unable to fulfill your roles as a wife, that your marriage was one of convenience and that your affections lay with another man.

Only half of that was true. While your marriage had been arranged, born of the necessity to produce a strong, viable heir, your affections lay with no one other than your estranged husband. Though you didn't know him well, you respected the hell out of him for being able to take on the weight of the world and maintain composure under the constant watch of it. You only wished he'd allow you to take part of that weight away, to slow down enough to let you do your duties as at least a business partner if not his wife. "Madam, you're scowling again.", came a quiet voice from behind you, "You'll get wrinkles.". As your consciousness came back to you, you found that you were indeed scowling. The troubles were beginning to get to you.

A heavy sigh escaped your lips as your features softened, eyes darting up to glance at your handmaid in the mirror. "My apologies, I seem to be more tired than usual.", you mused as you watched her fingers carefully detangle your hair. In all honesty, it was a surprise you hadn't keeled over from exhaustion yet. Ever since you'd said your vows, your hands had been very full and very busy. Though Satoru took care of mostly everything, there was still quite a lot to fulfill on your end as well. If you weren't overseeing food and flower selections, you were playing nice with the elder ladies at the estate. Being cordial was tiresome and quickly becoming stale.

At your words, the hands in your hair stilled and the eyes trained on you in the mirror narrowed. "You aren't falling ill are you, Madam?", came that same small voice, this time laced with suspicion. You quickly shook your head and sat up straighter in your chair. "No, no.", you answered as smoothly as you could, "I just need a bit more rest, that's all!". There was a moment of silence before she nodded and continued to brush your hair.

That was another thing about the residents of the Gojo estate, they all were obsessed with your health. You understood that you needed to be healthy to produce an heir, but being under constant watch and polite restriction was agitating. It drove you to respect your husband even more when you considered the standard of perfection that he held himself to. After a few more minutes of quiet conversation, your handmaid withdrew from your chamber with a bow leaving you in silence.

The longer you stared into your own reflection, the deeper you found yourself slipping into your mind. On the outside, you were the picture of perfection, pristine and pretty with all the makings of a great partner, but on the inside... on the inside you were falling apart at the seams. You thought you had what it took to be the wife of the strongest, you had been raised to possess all the independence, intelligence, and talent your parents could give you. Still, it all seemed to amount to nothing in comparison to the cunning politics at the Gojo estate where every word had a double meaning, and every smile hid something sinister behind it. Though you had only been married for a short time, you honestly were beginning to think you weren't cut out to be a wife to the man people revered and worshipped.

Behind you, the sound of your door sliding open once again drew you back to reality. Your eyes flickered upward expecting to see that your handmaid had returned only to find yourself staring into the cerulean eyes of your husband. He entered into the room with a grace unknown to normal humans, bowing his head as he crossed the threshold with arms tucked into his haori. The door slid shut behind him, his presence commanding all of infinity to draw to him as well as your full attention. You stood with quickness, bowing deeply while fighting to calm the racing of your heart. "Welcome home, Gojo-sama.", you spoke politely into the room that now seemed to be buzzing with electricity.

A deep, sultry chuckle filled the silence of the room, and you swore the candles in the room flickered for a moment afterward. "Rise.", he commanded, and your body followed suit, "There's no need for formalities here.". A sudden heat washed over you at the timber of his voice, stern yet cordial as if the only interactions you'd had with him since your wedding day weren't in passing. As you took in the sight of him, however, any sort of ill feelings you'd been harboring disintegrated into nothingness. Gojo Satoru was a vision of beauty itself. He was tall and broad, standing proudly as his snowy hair fluttered in a nonexistent breeze. His eyes were a sharp blue that pierced into the innermost parts of your being, carefully analyzing all that made you you with every flutter of his wispy lashes. At your silence, his pretty pink lips turned upward into a smirk, the rosy color a stark contrast from his milky white skin.

"I hear that you've been hiding things from me... that you've begun to overexert yourself with the duties of the estate.", he purred with a darkness that made your heart flutter, "My duties.". Your eyes widened at his words, your head shaking in denial as you mentally cursed your handmaid for running her mouth. "I am perfectly well, I assure you.", you replied earning a deep hum, "As for the duties... I was under the impression that I was doing the tasks of a wife, of a partner.".

Gojo traversed the room silently, his footfalls eerily quiet as he invaded your space with an odd gentleness. Now that he was closer, your senses were bombarded with the heavy mint vanilla scent that wafted of him in waves; it made you dizzy. "As a partner, yes.", he began while taking your chin in between his index finger and thumb before leaning in closer, "But as a wife, your only duties are to live comfortably, look pretty, and serve me well.". From the steeliness in his eyes to the gentle tightening of his grip, it was clear that this wasn't a suggestion and most definitely not up for discussion. A glint of mischief flashed in his eyes as if he could read your mind; you wouldn't be surprised if he was able to.

"Do you understand, angel?", he pressed while standing up straight and towering over you to which you nodded. With a shaky exhale, you poured your remaining courage into words and answered him, "Yes. I understand, Gojo-sama.". He hummed again, eyes darting over your figure unabashedly. The heat from earlier returned with fervor as you fidgeted under his gaze; the feeling of being exposed screaming at you to hide yourself from him, but his existence demanded that you stay put, that you submit to him. "There goes that damned title again.", he said with a click of his tongue more to himself than you, "Seems like I'll have to cleanse it from your palate.". Before you could fully process his words, his mouth was on yours.

The kiss started as a slow one, gradually increasing intensity as you let him lead you. The cool of his lips and the mint on his tongue made your spine tingle, a shiver slithering down it as his tongue invaded your mouth drawing a whimper from you. As the kiss deepened, you felt Gojo's hands begin undoing the ribbons of your kimono, the silky fabric sliding of your shoulders to further expose you to him.

More layers began to fall from you until you were bare, shaking under the cool touch of your husbands' hungry hands. For a moment, the air around you spiked with electricity and as the tension died down you realized that you're no longer in your bedroom. The scent and feel of an unfamiliar mattress greeted you as Gojo broke the kiss to begin marking a trail down the column of your neck. It took you a second, but the realization eventually settled in; he'd used his powers. The thought sent a wave of arousal pouring from you.

More slick began to trickle from you as his lips descended lower and lower until he was placing open mouthed kisses over your clothed mound. Your heart skipped a few beats as you watched him remove the soaked white fabric from you and your heart nearly gave out completely as he separated your clenched thighs with ease. A strangled moan escaped him as he took in the sight of your cunt, lips plush and coated. "I suggest you be a good little wife and let me have my way with you.", he hissed, and the sudden rush of air made you tremble, "I'd hate to have to pin you down.".

Gojo didn't hesitate to flatten his tongue against your slit, licking upward until his lips latched onto your clit. A breathy moan fluttered from your chest as he sucked hard, cyan colored eyes locked on you as he started devouring you like a man starved. The unfamiliar sensation of his tongue swirling between your folds made your hips buck, your hands gripping the sheets in a weak attempt to ground yourself. Between your legs, Gojo had descended into madness; the sweetness of your pretty pussy intoxicating him with every swallow he drank down. As he suckled at your pearl, breathy moans met his ears, and he felt you begin to shake and inch up the bed.

He released your folds with a wet pop and nipped at your bud, a warning for you to hold still before pulling you back onto his mouth with dark eyes. You tried to protest but the words were ripped from your throat before you could utter them. Another long lick was dealt to your cunt followed by the prodding of his long fingers at your entrance. As his tongue flicked rapidly across your clit, the tips of his finger pushed past your entrance and began to scissor you open. The pressure that'd been building in your belly grew unbearable, tears prickling at your lash line as a hum from Gojo sent vibrations straight to your core. You opened your mouth to warn him of your impending release just as his fingertips brushed against a spongey spot deep inside your velvety walls. You shuddered, vision going white as your cunt clamped down on his digits; the orgasm rushing over you, pulling loud pleas from your kiss bitten lips.

He let you ride out your high for a few moments before separating himself from your folds. He watched you struggle to regain control of your body with pride, hands busy with undressing himself and freeing his throbbing cock from its confines. By the time the spots had cleared from your eyesight, he's placed your ankles on his broad shoulders and aligned himself with your entrance. You gasped as you watched his fat, pink mushroom tip slip through your lips. "W-wait! Gojo-sama-", you called only to be silenced by a hard stare from him. "Satoru.", he corrected you with a slap of his tip against your puffy clit, "You'll refer to me as Satoru from now on.".

You nodded, eyes still fixed on the massive length preparing to split you open, possibly split you apart. "Satoru, t-there's no way that'll fit inside me.", you tried to reason with him, "I've never... It'll break me.". A deep groan rumbled from his chest as he started to grind against your mound, precum mixing with your slick and covering his member.

"Don't worry, angel. I'll make it fit.", he assured you as he rolled his hips forward to catch on your entrance. Inch by inch, Satoru began sinking into your cunt with shallow thrusts. The sting of being stretched well past your limits caused the tears that'd welled in your lash line to fall from your eyes in streaks. At the sight, Satoru cooed and licked them away between whispered apologies and sweet nothings. He promised you that the pain would go away soon, a lie he partially felt bad for telling you. Afterall, he wasn't even halfway in yet.

When he did finally bottom out, he was fighting against the urge to fuck you into the mattress. Instead, he busied himself with adjusting the both of you, with manhandling you into a deep mating press. In that position, all your senses are once again overwhelmed with him. You could feel the tickle of his snowy locks against your forehead, his scent further addling your already frazzled brain. Your mind only slipped further away when Satoru pulled out completely to slam his hips into yours.

He fucked into you with long, deep strokes, pace slow and torturous. Any pain from earlier was chased away with white hot pleasure, your gummy walls fluttering around him as you fought to keep yourself quiet. You could only imagine what the elders would think of you if they heard you getting ruined, what the maids would whisper about if they heard the sound of Satoru's hefty balls smacking against your ass.

He wasn't having it, though. Swiftly, Satoru took your face into one of his huge hands, squishing your lips into a soft oh. "Ah ah ah, don't you fucking think about it.", he growled as he picked up the pace, "Keep that pretty mouth open for me, little love. I don't give a damn about who hears.". The knot in the pit of your stomach tightened at his words and he didn't miss how you clamped down on his cock. He chuckled at the sensation and took a moment to suck your tongue into his mouth before trickling a large globule of saliva into your own. He pulled back, hips now pistoning into yours as his high drew closer.

Moans and broken pleas bubbled from your chest with every drag and bump of his tip against your cervix, barely registering when Satoru's hand snaked between your bodies to rub quick circles into your already buzzing clit. A desperate scream escaped you at the staticky pops of his cursed energy against the sensitive bundle of nerves. " 'Toru, please!", you sobbed as the knot grew dangerously close to snapping, "I c-can't take it anymore!".

He couldn't hear you, he was too far away, too pussydrunk to comprehend your words or the flicker of the candles around him. A feral growl tore from his chest as he pounded into you harder. You should've already been done for, his reverse technique holding you together as he ravaged you with the selfish intent of pumping you full of cum. He dealt you a few more long thrusts before your chest pressed into his, back arching off the bed. You came with a silent scream, body shaking underneath his as you blacked out for a second and drenched his cock in a fresh wave of slick. As your walls spasmed around his pulsating head, Satoru's balls tightened and emptied into your needy pussy. "Fuck fuck fuck!",he hissed through clenched teeth, "That's my pretty little wife, take my cum.".

It took several moments for either of you to begin coming down, Satoru's hips grinding into yours as he fucked his cum deeper into your still fluttering walls. You shivered as the overstimulation took hold of you. A sudden knock came from the outside of the room, a timid, flustered voice calling for Satoru to meet with the elders; down the hallway you heard the overlapping voices of angry men drawing nearer. You gasped as you felt his teeth scrape against your collarbones. "Don't worry about them, pretty girl.", he warned, and you felt his cock stiffen again.

"They're the least of your worries tonight.".

1K notes · View notes