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pencil-n-pen · 4 months ago

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I WANT AN INNOCENT LOVE

.☘︎ ݁˖

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alexandria! rick grimes x fawn! fem! reader

masterlist | kofi

summary: you’re a new addition to alexandria. Rick’s just looking out for his group. That’s the only reason he finds himself drawn to you. Nothing else.

cw: LEGAL age gap (it is big, i imagine reader in her early 20s) canon typical depictions of violence, Rick is kinda mean to reader at first, Rick kind of struggles with the age gap a little, dom! Rick, slight possessive rick

tags/tropes: shy and skittish reader, she’s not used to dealing with people but she’s not helpless, honestly she’s just a sweet and soft person who became what everyone becomes in the apocalypse, hurt/comfort, insecurity, touch-starved reader a bit, YEARNING, no saviors or whisperers just Rick and everyone living happily in alexandria. Daryl is also here and he’s kind of like ur uncle bc i love daryl and i say so

a/n: i have nothing to say other than this is so insanely self indulgent it’s not even funny. nobody asked for this but writing it has kept me sane while i’m couch ridden. everything is terrible rn but rick grimes <3333

songs i listened to while writing: We'll Never Have Sex by Leith Ross, Work Song by Hozier (Rick's theme song) you were mine by Esha Tewari, Do I Wanna Know- Hozier's Cover, Somethin' Stupid by Nancy & Frank Cinatra, Lover, You Should've Come Over by Jeff Buckley (i'm so not normal about that entire album) Under Your Spell by Snow Strippers, Little Bit by Lykke Li (the original not the remix)

title taken from Under Your Spell by Snow Strippers

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You were just a little thing when you showed up at the gates.

All wide-eyed and skittish at the tree-line, clothes hanging awkwardly off your frame. Scuffed and dirty, when Rick goes up to the tower to scout you out.

You don’t quite come close enough for anyone to get any kind of information on you. Name, age, where you’ve been, what you’re doing at the gates.

These are all questions Rick, as leader, needs answers to.

If he could just convince you to get close enough.

Under different circumstances, he’d just let you do whatever it is you’re planning on doing, but the lurking is starting to make people uneasy. And he figured he ought to do something to ease their concerns. Easiest way is to either get you inside the walls or find answers to those questions.

You’re real good at staying out of reach, though. And you never stay in one place for long. By the time two weeks have gone by, you’ve made it around the entire length of the walls. Just to end up right where you started: the gates.

It’s just past the crack of dawn- dew is still lingering on the plants and grass and the sun’s rays have yet to actually provide warmth. Rick is up, making his rounds and checking in when one of the guards on rotation lets him know that you’re at the gates. Only time you’ve ever been that close.

So they’re opened, and you amble in— light-footed and unsure. Honestly, you remind him a bit of Daryl with your obvious hesitance to be in the company of other people and clear inclination towards nature. But where Daryl is hard edges and reclusiveness, you’re… softer.

A small group of people —curious onlookers, mostly— forms behind Rick as he saunters towards you, and he watches the moment you see the reality of your decision and begin to regret it.

He comes to a stop a few feet away from you, letting the silence hang in the air for a bit.

He finally takes you in with his own two eyes, without the aid of the binoculars, and he examines. Catalogs the nervous twitch of your hands and scuffs and scrapes he can see on the visible scraps of skin. Eyes the way you worry your lip between your teeth and can’t decide if you’re going to keep staring at him or look away- your mind clearly torn between vigilance and submission.

“You finish your tour of Alexandria?” He asks dryly.

You blink up at him, eyes wide. “Are you the leader of this safe-zone?”

He nods. “Sure am.”

You begin fiddling with your fingers absentmindedly. The small motion draws his attention back to your hands, where me notices bandaids practically covering the entire surface of your skin. He files the information away in his head for later.

“Are you currently accepting new members?”

He can’t help but crack a smile at your question. The way you phrase it and your nervous demeanor remind him so much of the times before the dead started walking— you look like a college student looking for a job, not somebody trying to find refuge here, after the end of the world.

“Depends,” He rests his hands on his hips, and he notes the way your eyes dart to the gun at his side before back up to him, “You got any skills to offer? You alone? Or do you got a group waitin’ for you?”

Your lip is raw from where you release it from your teeth.

“I’m really good at mending. I’m a proficient hunter. I can hold my own in a fight. And I’m alone.”

At the admittance of your lack of company, you shift back a few steps, a subtle re-distribution of weight.

Ain’t been socialized a whole bunch, Rick thinks to himself. He’s willing to bet you either don’t have a lot of positive experiences with large groups of people or you just plain ain’t been around em’ much.

He hums. “You killed anybody?”

“Walkers or live?”

“Either.”

You shift your shoulders. He’s starting to wonder just how many nervous actions you have.

“I don’t think anybody lives alone who hasn’t killed walkers.”

“And the living?”

You don’t move, but your eyes look to the ground, not at him.

Shame. Fear.

“Twice.”

“How come?”

“They wanted my supplies. Wanted me dead. I decided I didn’t want to die.”

He looks you over again. You really are a cute little thing. He thinks, absentmindedly in the back of his head, that something like you shouldn’t have bloody, bandaid covered hands. Shouldn’t have a kill count.

But he dismisses the thought. The end of the world leaves no room for those unwilling to do what’s necessary.

He dips his head. “We’ll get you settled in,” He jerks his head to the some of the guys behind him. “They’ll get you sorted out. Get along, now.”

You slink past him, distance carefully measured as you go.

Your eyes don’t quite leave him, though. There’s a moment- either you pause or his mind slows. Maybe a bit of both. But the air stills, and your gaze locks on him for the first time since he saw you, nestled in that tree line. The memory is clear and vivid- the sun shining through the trees, dappling you in shades of amber and grey. And then he’s here, and you’re looking up at him, eyelashes fluttering, and the sun has risen just enough that it casts a similar glow, the only difference now he can see up close just how the light catches on your face, just how he knows your features would look so different, so much softer if you were cleaned, if someone minded the cuts and scrapes.

And then you step away, and he snaps out of his reverie. He blinks a few times at your retreating form, shakes his head, and then busy’s himself with other work. There’s always something to be done.

But no matter how hard he tries, he can’t get the image of you gazing up at him, bathed in the early morning sun out of his mind.

—

A few days pass, and Rick sees little of you. He’s almost positive it’s on purpose. The few times he does see you, you look scared. And then, generally, you manage to make some sort of fleet-footed escape. The repeated spotting and fleeing reminds him of the time he accompanied Daryl on a hunt and startled a doe.

He can’t quite figure out why you’re afraid of him, though. He remembers being fairly decent to you when you arrived, and tried coaxing you towards the gates politely before you’d shown up on your own.

The sight of your scared expression ends up stuck fast in his head, usually super-imposed over the image of you on that morning at the gates. Two different versions of you, neither making any sort of sense.

He decides that it’s probably best that he stick away, if he scares you. You’ll settle, your ruffled feathers’ll smooth.

And he’ll stop thinking about you.

—

Neither do you settle or does he stop thinking about you.

He watches you from a distance, careful. You just… don’t relax. Ever. You creep away from every possible opportunity to connect with others like it might grow jaws and bite- you shrink back or freeze. Like you think if you play dead, if you don’t move, they’ll leave you alone.

He’s wondering what you hoped to accomplish by seeking refuge in Alexandria if this is how you act. You’re going to have a bad go of things if this is your plan. Or maybe you plain haven’t even thought that far.

He snags Daryl’s arm as he passes by.

“Wha—“

“The new girl,” Is all Rick says, still watching you remarkably avoid everyone who passes you. “She’s real skittish.”

Daryl follows his eyeline, finding you easy enough.

“Mm. She ain’t settlin’?”

“No.”

Daryl just hums again. “Well, she ain’t got nobody, does she?”

“So?”

The hunter shrugs. “Can’t relax. Ain’t got nobody to watch her back, take a watch. She’ll settle. Might take her a bit of time.”

Rick huffs. “She’s afraid of me.”

“No she ain’t,” Daryl snorts, “And since when does Rick Grimes care whether other people like him well enough?”

Rick doesn’t respond, just keeps watching you.

Daryl follows Rick’s gaze, then breathes out a low sigh.

“She is a pretty little thing, ain’t she?”

“That is not what this is about.”

Daryl levels him with a look. “Sure it’s not.“

“She’s half my age. I could damn well be her father.”

“But ya ain’t.”

“That isn’t the point.”

“Then what is the point, Rick?” Daryl sighs again, crossing his arms. “Either do something about it or move on. You got too many people dependin’ on ya for you to be eyeing up flighty young girls.”

Rick rolls his shoulders. “You make me out to be such a creep.”

The other man claps him on the shoulder. “Then stop acting like one.”

He attempts to take Daryl’s advice to heart. It’s an annoying truth that Daryl always knows exactly what Rick needs to hear. Not necessarily what he wants to hear, but what needs to be said.

And he is being creepy. He shakes his head as he walks away. Watching you, thinking about you. He can’t. That’s— you’re too young to be thinking any kind of thing like that.

No matter how there’s this half second, before you look scared, where you almost look relieved. No matter how he wants to personally take care of the bumps and scrapes on your face, wants to take off the bandaids and examine what’s beneath them.

Daryl was right. He needs to focus. Carl, Judith, everyone- they need him.

You’ll be fine. He’ll be fine.

—

You’ve gone missing.

Rick has been doing his best to heed Daryl’s advice— he stopped looking for you in the crowds, stopped trying to figure you out, stopped watching you from afar. He even made a fairly decent attempt to stop thinking about you. Not that the effort proves especially fruitful, but he tried, damnit.

All of those efforts go straight out the window when Daryl tells him that no one’s seen you since yesterday.

It takes him two seconds to grab his gun and follow Daryl out the door.

He barely remembers to tell Carl where he’s going, which scares him, because he doesn’t quite understand what’s been so invasive to his mind and day-to-day activities about you. Your eyes, the soft curve of your cheek, how you might feel in his hands.

They cloud his judgment. Make him do stupid reckless things like search Alexandria high and low for any sign of you.

He doesn’t find any. He searches the place you’re staying— nothing. Only sign of life is the unmade bed and bandaid wrappers in the trashcan by the bed.

He sighs deep and low as he stands over your bed. “Think she had enough? High-tailed it?”

Daryl leans against the doorway. “Nah. She likes it here well enough. She ain’t stupid enough to leave a good thing like this.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You’ve spoken to her?”

Daryl shrugs. “Few times. She don’t like talkin’ too much, but I think she figures her and I similar.”

“She wrong?”

He scratches his beard. “A little. She fears situations and people the way a prey animal does. S’ why she’s a runner.”

Rick mulls Daryl’s words over as they scan the rest of the place but, of course, find nothing. There are no signs that you, specifically, live here. Nothing personal. Just the unmade bed and the bandaid wrappers in the trashcan.

The pair of them turn the entirety of Alexandria over in a matter of hours. He’s just about to call it quits, either wait for you to come back or send out a search in the morning when Daryl comes back over, telling him you’re at the gates.

As in, outside of them.

Opposite of how things went when you first showed up at the gates, people clear a path as he stalks towards you. They give the pair of you a nice, wide bubble. Even Daryl stays a few feet behind him.

The first thing he notices is that you’re covered in blood. From the way you’re holding yourself, most of it isn’t your own. There’s a backpack slung over your shoulder, but it’s not your usual one.

You won’t meet his eyes.

He stops an arms length away from you. “Where the hell were you?”

You shift backwards, away from him ever so slightly. “Scavenging.”

“Mhm, interestin’,” He says, rubbing his jaw, “Because the last scavenging party was yesterday. And you came back with everybody, so I’ll ask again. Where were you.”

Your eyes flick up from the ground for a moment, eying the people that have gathered to stare. He watches you mentally count them all, then attempt to put more distance between yourself and everybody else. Emphasis on attempt, because the second you take a step back, you stumble, wincing before righting yourself and going right back to scanning the crowd.

He works his jaw, anger and annoyance simmering just under the surface of his skin. He’s not going to get anything out of you here.

He grabs your wrist and turns, set in the direction of the medics.

He drags you along behind him, ignoring the little huffs or sharp intakes of pain when you walk a little too hard or too fast on your bad ankle.

You trip a few times as you go, and when you almost take Rick down with you, he sighs, pausing and turning.

The expression you give him is full of fear. He realizes, in the moment, that you might not remember where the medics are, so as far as you know, he’s angry at you and dragging you to a secluded area.

Guilt strikes him hard and fast, right in his chest.

Damn.

It’s too early to feel guilty about the random girl he allowed into Alexandria. Frightened eyes and shy nature aside.

He shakes his head once. “We’re going to see a doctor. Here, put your arm around me.”

He has to lower himself a little for you to drape your arm across the back of his neck. Your fingertips brush his shoulder, and he can feel the way you’re shaking.

It’s slow going from then on, with Rick acting as your crutches.

“Where were you? And don’t bullshit me.”

“Scavenging.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes,” You nudge the backpack still strapped to your back. “I was… looking for something. I can’t look for it with the others.”

“What the hell is it that you can’t look for it with the others?”

“A body.”

Your response hangs in the air, thick and heavy.

“…Family or friend?”

“Friend. Haven’t found her yet.”

Something clicks into place in his mental file about you. He feels like he just gained a new piece of the puzzle.

He readjusts your weight over his shoulder, tucking you a little closer and steadfastly pretending he doesn’t hear the little gasp you let out at the contact. Whether it was from pain or surprise, he can’t let himself think about it.

“Don’t go out by yourself. If you need to look, take Daryl with you.”

You sag a bit into him. “Okay.”

He glances down at you from the corner of his eye. You’re… pliant. You’d agreed quickly, and showed absolutely no fight or unwillingness when he, admittedly, manhandled you. You’d followed dutifully behind him and then simply allowed him to position your arms the way he wanted them.

There’s another little parasite that burrows into his brain right there. Right as he’s got you in his grip.

He slows to a stop, a little question forming in his head. He slips the arm that had been wrapped around your waist away, instead curls his fingers across your chin and jaw. He tilts your head up, looks down at your face, searching it for… something.

He meets no resistance. You only stare up at him, doe eyes blinking. He tilts your head to the left, then to right, and still, nothing.

Huh.

He lets go, and you shudder, a full body shiver. And he thinks, in this moment, that he could do whatever he wanted, and you might let him. He could break you, like this.

It’s a very dangerous thing, he decides. Because he doesn’t want to break you. He doesn’t want to hurt you. He wants to peel back the bandaids and see what’s under them. He wants to scrub the dirt from your face and give you soft clothes —his clothes— not those tattered rags that hang off your body.

You might let him do whatever he wants, but you’re the one who holds this power over him. You’re the one who made him sick— filled his head and clouded his judgement and made him the kind of man he never used to be.

But he can’t say any of that. Can’t even act on it. Not with someone young enough to be his daughter. He has a daughter for Christ’s sake. And a son.

So he just wraps his arm back around your waist and helps you to the medics.

—

“Rick,” Daryl says one afternoon, leaned on the post on the porch, “You’re drivin’ me crazy, here.”

“I’m not sure how I’m supposed to help with that.”

“The fawn.”

He raises an eyebrow. “The fawn?”

“You know. That nervous little thing you keep pretendin’ you don’t want in your bed.”

“Daryl.”

The man just keeps fiddling with his crossbow. “What?”

“I can’t just— she’s half my age.”

“So you’ve said.”

“I got kids to think about, and—“

“Carl don’t give a shit and Judith is ten. Only thing she’s concerned about is sneakin’ sweets.”

He entertains the notion in his head, thinks about what pursuing you might be like.

Something occurs to him.

“She ever get close to you?”

“No,” Daryl huffs, always knowing exactly what Rick means, “Keeps about an arm’s distance away. No matter what. She’s been inchin’ closer recently, but not by much.”

His hand on your face, moving it this way and that without any resistance at all, your body pliant in his grip—

“Hm,” Is all Rick says, crossing his arms.

“Why fawn?”

Daryl shrugs. “Looks like one. Kinda acts like one, around you.”

“No she doesn’t.”

Daryl levels him with a look. “Yes, she does. And based on the way you’ve been actin’, you like it.”

He opens his mouth to refute the point because no, he doesn’t like it, he just constantly thinks about how far he could take it, what you would let him do, if he could make you his.

And then he thinks ‘oh.’ Maybe he does like it.

He drops his hands to his hips. “What exactly am I supposed to do, then?”

“I don’t know. Ain’t my area of expertise.”

“You’re the one who knows her better, said I was drivin’ you crazy.”

“So? I don’t know jack shit about romance, Rick.”

“Well, you keep calling her a fawn. How different can it be?”

Very different, his mind supplies. You know that.

Now it’s Daryl’s turn to sigh. “Don’t overwhelm her. She’s a nervous little thing, but she likes you. Once she figures out you ain’t gonna hurt her, she’ll latch on.”

“That’s specific. You deal with fawns a lot?”

He snorts. “No. I’m fuckin’ guessin’ here.”

The two men fall into silence, Daryl fiddling or cleaning his bow— Rick ain’t paying that much attention to him.

He’s thinking about you. You, you, you. Your eyes and your face and your hands and the figure you carefully keep hidden under layers of clothing, even under the hot Virginia sun.

Fawn, he thinks to himself.

Fitting.

—

He doesn’t make a plan or something stupid like that. He just thinks. And then he decides.

“You’re really coming with us?” Glenn asks, pack slung over his shoulder.

“Yep,” Rick says, holstering his gun, “Goin’ stir crazy in there. Just needa get out for a bit.”

You’re quiet as you get your things in order, but the group doesn’t bat an eye. They’re used to your silence, it seems.

You can’t seem to tear your eyes away from him, though. You look away every time you think he’s looking at you, but he’s good at looking at you out of the corner of his eye, so he sees it.

Throughout the run, you hover near him, never quite going out of range of his field of vision. He’s impressed by how quietly and efficiently you work- you spot things even he wouldn’t have. All the while watching for walkers, and of course, subtly eyeing Rick.

Despite being the leader, he heads up the back and watches for stragglers. He didn’t really come out cause he was stir-crazy, anyway.

He came out for you. He wanted to watch you work, wanted to do it with you.

To your credit, you work well with the others. You’re a woman of few words with them, but you help where you can and stay civil. Even if you don’t quite get close to any of them.

Except Rick.

As they’re scavenging an abandoned house, a few walkers shuffle out from the trees. Not enough to be a problem— the group outnumbers them easy. But you’re all busy getting supplies and he’s trying to keep an eye out, so he takes them out, one by one.

It really isn’t a huge thing for him, couple walkers ain’t really a big deal, but you notice.

Your eyes are trained on him, clothes now dirty with blood and gore.

He tilts his head, then makes his way over to you.

“You, um,” You say as he gets closer, voice a little hoarse, “Are you alright?”

He runs a hand through his hair. “I’m fine. It’ll take more than a few walkers to take me out.”

You blink. “Oh.”

He snorts a little laugh. “You ain’t too good at this whole conversation thing, huh?”

You flush, looking away. “Sorry. I’m just not… used to having them.”

You look up at him, earnest. “But I’ve been practicing!”

Oh, lord have mercy over his poor soul. You’ve done a full 180– turned from being afraid of him to very obviously wanting his approval.

“That’s good, that’s good. Who you been practicin’ with?”

“Daryl.”

“Now, that ain’t no good.”

You frown, shifting in place. “It’s not?”

“Well, it’s good that you’re tryin’,” He amends, “But Daryl ain’t good for conversation practicin’. He’s a little too much like you. Much too inclined to just sit in silence.”

“Oh.”

You pause, taking your lip between your teeth and mulling something over in your head.

“Would you, um.” You look up at him, clearly nervous.

And he can’t help himself really, from leaning down into your space a bit, a low “Hmm?” humming from his chest.

Your reaction is instant. This close, he can see the exact moment a flush crawls across your face, to even the tips of your ears.

And he’d suspected, you know, based on your behavior with him. But this— cold hard evidence that he makes you nervous. That you want him on you.

It’s cute. Real cute.

You steel yourself against your own nervousness, and he wants to coo at you.

“Would you practice with me?”

He leans back against the post, slides his hands into his pockets. “Course. Ain’t much to it.”

You smile. It’s small, a quiet sort of thing, but it’s there. He made you smile.

You gesture to the house behind you. “I’m. Gonna go back to scavenging. Um. Thanks.”

You turn on your heel, fleeing back into the house. He watches you go, something settling right into place in his chest.

You stick a little closer to him for the rest of the run.

—

After that day, you begin seeking him out. You don’t approach him right away, preferring to to trail behind him for a little bit before finally making a move.

The move being a quiet: “Hi, Rick.”

Today’s no different, other than it being a little later when you do find him. He’s taking a little stroll around, as is his usual. It… settles him, to see everything alright with his own two eyes.

Settles him even more when he hears the quiet patter of your footsteps behind him.

He chuckles. “Afternoon, darlin’.”

Your foot steps speed up, fall into step somewhat beside him. “Hi, Rick.”

“Hi,” He says, smile tugging at his lips. “How was your day?”

You clasp your hands behind your back as you walk. “Good. Weren’t many walkers on today’s run. I got something for Judith.”

“Oh? Let’s see it, then.”

You take something out of your pocket and hold it out to him.

It’s a pocket knife. One of those multi-tool ones.

And it’s pink.

“I know it’s a cliche, the girls knife being pink, and she is only ten, but I saw it and I thought of her, and—“

“It’s perfect,” He interrupts before you can start spiraling. “She’s gonna love it.”

You deflate almost instantly. “Oh, good. I wasn’t sure.”

You walk for a few minutes before remembering the point of you coming up to him.

“Um. How was your day?”

He huffs a little, too fond to be upset. “Fairly decent. Ain’t got too much going on now.”

“That’s… good?”

He shrugs. “Just a little borin’. How’s that ankle of yours?”

This is usually how your conversations go. A few easy, back and forth questions. Easing you into talking to people, keeping conversations going. You’ve slowly gotten more confident. You talk a little longer, voice sounds a little more expressive.

“Fine.” You say, a little too quickly.

He narrows his eyes. “Really? No pain at all?”

It’s the looking away that sells it. You never look at him when you’re lying. Can’t stand to.

“No. It’s fine.”

He kicks his foot out a little, the toe of his boot just barely catching your ankle.

It’s a little more effective than he wanted. You let out a little yelp of pain and stumble forward, ankle almost immediately buckling.

He darts forward, catching you under the stomach with one arm.

You hang there a little, arms dangling.

“Fine, huh?” He hefts you up, so you’re back to standing upright, though now, visibly favoring your ankle. “So what’d the doctor tell you when I dropped you off?”

“Rest, ice, compression, and elevation.”

“And which of those four have you been ignorin’?”

“…”

“Hey,” He says, tapping the side of your jaw with two fingers. “Don’t lie to me.”

“All of them,” You wince, “I just didn’t want to be useless. I can walk on it fine. You haven’t even noticed until now!”

Your voice goes a little high at the end, a little desperate.

He thinks about how animals that are lower on the food rung don’t show pain. A deer will break a leg and keep walking until it drops, till it slows too much and something picks it off.

But you ain’t an animal, and nothing’s gonna pick you off.

“That’s true,” He says, “But that don’t make it right. You’re just prolonging the healing process.”

You look down. “…You were mad. I didn’t want to make you more upset by being useless.”

Ah. So that’s what it’s all about.

His approval, once again.

“I’d rather have you useless for a week than useless forever because you didn’t rest properly,” He ignores the hypocrisy of it, the fact that he’s ignored medical advice more times than he can count.

“I really am fine, mostly,” You say meekly, “It’s stopped hurting when I walk. It’s just a little unstable.”

“I still want you taking it easy for a little, you hear me?”

You nod.

“Nah,” He moves, standing in front of you, more than a little in your personal space, “I wanna hear you say it. Use your words.”

It’s a little test of sorts. To see how you’ll respond. What you’ll say. If you’ll listen.

You swallow, eyelashes fluttering. “I hear you. I understand.”

“What are you gonna do?”

“Take it easy.”

“That’s right,” You’ve been nice and obedient, so he figures you deserve a little reward. “Good girl.”

He hears your sharp intake of breath, watches your eyes get a little glassy.

Aw, that’s all you wanted. Just wanted to be someone’s good girl.

His good girl.

He nods towards your place. “Get along, now. Do I have to walk you to your door?”

“No,” you shake your head. “I’ll go. I will. Uh— bye.”

He watches you scamper away, gait a little uneven, hands clenched at your sides.

I can get used to this.

—

It becomes a little thing, after that.

When you’re not busy with your own responsibilities, you’re usually with him. Either right beside him, or trailing a few feet behind. Your company is quiet and calm, like waves from a lake lapping gently at the shore.

You also begin to settle in with the rest of the group. You’re still more inclined to be near Rick or, if he’s not available, Daryl, but once you become comfortable talking with people, Maggie and Glenn are quickly added to your slowly growing roster of safe people.

Judith has loved you ever since she found out that you’re the one who gave her the most beloved pink pocket knife, and enjoys babbling and talking your ear off about nothing the way that ten year olds do.

Carl grows to appreciate your presence too, finding solace in the fact that you don’t feel the need to fill silence with conversation.

You still act different when Rick is around, though. Especially when it’s just the two of you.

With everybody else, you’re subtly but very strictly independent- despite growing close with the group, you still maintain a slight distance with most of them, and prefer doing things yourself, by yourself. Old habits die hard, he supposes.

But when you’re alone, just Rick and you, those hard edges soften, and your little personal bubble pops. He’s steadily growing obsessed with the change.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy it. Having such a cute little thing follow him around, hanging off his words. Most days, it’s all he can do not to throw you over his shoulder and carry you to bed.

And then one day, he does. Kind of.

It must be the middle of the night, but the second he hears the knock at his door, he’s wide awake.

He hushes both Carl and Judith back to bed, then creeps to the front door with his hand on his gun. He has never, in his entire life, been awoken in the middle of the night to good news.

When he opens the door he sees you. And Daryl, but he’s really focused on you. You’ve got tears streaming down your face, you’re wearing a strange combination of sleep clothes and the clothes he’s seen you wear to do runs. Your boots are on, but not tied.

“Wha—“

“Caught her sneaking towards the gates, all shaken up. Figured it’d be wiser to take her here then back to her place.”

Daryl pats your head once. “Don’t do anythin’ stupid.”

Then Daryl’s gone, and you’re standing on Rick’s porch, still crying.

“Alright, come here now.”

He barely manages to get the door closed before you fall into him, face pressed to his chest and hands grasping the front of his shirt.

He hesitates for just a moment before wrapping his arms around you.

“Shh, shh. You’re alright, you’re alright now.”

He presses one hand to the nape of your neck, keeping you tucked close as you crack, just a little bit, nearly silent tears staining his shirt and tremors wracking your body.

Eventually, he guides you over to the couch, situates himself before helping you into a more comfortable position. He wraps your arms around his neck, your legs draped across his lap and the couch.

He keeps one hand pressed to your neck, the other rubbing slow circles on your back.

He presses his cheek to the crown of your head, breathing in deep and slow, a curl of satisfaction rising in his chest when you unconsciously mimic his breathing, silent sobs slowing, tremors fading.

Once you’ve calmed down enough, he speaks.

“What’s got you so worked up, huh? What happened sweetheart?”

The pet name slips out of his mouth unbidden, but honestly, he wouldn’t take it back.

“Nightmare,” You sniffle. “Daryl was gone and it was my fault and you hated me.”

“Well, none of that happened now, did it?”

You shake your head.

“No, that’s right. Daryl’s just fine, and I ain’t upset with you. You’re alright.”

You take in a few shaky, shuddering breaths.

He shifts, readjusting and tucking you closer to him. “Now, how come you didn’t come to me? Daryl said you were headin’ to the gates.”

You go a little rigid. “Didn’t think I was allowed. Didn’t want to wake you up for something stupid.”

“Oh, none of that now,” He nudges you away a little, taking your face in his hands. He needs eye-contact while he says this, “You need something, you come to me. I don’t care what it is, I don’t care what time it is. You come to me, you understand?”

You nod, lip wobbling a bit. “I understand.”

He thumbs your cheekbone. “Good. Now come on. Let’s get you back to bed.”

In the morning, the kids are a little surprised to see your rumpled form at the kitchen table, but both recover fairly quickly. Judith especially, who rejoices at the prospect of someone other than Carl or her father whom she can hold hostage with inane, ten year old questions.

But you never quite shake that haunted look in your eyes. Like there was something else— something more in that nightmare, something that dug its little claws in and stuck fast.

It’s all he can do but pray it doesn’t last.

—

It becomes an unspoken thing that wherever Rick is, you’re nearby. Kind of like a little puppy, following him about and hoping for a treat.

He indulges you, because he can’t really help himself in the face of those eyes.

He also knows it’s the easiest way to get you to smile, which he’s been trying to bring about more, since the nightmare. You’ve shaken that haunted expression for the most part, but every now and then, it’ll come back, if just for a few moments.

You’ve been absent most of the day today, off on a run, and he wishes it didn’t get under his skin so much to not have his favorite girl right there behind him.

You’re his stress relief, and you don’t even know it. Don’t even do anything really, just kind of linger about with your adorable little face and occasionally help with your cute little hands. He’s hopelessly obsessed.

You’re smiling when you get back, bee-lining straight for him.

“Well, well,” He says, resting his hands on his hips, “What do we have here?”

“I got you something,” You say, practically vibrating with excitement, slinging your backpack off and rifling through it.

“Oh, something for me? Can’t wait to see it.”

You pull an honest to god polaroid camera out of your bag.

“You said once that you wished you had pictures of your kids to carry with you, and I found this, and it still works, and it still has film in it. I checked.”

You thrust it out to him, and he extracts it carefully from your hands, holding it with an almost reverence.

A camera. A working film camera.

You shuffle in place, and he realizes he’s been staring at it in silence for more than a few minutes. “…Do you like it?”

“I love it,” He says honestly, voice just a little scratchy, because he doesn’t understand how someone can survive the zombie apocalypse, and still end up so damn kind, and so damn sweet. “I’m so touched, sweetheart.”

You beam up at him. If you had a tail, you’d be wagging it. He’s never understood cuteness aggression until this very moment. He just can’t. He wants to squeeze you as hard as he can or just punch a wall or some stupid shit.

God, he’s pushing forty, he needs to get this under control.

“I was really excited when I found it. Tara took a picture of me to test it.”

You pull out a little polaroid picture, film developed, and he takes that with reverence too. In the picture, you’re smiling, that same soft, little smile you do when you’re really happy about something and don’t know how to express it. Your hands show two peace signs, a knife clutched in one.

That’s my girl, he thinks.

“Might just have to keep this,” He says, dumb smile on his face.

“Really?”

“Really. You know, it’s good luck to keep a picture of a pretty girl with you.”

“Pretty?” You squeak, flushing. It’s so easy to make you flustered. He loves it.

“Mhm,” He says, tucking the photo into one of the compartments on his belt, keeping it safe. “Real pretty, I’d say.”

“Oh.” You say, more than a little breathless. “Um.”

Oh, your poor little brain.

“You need a minute?” He snorts.

“Maybe?”

He chuckles, patting the top of your head. “Oh, you’ll be fine. Better get used to it.”

“You’re pretty too,” You blurt, then your eyes widen comically. “No, wait, I meant—“

He laughs, a real, actual laugh. “Me, a grown ass man- pretty. That’s a good one.”

You bury your face in your hands, a tiny little whine escaping your throat.

“Aw, come on, now. Don’t be embarrassed. I’m very flattered you think I’m pretty.”

“S’ not what I meant.” You mumble.

“No?” He says, prying your hands off your face. “What’d you mean, then?”

You look away, unable to meet his eyes.

“You’re… handsome.” You whisper the last part, barely loud enough for him to hear.

“Aw, what’d I do to deserve a young thing like you thinking an old man like me is handsome?”

You mumble something again, a little too quiet for him to hear.

“…afe.”

He leans down. “What was that, now?”

“You’re safe.”

Oh.

That’s… not the answer he was expecting.

But he likes it.

Rick is a leader. A protector.

And you need him.

“I make you feel safe?” He hums, resisting the urge to step closer to you because you’re very much out in the open and he knows how you feel about wide open spaces, especially when there’s people in them. He’s torturing you enough as it is. “That why you linger around me, huh?”

Feeling bolder at his interest, you nod.

“You make me feel like… something special. Protected.”

Yes.

He’s always known that he needs to be needed. That he’s the kind of man who requires being a leader, taking care of what’s his, protecting.

To have verbal confirmation that he’s made you feel safe, protected, it’s.

Well it’s a lot more than he can unpack in front of the gates.

“Pretty little thing like you needs protectin’.”

You frown.

“Not because you’re incapable,” He amends, hands raised, “But because I rather like doing it.”

You lean closer, and he follows, heat rising—

“Please, save us all the pain of havin’ to watch, Rick.”

He grins, nose brushing yours, then steps back.

“Maybe stop creepin’ around, Daryl.” He calls to the other man, who just shrugs, ambling on by.

But Daryl does have a point. He doesn’t want an audience. You’re not that kind of girl.

Instead, he reaches down, snakes an arm around your waist and leads you away from the open space, towards his house instead.

“Come on, sweetheart. Think you’d rather be somewhere quiet for what I’m about to do.”

The heat radiating from your body and the shiver he feels under his palm is all the confirmation he needs.

His little fawn, finally his.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

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shradsmanifestt · 11 months ago

Text

I promise you, This is the only loa post you'll ever need.

I promised and I will deliver.

Law of assumption basically means - what you assume to be true is true in your reality. That's it. That's all there is to it. But you guys just wanna overcomplicate this so much when all you got to do is assume in your favour and move on with that. Assume that your desire is already yours and persist on that.

Manifestation is INSTANT. The minute you decided you wanted it, the minute you decided that it is yours - It was done. That was it. It's already done. That is your new assumption, that is your story. As long as you persist in this there is nothing on Earth that could stop you from having it. BUT, there is one thing that can stop you from having it.

YOU, IT'S YOU. YOU ARE THE REASON. What other answer did you expect it to be?

The only thing to know here is this : The 3D is not what we change when manifesting, we change the 4D. The 3D simply reflects it. That is all.

You guys are so obsessed with changing the 3d, "trying" to manifest something, clicking on every clickbait video that says this is the technique you need to manifest your desire in 24 hours and all sorts of shit.

GUYS, GUYS GUYS PLEASEEEEE, Stop it. You are only telling yourself how you don't have it. You have got to realise that by now atleast! I mean c'mon. This is your reality, ok? You create every single part of it. If you can create it unconsciously, you sure as hell can do it consciously. You have to realise now and now that you are the creator of your reality. Don't let anything or anyone convince you otherwise.

Ok now I understand that some of you may be struggling so I am gonna be real straight with you. You are the one going back to the old story again and again. You're the one who is just overconsuming information instead of actually applying what you know. Stop this cycle. Look every single question you ask me again and again is an affirmation. An affirmation that tells everyone how you don't have what you want.

I've been persisting for two years but I didn't manifest it - Affirmation It feels impossible - Affirmation. Why aren't my affirmations working - Affirmation. Am I even doing this right? - Affirmation.

You are doing this to yourself. You get that??!

If you want it, you have to be willing to change yourself, to change your thoughts, to stay discplined in the story that you want. There's no other magical way to it. This is it. If you want it bad enough, OWN IT. FUCKING OWN IT AND PERSIST ON WHAT YOU WANT.

You know why you don't have it yet?? CAUSE YOU'RE SO FUCKING RELIANT ON THE 3D. Stop it. You aren't trying to change the 3d. Your only job is to change your 4d - your thoughts , your attention and awareness. The 3d has no other choice but to reflect it. 3d has no power and yk why? Cause it's so malleable and all it can ever do is reflect your 4d, your imagination. But your imagination - NOW that is in your hands, You can choose to think what you want, You can choose to accept what you want as true and just let your sc mind do it's magic. Thats all you need to know.

Now I get it, circumstances may same really really bad like almost impossible for you to believe that the opposite of what is actually there is actually the real reality. But you're just gonna have to do it anyway. Imagination - IS THE REAL REALITY. And there is nothing you can do to change it. SO accept that and change your thoughts.

DO YOU KNOW WHY YOU'RE HERE RN? CAUSE YOU DID IT, YOU FOUND OUT THE ULTIMATE TRUTH OF LIFE. HOW YOU HAVE ALL THE POWER, HOW YOU ARE THE CREATOR OF YOUR REALITY.

Now if you don't believe in all this and sees this as some manifestation crap then I'm respectfully asking you to get the fuck off my blog, I don't need you here if you don't need me.

But if you know that this is it, this is true then I want you to read very carefully what I am gonna say next because THIS IS IT -

is loa real for YOU? (yes) is manifestation real for YOU? (yes) so is your imagination the real reality in your life? (yes) - so obviously what you assume has to be real too right? So it is real and it is yours. You have it and you have it now. That's it. That's all there is to it. If you believe in this, If you can know this, You have to know that this is it, what you assume is true, IS true in your reality.

All you gotta do is persist. Persist in your new story. It doesn't matter what technique you guys use. Just know that it is done. Stop treating it like a process - MANIFESTATION IS NOT A PROCESS, IT IS INSTANT, IT WAS YOURS THE MINUTE YOU DECIDED SO. CREATION IS FINISHED, IT IS YOURS.

Just know that it's done. You're not waiting for something to happen in the 3D - NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

YOU ARE THE VALIDATION. WHY ASK YOURSELF WHERE IT IS - WHEN YOU ALREADY HAVE IT.

Guys this is it, this is all you need, read it and reread it as many times you want to just get it in your head but trust me this is it.

You've got this!

Love, Shrads

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pearlessance · 4 months ago

Text

Killshot, Baby! —part one

summary: nanami kento is a meticulous man; calm, stable, and precise. a perfect antithesis to your messy, impulsive ways. the longer you're around him, the more you're convinced you'll never agree on anything. well…except for the way you fuck.

pairing: brat tamer!nanami x fem!reader

warnings: explicit sexual content MDNI, 10 year age gap (reader is 18, nanami is 28), fingering, dirty talk, pussy pronouns, use of 'little girl' as a pet name, cum eating, semi-public, praise, size kink, hair pulling, brat taming, reader has added backstory to progress the plot

wc: 3.8k

note: this is my first ever jjk fic pls be niceee :') not sure how many parts this will be, rn I'm thinking like 5-8 but we will see!! heavily influenced by the song killshot by magdalena bay!! tysm for reading i love u <3

[masterlist] [read on AO3!]

Places like this make your skin crawl.

Even knowing you need to assimilate yourself to the glitz and glamour of it all, you just can’t shake the turning of your stomach as you watch drops of top-shelf liquor spill over the rims of glass tumblers. Liquid splashes that cost more than a day’s pay for someone less well-off than every person in that room.

When you step out onto the balcony, the air feels icy against your too-warm skin. The city lights twinkle in the distance, disturbing the black of night and shining too brightly to grant you the luxury of seeing the stars.

You wonder what time it is, wonder if curfew still applies for an event like this. And if it does, you’ll surely catch a reprimanding from Yaga in the morning even if Gojo takes the brunt of it. Maki’s incessant questioning that’s sure to come when you step back into the dormitories might be an even worse fate, though.

“It gets to be a bit overwhelming, doesn’t it?” His smooth voice startles you.

Overwhelming is a cordial way of putting it, you think. “Suffocating might be a better word.”

He huffs. Not quite a laugh, but a sound of agreement nonetheless. The shadows in the dark corner of the balcony keep you from getting a good look at him. You can only make out a handful of features—a few strands of blonde hair that have gone rogue from the combed, slicked-back style, falling rebelliously in front of his warm eyes. The tan slacks he wears look expensive and pressed, a stark contrast to the wrinkles in his white button-up. The sleeves are rolled casually to his elbows, and the moonlight reflects off the crystal face of his watch.

There’s something about him that feels…familiar. A strange sort of sameness. And despite the way he exudes the same lavish energy that everyone else at the party does, you can’t help but feel like he’s somehow different than they are. Maybe it’s because you’re seemingly the only two who are struggling to find enjoyment in the reception.

“That bad, hm?” He stands from his seat in the corner and joins you at the railing. Even bent over with his forearms on the stainless steel edge he looms over you; a powerful, menacing presence. A man with an iron grip on control. “Which part, exactly, feels so asphyxiating?”

His voice sends a shiver down your spine. But maybe it’s just the chill in the air. “All of it,” you admit. “The gluttony. The carelessness. Everyone is so out of touch with reality. It’s like they become so absorbed with all the extravagance, they forget most people struggle to make ends meet. Ten minutes out of the city a mother is working eighty hours a week and still having difficulty feeding her children, and they’re drinking bottles of whiskey that cost more than she gets paid in a month.”

Your gaze focuses on his long fingers as he interlocks them together. “You don’t think those with money deserve to enjoy it?”

When you roll your eyes it feels involuntary, like second nature. “There’s a difference between enjoying it and flaunting it. I’ve never met Nanami Kento, but he seems like a real asshole.”

This time he does laugh. And the smile that stretches across his face, revealing a row of perfectly straight, pearly white teeth, is nothing short of debilitating. He’s beautiful, achingly so. And the deep, baritone sound of his laughter stirs something strange and warm in your chest.

You continue, asking, “How much do you think it cost him to host something like this? I mean, all together. The drinks, the food, the pay for the waiters, all of it. Even that ridiculous fucking ice sculpture.” He’s still grinning, and as you animatedly speak you can feel the heavy weight of his stare on the side of your face. It makes your cheeks burn. “My guess? Two million yen. Easily.”

“That seems a bit much,” he says. “It’s not that extravagant, is it? It’s being hosted in his home, after all.”

“Yeah, his penthouse,” you say with disdain. “What’s your guess, then? How much do you think was spent on this asshole’s little soiree?”

He seems to contemplate for several seconds, turning his head to the view of the city. His profile is breathtaking; all chiseled jaw and Greek nose and lush lips. You have to fight the urge to reach out and touch him, to feel the barely-there stubble along his cheek beneath your fingers. “One and half million,” he says.

This time you’re the one who laughs. It’s the first time you’ve done so all night, despite being promised otherwise. “As if that’s any better,” you say. “If he donated even half of what he spent to host a party like this, it could change someone’s life.”

“I suppose that’s true. But maybe you’re wrong about the reason he’s gone to such extremes. Maybe it’s less about flaunting it and more about filling his home with people. Giving them an excuse to come here.”

“Why would anyone want this many people in their home? Making a mess, pouring their money down the drain? It’s not like this kind of luxury comes easily. He might be an asshole but he’s certainly a hard-working one. Why blow it on something as insignificant as a party?”

His answer comes quickly. “Loneliness.”

He says it with such conviction it’s as if he’s speaking from experience. And you suppose he very well could be. Standing in that crowd, not knowing a single soul apart from the one who’d dragged you here and promptly abandoned you, speaking empty words to people who won’t remember your name tomorrow—it had made you feel lonely, too. Lonely enough to step outside, to find comfort in the quiet as the beautiful man beside you had. “Maybe he should get himself a girlfriend,” you suggest.

“Maybe he should.” The lightheartedness returns to the conversation the second he smiles at you. “Sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

“That’s because I never gave it to you.” Your teasing seems to please him.

His stare is intense, flickering between your eyes and the clear gloss on your lips. You want him to lean in and taste the cherry flavor. “What should I call you, then?”

You shrug, turning to face him fully, leaning against the balcony’s steel railing. It brings you just a little closer to him. Close enough to inhale the woodsy scent of his cologne. It makes you feel dizzy, makes you feel drunk. You say, “Whatever you want.” And mean it.

This is dangerous, you know. Standing out here alone with an older man, a stranger to you. Away from any semblance of safety. He could do anything to you right now and you’d have no way of fighting him off. He’s too big, too strong. And the worst part, you think, is that you’d just let it happen. That you wouldn’t even mind.

He reaches out and touches your cheek—a gentle, respectful caress. Despite the innocence, it leaves nothing but sinful thoughts swirling in your head. You lean into his touch, trying to ignore the way goosebumps rise over your skin.

“You’re a strange little girl,” he mutters. His voice slides through your center, sultry and captivating. You’re not sure if he’s complimenting you or not. It feels kind. Affectionate, even. But you can’t fully decide because your brain begins to short-circuit, hung up on the way the words little girl sounds in his tantalizing mouth.

“Strange is better than boring,” you tell him.

“You could never be boring.” There’s that conviction again. So sure of himself. Confident, steadfast, and solid. You wonder silently what that must be like.

Since learning you housed a rare ability to use cursed energy, there hasn’t been a single moment where you’re sure of who you are. But…right now, feeling the heat radiate off his skin, you think maybe you know what you want. “You don’t know me.”

“I want to, though.” The response is quick. Final. He presses his palm flat against your jaw, cradling your face, and slides it slowly to the nape of your neck. The friction feels intense. Heightened.

Your breath comes slow and labored, a conscious effort now. And you figure if he can touch you, that you can touch him back. But it’s less for enjoyment and more for necessity as you place a hand against his chest, feeling the softness of his cotton button-up beneath your palm. The way he looks at you makes your knees tremble. And he’s the solid, magnetic force you need to keep yourself upright.

“Pretty dress,” he says. It’s revealing, more so than you’d realized in the dressing room. Low cut and shimmery and pale pink—your favorite color. His warm eyes pierce yours as his free hand comes to your hip, resting against the textured sequins. “Expensive. Indulgent.”

He’s trying to call your bluff, you know. But your dislike for over extravagance is sincere and though he’s shaken your once calm equilibrium, it satisfies you to know he’ll never dissuade you in this singular thing. “I didn’t buy it.”

“No?” He fists the fabric, pulling the already too-short edge up higher. “Who did, then? Your boyfriend?”

My teacher. You don’t have the nerve to say it, though. Don’t have the words, patience, or breath to explain that Gojo gave you his shiny black card and insisted you find something worthy of tonight’s event. You find evasion an easier line of conversation. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

He fists more of the fabric, hiking it higher—inch by devastating inch. The air is cool against your exposed thigh, but it’s hard to notice. You can’t see or hear or feel anything but the way his deft fingertips stroke the lace edge of your panties, a teasing caress. “How…fortunate.”

Your pulse rings in your ears. Warmth builds between your thighs with the promise of his touch that seems to be all-knowing and omnipresent. He presses into the softness just beneath your navel and you can feel the pressure down to your toes. His presence is somehow even more smothering than the energy inside, but this is…different. Hot.

Every nerve ending in your body flares on edge when he slides his hand between your legs, the pad of his middle finger ghosting over your center. Your lips part and your eyelids flutter closed. Separated by only a thin layer of lace, you can feel the heat of him and have to fight the urge to rock your hips against his hand. When he speaks, the words come out strained. “I need to know that you want this.”

There’s never been anything you’ve wanted more, you think. And you decide to tell him, to let the honesty bleed through, but then he’s moving his hand again, caressing your pussy with deft fingers. He does it with intention—a meticulous discovery of your body, preserving it forever in memory. It's such an intimate touch that it leaves you feeling open, chafed raw. All you can manage is a meek but resolute nod of your head in answer.

But it’s not enough for him. With such decorum, he says, “Use your words, sweetheart. Please.” It’s so polite it makes you ache.

You have to crane your neck just a little to look him right in the eye, but you do it anyway because you want him to see the truth. Want him to see just how bad you mean it when you say, “I want you.”

The corners of his lips turn up into a sinful smirk. And before you have time to catch your breath, before you can process just how unbearably handsome he looks with the city lights reflected in his honeyed hair, he’s slipping his hand into your panties and finding out for himself just how bad you want him.

He separates your folds and finds your clit with expert precision, already wet and messy for him. Everywhere, all at once—he’s everywhere. His other hand rests firmly on the back of your neck, his body pressing against yours. He’s all you can see, all you can smell, all you can taste. The moment he begins circling the throbbing bud your spine arches, pleasure filling you with each calculated movement. “Oh, god.”

You spread your legs further for him, allowing even more access. The steel of his silver watch is biting cold against the too-warm inside of your thighs, the only sensation keeping you tethered to the Earth.

But any attempted salvation is shattered to pieces the moment he presses a finger into you, curling upwards as if he has known your body for far longer than just the night. “Fuck—”

“Language,” he quickly chastises. He slides his hand on the back of your neck into your hair and pulls, forcing you to stare up at him. It is so nearly like punishment, except he adds another finger inside you to join the first which feels much closer to a reward. The stretch is bliss, and you can feel your slick dripping down his thick knuckles.

“I’m sorry,” you whimper. And you’re not even sure why, but an apology just feels right. Feels good. But not as good as it feels when he presses hard against that soft spot inside you, quickly finding a rhythm that has sweat beading at your hairline. “I’m sorry,” you say again, because all other words have vacated your brain.

He quickens the pace, fingers drawing out obscene moans from your chest. You wish he would kiss you. You want to feel the pressure of his lips against yours, want to taste the inside of his mouth. But you can’t bring yourself to ask for it, can’t bring yourself to do anything but watch him watch you.

There’s this look in his eye that makes your heart stutter in your chest. Like he holds something more than divine in his hands. As if you’re not just some girl at a party but some god-like creature instead. You feel warm under his intensity. Burned.

And when he speaks, his voice is so sultry and deep that you whimper. “S’that feel good? Right there?”

“Yes, yes—please, don’t stop.” You don’t even recognize your own voice. Can barely hear the way you beg for him over the ringing in your ears, permeated only by the wet sounds of his fingers pumping in and out of you.

It’s rehearsed. Practiced. It takes just seconds before you start to feel yourself pull tight, straining against the unforgiving pace he sets. You're a gasping, desperate mess, and he seems to find such joy in it. Grinning down at you, forearm flexing in exertion, veins protruding from his wrist. He curls his fingers inside of you and positions his thumb so that it passes over your throbbing clit with each stroke. “You’re so pretty,” he says. “Do you know how pretty you are, little girl?”

“I—God—I’m gonna cum, I—”

“Yeah,” he coos, tone affectionate and tender. “I know it. Can feel this sweet pussy squeezing me so tight. She needs it bad, doesn't she? Hm?”

He thrusts his fingers into you hard—once, twice, and then your thighs begin to shake. Your fists tighten, knuckles paling as you grip the soft fabric of his button-up. Your breath gets stuck in your lungs and then it’s all happening at once, pleasure exploding beneath your skin.

You bite back your moans, trying not to think about the throng of the party just inside. Your entire body vibrates beneath his unyielding movements, slick walls squeezing and pulsing around his thick fingers. You don’t tell him but it’s like he just knows. “There you go,” he whispers, pressing his lips into your hair. “That’s it, sweetheart. That’s it. You’re doing so well. Let it happen, jus’ let it happen.”

Earth-shattering. Liquid pools in the palm of his hand and trickles down the inside of your thighs, soaking through the lace fabric, but he keeps you upright on trembling legs. Fucks you through it with those magical fingers of his, and doesn’t stop until tears prick the corners of your eyes. He slows, massaging that sacred spot inside of you just a few times more before slowly sliding his fingers out. When he holds them up between you, shiny and glistening with your slick, you can’t fight off the way your cheeks burn.

It isn’t until this precise moment that you realize he’s breathing hard, the only chink in his armor of composure thus far. In all your life, in all your experience, it’s never felt quite like that.

Yet still, even more satiated than you’ve ever been, you feel your clit throb as he presses his middle and ring finger into his mouth and sucks them clean. “I…” You what?

Words evade you. You want to tell him how good it was, want to get on your knees and repay the favor, want to tell him your name. But his stare is intense and intimidating and—

The balcony door slides open and you both move quickly—stepping away from each other, smoothing the wrinkles out of your clothes.

Your heart races behind your sternum as Gojo steps out, all-black suit pristine save for the unbuttoned coat. “Nanami! I was just coming to find you to introduce you to our very special student, but it seems you’ve found her all on your own.”

Nanami?

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see him wipe the hand that was inside you seconds ago on the back of his slacks. “Satoru,” he greets cooly.

Suddenly the balcony feels more suffocating than the unruly party inside. For a single second, the thought crosses your mind that you could jump right off the edge of the railing without a moment’s regret.

Gojo shoves his hands into his pockets and speaks with an airy tone, but you can’t hear him over the ringing in your ears.

Kento Nanami.

The reason you’re here. The man who’d invited you. The man who’s hosting this party.

Every second that’s passed since you stepped foot onto the balcony flashes through your brain. All the terrible things you’d said about him, every word of agreement he’d uttered back. Every signal, every sign he’d given you to shut the fuck up, and somehow you’d missed every single one and just kept on talking.

Guilt slithers down your spine, settles in your gut, and makes a home inside. You’d meant it, though. Every single word you’d said. But you’d never meant to say it to him, had never intended to be cruel.

And then you proceeded to let him touch you without an ounce of resistance.

A grade one sorcerer, someone you should be learning from, someone you should revere…and you’d let him stuff you with his fingers before even knowing his fucking name. Begged him for it, even.

He’d licked them clean.

Gojo says your name, pulling you out of your head and back into the conversation. “Are you alright? You seem a bit…out of it.”

“Fine,” you answer too quickly for it to sound convincing. “I’m fine, sorry. It’s just…late. What did you say?” You try to ignore the sticky feeling between your thighs to no avail.

“We’re going to head back now,” Gojo repeats. “If we stay much later I worry Ijichi might send out a search party for us.”

You’ve never been more ready to leave than you are right this second. You turn to Nanami and nod politely. “It was…uhm. Nice to meet you, sir.”

There’s nothing else to say, so you don’t. Pushing past Gojo and back inside, you weave your way through the moving crowd of people, trying to find the front door. It takes longer than you anticipated, but once you’re walking down the long penthouse hallway to the all-glass elevator you start to feel your shoulders dropping.

You recognize the pattern of Gojo’s long strides easily, and he catches up to you just as the elevator doors slide open.

Ever the gossip, he’s making insinuations as soon the two of you step inside and begin the timely descent. “That was the most awkward thing I’ve ever witnessed. What the hell happened between you two?”

“Nothing.”

“Right…”

“I mean it,” you insist. Because you might be older than the other students and Jujutsu High, but the last thing you’d ever want to do is put Nanami in a position to be ridiculed. He didn’t know. And you didn’t, either. “Nothing happened.”

“Oh, okay,” he says, voice holding a sarcastic edge. “Nothing happened. That’s why you had this look on your face like you were trying really hard to make yourself spontaneously combust. Right, right. Sounds like nothing.”

“Sounds like nothing because it was nothing.”

He sighs dramatically, turning to fully face you. “I can keep a secret. You know that. Just tell me now and we never have to talk about it again, I swear.”

You stand stone still, lips sealed firmly shut.

Gojo presses his hands together and juts out his bottom lip, and you wonder how the fuck you’d ended up here. Watching your mentor—a grown man—pout like a child for a scrap of information.

With a roll of your eyes, you say, “We can stop at that mochi place tonight if you never speak of it again.”

“Deal.”

He stays true to his word, and you stay true to yours.

When Gojo told you all about it on the way to the party, you’d thought he’d been exaggerating the decadence of the treat, but it truly was the best you’d ever had. You return to the dormitories with kinako dusted fingers, and Gojo doesn’t ask about Nanami again.

You think, hope, that it’s the end of it. Hope that when you inevitably cross paths with Kento Nanami again, you’ll be able to act professionally. You’ll put this calamity behind you, never to be repeated, and absorb the knowledge he can provide about wielding cursed energy like a blade.

But when you wake up the following morning, Maki’s pounding on your bedroom door, holding a bouquet of white flowers in a pale pink crystalline vase. There’s a white, lace ribbon tied around the center of it with a hand-written note attached. The penmanship is meticulous. Precise.

It reads, Thank you for the perspective. Apologies for the overindulgence. -K.

Maki’s brows are raised and her eyes are wide. She pushes you back into your room and seals you both inside. “Talk.”

taglist; @maybe-a-bi-witch @zeunys @mima0127 @unicornflutter

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miniimight · 2 years ago

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Hiiii idk if you’re doing requests rn but I just ADORE how you write Izuku and katsuki like omg-

Anyways- my meds are causing me some crazy nightmares lately and I was wondering how they would handle you waking up from a nightmare???

If you don’t take requests then forget this ever happened :’)

Have a nice day byeeeeee!!!

NIGHTMARES you wake up in a start and wake them up in the process

with izuku & katsuki

notes guys i know ive been away for way too long im so sorry!!! :( i'm in the process of moving so it's stressful T-T thanks for the request, anon, hope those nightmares got/get better :( <3

it was so vivid. your mind sunk into an alternate reality that captured all your senses. you felt yourself spiraling deeper and deeper, faster and faster—

your body jolted upright with a breathless yell and a sharp gasp, the world stilling for a mere second...

and then you leaned over your knees, your lungs racing to catch up with your need for oxygen. your chest felt tight and you squeezed your eyes, remembering that your boyfriend was laying peacefully beside you.

you peeked to your side and found him staring right back—wide, bright eyes piercing into your own—sending a shock through your body.

IZUKU

"god, izuku, you scared me—" you sighed, your hand pressing on your stomach as if that would make the uneasy feeling disappear.

"i scared you?" he sat up further, scooching closer to your side. "you scared me, angel. are you okay? you're out of breath, honey. let's do it together, okay?"

you whimpered softly as you tried to follow his guide. izuku could tell you were in distress and it took everything to stop himself from overwhelming you with questions. he just laced his fingers with yours and squeezed.

"good job, honey." izuku praised you ever-so-softly, rubbing your back soothingly. "feeling a bit better?"

you nodded, frowning. "m'sorry for waking you—"

"angel." he whined, letting his eyes do all the talking. "don't do that! please, don't do that." he actually sounded offended.

you looked away from him, your throat hurting from holding back tears. "it's been happening all the time, though, and you need your rest. maybe i should take the guest room?" you were more talking to yourself than anything, but izuku refused to let you entertain such an idea.

izuku's shoulders slumped, the shock fading as drowsiness began to overtake him. he smiled lazily, fighting a yawn. "y/n, even if i knew you would wake me up every night for the rest of time, i'd still choose to be here beside you."

you turned to face him, the horror of your nightmare slowly fading to the back of your mind. "really?"

"really." he confirmed.

you smiled, letting your head rest on your knees as you stared at him lovingly.

the rustle of sheets and whistle of wind reminded the both of you that it was indeed the middle of the night. izuku tugged you closer by your waist, pulling you back onto the bed. he groaned softly, stretching a little before he relaxed against you. "did you wanna talk about it?"

you pursed your lips. curling into his embrace, you immediately felt warmer. "...not right now."

he kissed your forehead. "don't worry, i'll always be right here to protect you from anything your head throws at you. you just tell me and let me at 'em." he kissed you again before wrapping both arms around you.

his steady breathing and soft snores brought a fond smile to your face. you found yourself falling asleep despite the night's events.

KATSUKI

you both stared at each other for a good few seconds before you spoke up.

"sorry for waking you," you mumbled, still having trouble managing your breathing. you turned away from him, pressing your palms into your eyes.

"no," he whispered with a softness reserved for you only. "you didn't wake me."

you stared at him through the darkness and could see him so clearly. "katsuki—"

"shh, it's okay, baby." he gave you a soft smile, once again reassuring you. "come 'ere."

you sniffed as you inched closer. katsuki gently took your arm and pulled you the rest of the way right into his arms. his hand fell to your waist, tracing little shapes and lines as he allowed you time.

"wanna talk about it?" he asked.

you shook your head.

"okay." he squeezed your shoulder, kissing your cheek. he figured you'd tell him when you were ready—the last thing he wanted to do was stress you out even more. it was hard, not to get all the answers on what was bothering was you... it was in his nature to want to make all your problems go away. "what do you need?"

you hand wound around his torso, hugging him back. "um..." you shuddered as you breathed in. "just you."

he smiled against your skin. "yeah? promise you're not holding back on me?"

you giggled. "yes."

"cuz you know i'd do literally anything—"

you sat up slightly, turning to face him with a swat to his chest. your face burned and it was a struggle to recall the images of your nightmare. "katsuki! oh my god."

"what?" he scrunched his nose. his eyes never left you. "it's true."

you returned to your spot between his arm. "just you."

"whatever you say." he pressed his lips to your temple before he got comfy. he sighed. "goodnight, pretty. wake me when those stupid nightmares bug you again, okay?"

your heart fluttered and your smile grew out of your control. "okay."

#bnha x reader #deku x reader #izuku x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugo x reader #katsuki x reader #izuku midoriya #mha x reader #izuku midoriya x reader #bakugo comfort #deku comfort #deku fluff #midoriya izuku #bnha #mha fluff

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cyberbabyangell · 9 months ago

Text

₊˚⊹☆after becoming a shifter...

hello! its been a while because school started, also because i had no idea what to post while i wrote about the innerspace..i was bombarded with 99+ likes and reposts so THANK YOU SO MUCH?? 😭 so did that happen on tiktok- i had 110 followers when i last checked, its been a month im at 300 😨 anyway i love u guys mwah 🫶

I legit forgot the concept of OCs 😭 like whenever i """create other people""" it's always people i know/ill script in one of my many drs, when i see people create someone i'm like "..OHR IGHT THIS IS YOUR CHARACTER AND NOT SOMEONE YOU KNOW IN ANOTHER UNIVERSE......."

I get so confused at the "life is short, YOLO" philosophies and it genuinely doesn't sit right with me anymore 😭

my brain somehow decided to put "shifter" as the default setting for every human my age i meet. "yeah i do that in my drs!" "in your WHAT." ".. sorry 😊"

i lost interest in media i know im NOT going to shift to 😭 like its a bit annoying but to me new media=new drs, and i dont willingly watch stuff i know im not shifting to which is so dumb.

self insert EVERYWHERE. im rarely the main character like in most my drs im less powerful than them, but i always see myself as this perfect being everyone loves and does everything right. kinda like the lucky girl in deadpool 2

whenever i see pretty people in the streets or meet nice people, im like "you're becoming my friend in my dr." so i may have 453455 friends that come from here that ive seen ONCE and probably even forgot about.

i kinda stopped asking questions to myself because in my waiting room rn i have a library with the answers to everything so.

i like dilemmas from my drs but i know they don't really matter because i'll go to a reality that has the perfect middle ground or a perfect 3rd option, even if its something that's currently beyond my comprehension

i like reminding myself im literally everything. like also objects cause its funny

whenever i see someone i admire or i like what they do i snatch it from them. "omg i like these songs!" and boom i sung those in my dr. "omg i love this content!" and boom i pioneered it.

i'm trying to get used to not be in 2024. theres not a single dr i shift to in 2024, and if i get caught lacking i might go on an fbi watchlist. like NOBODY can catch me saying rizz or singing songs that haven't been released yet. (also side note. IT SOUNDS SO TORTUROUS TO NOT BE ABLE TO LISTEN TO 80% OF MY CURRENT PLAYLIST CAUSE IT HASNT RELEASED YET. i be humming doing it first in 2020 😾)

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

　　　. 　　˚　　　　*　　　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　　　　　　 ੈ✧̣̇˳·˖✶ ✦　　

#reality shifting #shifters #shiftinconsciousness #shifting #shifting antis dni #shifting blog #shifting community #shifting diary #shifting motivation #shiftblr #desired reality shifting #shifting methods #shifting consciousness #shifting script #desired self #drself #desired life #desired reality

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violentdelightsandviolentends · 2 years ago

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Hi 💗 I hope you’re doing well! This is soooo random and might not be much but may I request another roommate Carmy one-shot where he fixes something around the apartment and looks really hot while doing it? So, reader gets turned on and wants to show her appreciation for his handiness, meanwhile he’s like, I’d fix anything for you. And things just get hot and heavy and maybe even kinda fluffy. I’m just on a Carmy binge rn, and I loveeeee how you write him! 🥹❤️

Hands On.

Synopsis - A broken lightbulb leads to some interesting discoveries for both you and Carmen.

Pairing - Roommate!Carmen Berzatto x Female Reader

Warnings - smut. cursing. carmen's big ego.

Age Rating - 18+

Word Count - 1.5k

Author's Note - thank you for this request!! another roommate!carmy fic <3 this takes place in the roommates universe, but it's up to you if it comes before or after the other fics - there's no timeline!! this one got a little filthy, actually. the roommate series seems to be getting dirtier and dirtier... i would apologise, but i'm not sorry.

as always, reblogs, comments and feedback (even anonymous feedback) are immensely appreciated!! your reblogs are the only way to circulate my fics, which keeps me going <3

Series Masterlist. Masterlist. Inbox.

You're sat reading a book on your bed when the room is suddenly plunged into darkness.

You shriek in shock, and Carmy comes running, socked feet sliding on wooden floors through the apartment.

"Honey? You okay?"

He knocks twice before swinging the door open, looking around.

"Why are you sat in the dark?"

You huff and throw your book in his direction.

"I wasn't, until one second ago. The light just went off."

"Did it blow?"

"What?"

"Did it make a noise, when it went out? Did it flicker? Pop?"

"I don't know, Carm. It just kinda... went out."

He grabs his phone from his pocket to use as a flashlight, shining it at your overhead lamp.

"Looks like the bulb has blown. I think have a spare in the kitchen cabinet. Hold on."

He departs, leaving you sat on your bed, unable to see much. There's a warmth slowly building in your stomach, and you take a breath. Why are you so flushed, all of a sudden?

"Here. Got one. You think you can hold the light for me while I replace it?"

You nod and jump out of your spot, grabbing the phone from his hand. You point it towards the ceiling, watching as Carmy reaches up to unscrew the old bulb. His white t shirt rides up his stomach as he raises his arms, exposing his taut muscles. You exhale a shudder of a breath, willing yourself to calm down.

"Honey, can you stay a little more still please? The light is shaking."

"Sorry, Carm."

He winks at you before reaching up again, screwing in the new bulb. You can't stop staring at his arms, his strong biceps flexing as he works. His hands, big and rough, completely dwarf the little lightbulb. You know how those fingers feel as they brush across your skin. Little moments - like him skimming your back as he passes you in the kitchen - are imprinted in your mind, swirling around at a million miles per hour.

You're practically panting by the time he's finished, willing yourself to calm down.

"You okay, honey?"

You don't hear him. Instead, you're watching him run his fingers through his hair, pushing it out of his eyes. You want to pull it as hard as he'll let you.

A hand on your shoulder startles you back to reality.

"You okay?"

You clear your throat, taking a deep breath.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm good. Thank you, Carm. Don't know what I'd do without you. Seriously."

He chuckles, running his fingers up and down your arm.

"It's not a problem. I'd fix anything for you."

Your eyes shoot up from the floor to meet his, ocean blue irises focused on your face.

"...Really?"

He looks taken aback by your question.

"Yeah, really. You didn't know that? I'd do anything for you, sweetheart. Genuinely, anything."

You don't think before you move. You lunge forward and connect your lips to his, fingers tangling into his hair just like you imagined.

Carmy kisses you back with more passion than you expected, hands gripping at your hips to pull you flush against his body. He slips his tongue into your mouth as you happily let him take the lead, humming in contentment.

Eventually, you pull back, gasping for air. Carmy rests his forehead against yours, both of you catching your breath.

"What was that for?" he whispers.

"Just wanted to thank you."

"That was a hell of a thanks," he chuckles.

You smile, running your thumb across his cheek.

"You're so fucking hot when you fix stuff for me around the apartment."

"Wait... what?"

"Fuck, Carm. I got so turned on watching you drill that kitchen cabinet last week that I had to take a cold shower."

"That's what does it for you?"

"It's just you. You're good with your hands. It's fucking sexy."

"Yeah?"

He's smirking now, clearly enjoying having his ego inflated. You know you shouldn't, but you continue. You grab one of his hands, running your fingers over the palm.

"I imagine that my hands are yours when I touch myself."

He groans, low and rumbled.

"That's what I think about, Carm. At night, when I can't sleep. Think about the way you'd touch me, the way your hands would feel on my thighs, my tits, wrapped around my throat."

"Fuck."

"I'm surprised you haven't heard me. I try to be quiet, but I'm not very good at it."

Carmen's chest is heaving, eyes dark and watchful. You can see the thoughts forming in his head, filthy and menacing.

"Such a dirty fuckin' mouth," he drawls, running this thumb over your bottom lip carefully. "Maybe we should put it to better use, hmm?"

You whine at his tone, but you're smug on the inside. There he is, you think. The Carmen that you don't get to see very often. The version of him that's domineering, possessive, assertive. You like him like this.

"Wanna see how pretty you look on your knees for me."

You can't say no to that.

You sink down onto the carpet, looking up at him with wide eyes. He looks as if his control is wearing thin. You want it to snap.

"Now what?" you tease.

"Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Play innocent. Not after all that shit you just said."

You smirk, running your fingertips over the tent in his sweatpants. He grabs your wrist, holding it tightly.

"Don't fuckin' tease, honey. You and I both know I'm not patient."

"Something you should definitely work on," you wink, pulling his pants and underwear down his legs.

Your mouth waters as you look at him. He's pretty all over.

"Gonna thank you properly now," you murmur, before taking him in your mouth gently.

Carmy groans, hand flying to the back of your head. He tangles his fingers into your hair, keeping you anchored in front of him. He doesn't force you anywhere, just keeps you still.

"Goddamn, you look pretty with your mouth stuffed full of me," he drawls. "This what you wanted, baby?"

Baby. That's a new one. The nickname goes straight to your core, rubbing your thighs together to ease the ache. You nod in response to him, taking him deeper.

"Fuck. So perfect. Fuckin' made for me. Only me."

You nod again, reassuring him you've heard.

"Tell me, baby. Please. Use your words."

You release him with a pop, drool running down your chin and landing on your chest. You take a deep breath, licking your lips.

"I'm yours, Carm. Always have been. I'm yours. This pussy is yours."

You swear you see his knees buckle as he smirks down at you. He looks like the cat that got the cream.

"Gonna fuck you all over the apartment, baby. Every single surface. Doesn't matter if we break something. I'm good with my hands after all."

He winks at you before guiding himself back to your mouth, sinking down to the hilt. You hollow your cheeks and suck, trying not to smile when he practically whimpers. It's a power trip, having a man like Carmy at your mercy.

"Gonna cum down your pretty throat, angel."

You pull away to murmur against his skin.

"Want you to. Please, Carm. Wanna taste you. Wanna swallow it all."

He groans, deep and visceral, as you double down on your efforts, determined to get him to his ending. You dig your nails into his thighs, scratching down the skin as his hand tightens in your hair. The edge of pain is what undoes him, muscles tensing as he spills down your throat.

You catch his eyes, ensuring you have his attention. Swallowing carefully, you stick your tongue out, showing him proof of your promise.

"Good fuckin' girl," he breathes, dropping to his knees to connect your lips, languid and filthy.

Carmy smooths the hair back from your face, placing a tender kiss to your forehead, your cheeks, your nose, the corner of your mouth. Collapsing back against the bed, he pulls you with him, wrapping you in his arms.

"You okay?" he whispers into your ear.

"More than okay. You?"

"I've never been better."

You laugh, and the sound makes him grin, white and beaming.

The two of you sit on the floor for a while, unbothered by the passing of time. You're enjoying being so close, the proximity a welcome change. Eventually, Carmy breaks through the silence.

"So, I've been meaning to mount our TV on the wall... you wanna watch?"

You elbow him in the side, heat creeping up your cheeks as you both laugh.

DIY suddenly doesn't seem all that bad.

@dins-cyarika

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manifestingitgurlll · 8 days ago

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ANGEELLLLL wAIT Wait- so do we manifest/shift when our ego conforms orrr is it after our ego conforms or or what bc some people manifest without believing at all??? 😭

Also, Okay I decided that I shifted. Okay I DID my awareness moved that's all that "needed". But now. When I have the 3D in my face showing me "boo haha ur not in ur anime reality yet delulu ahh 👎🏼👎🏼👎🏼" and my human senses then what do I do AND THERE'S A BIGGER CONCERN THAN THAT ACTUALLY. All I hear now is awareness dwell on DR=DR materializes into physical BUT LIKE... For the while I'm still in my old reality (no need to tell me that its cause i decided that, I already know that too well) WHAT TO EVEN DO? I CAN'T GO AROUND THINKING AS "My dr self " all day ofc I'm obv gonna have human emotions and thoughts that are in relation to... What I'm moving thru rn?? Physically at least?? I'm so confused honestly the 4D and 3d stuff really cooked my brain before, It was like "Hmmm 3D shows past stuff okay I'll focus on 4D" and then it kept showing the past and the past... and the past 💀??

1. knowing ≠ believing! you dont have to believe to know. when i was manifesting me passing my test, in the moment, i did NOT believe i would pass. everything in me told me i wouldnt. i was rlly expecting to see a failing grade. but i continued to know. i knew whatever i believed didn't matter. bcs this is MY reality and what I decide and know is what manifests. even literally right after the test, my ego still didn't believe it, like it was waiting for the other shoe to drop. so belief doesn't matter

2. you manifest when you decide. everything is instant in consciousness. including the physical conforming since its a mirror. but if you mean when ur ego recognizes and actually sees it in the physical, it happens when you completely 100% know. when there are no doubts at all, you're completely in the new story, and you're not looking for proof. today when i manifested my snack, that's exactly the state i was in. i literally affirmed 3 times, and each time it was with complete knowing.

3. when the physical is right in front of your face, continue to dismiss it. know its not real. its just what the ego sees and you aren't the ego!! so who cares what it sees? i'd literally think to myself "dang she's still seeing the old story🤣? well im literally in my dr rn. she'll see that soon enough tho." continue playing the role of the human. act. live the fake life. but know it's not yours. i also recommend visualizing more often. create that separation between what the ego sees and what you see. it doesn't have to be a long 20 min meditation session, just something quick to remind you of your real reality.

4. you do NOT have to think like ur dr self constantly. im not in the shifting community so idk exactly what they say, but in non-dualism, consciousness is the observer. so it observes in knowing. let ur ego do whatever. think whatever, feel whatever, experience whatever, let it live! but again, just know its not real. it's not you. you're acting a fake story. know the real truth; that you're in your dr.

5. lastly, the "3d" is NOT ur past assumptions. its a mirror. it conforms instantly. just cause ur ego doesn't see it, doesn't mean it's not there. eventually it'll recognize it, but thats not ur problem. you live in imagination, not some mirror. and imagination says you're in dr. so don't look for validation from the mirror.

i hope this answered all ur questions!! 💗

#nondualism #nonduality #law of assumption #loassumption #consciousness #loa tumblr #loa #loablr #void state #loass #loa blog #manifestation #manifesting #self concept #reality shifting #awareness #affirm and persist #affirmations

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pinkslaystation · 11 months ago

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OMG I JUST HAD A THOIGHT. What if like on this fic that you wrote “tulips or roses”, what if Rose and reader met?!?!

PLSPLSPLSPLS MAKE IT ANGSTY TO FLUFF TOO 🙏🙏🙏🙏

AMAZING THOUGHT POOKIE I WAS THINKING THE SAME >_< also i'm on holiday rn visiting family so ofc the wifi decides to the shittiest rn so apologies for slow uploads and errors :( and tags aren't working??? Word Count: 2k

Tulips meets Roses.

It was a Friday evening at the pub, where you sat beside John Price, your arms interlinked with his clenched bicep listening to another one of Johnny's story.

"'n' th' mornin' efter we shagged, she juist vanished! Efter a' th' love we made?"

Ghost grunts in mock sympathy, and Gaz stifles a scoff next to him, "She probably got scared of your haunted puppet collection mate-"

"Oh ye leave Bonnybelle oot o' this-"

These outings weren't as frequent as one would hope, considering how busy the Task Force usually was, but when there was a break with the missions, most of the soldiers found themselves at the hustle and bustle of the local pub, and it made it better when you could bring a plus one.

It's been a few months since the 'argument' about Rose, and even though John likes to name it a 'dispute', he's drilled it into your head how it was his fault completely not yours.

"Yeah well, me and my girl visited Bali for our anniversary-" Kyle boasts to the group.

"Yeah 'n' Simon gaed tae Croydon wi' his grandma, sae whit." [to all my non-londoners, Croydon is THE GHETTO. always in support of croydon slander]

John snickers, and you smile as the feelings of his arms encapsulating you. "You'll find someone one day, Johnny, I know it." You smile sloppily, partially tipsy from all the alcohol consumed and partially from all the sweet talk.

"Aye ah better, a'm wantin' th' Tulip tae mah Price."

Ah, turns out John's been calling you Tulip to everyone.

"She's limited edition, find your own fuckin' flower." John comically dismisses, taking a hefty sip of his beer, bringing you impossibly closer to him.

Your smile at the compliment is cut short when a blonde bob catches your peripheral, and just as you're about to turn your head to catch the face you're looking at-

"Is your garden in bloom?" Simon casually questions.

The table immediately erupts in coughs and laughter, with Gaz side-eyeing Simon's question, and Johnny laughing at the clever Bridgerton reference. John corrects his posture at the comment and covers his cough with his fist, a light tinge of pink painting his pale bearded cheeks. He'll make sure Simon runs double the amount of laps during practice.

"And that's my cue..." You press a warm kiss against John's temples, before heading off to the women's bathroom, not blind to the 'awwws' and coos from Soap, and the "What does it mean? I only watched the sex scenes..." from Simon.

Walking to the women's bathroom, you yawn and stretch your tense back after sitting on the wooden chair at the bar for so long.

"Tired?"

You snort, "An understatement, I'm sleepy as fuck- Oh."

Locking eyes with the voice in the mirror, grounds you back to reality. The once fictitious woman you were most worried about stands next to you in the bathroom, returning your glance through a mirror.

You break the silence, feeling awkward at the tense scene, although you're unsure if she's feeling the same. Does she know who you are? Does she think of you as her replacement?

"Weather's nice." A terrible comment considering it mid November in England; the weather's far from nice, yet Rose chuckles. For a moment, you can see why John longed for this woman, from the way her skin creased around her mouth as she flashed you a grin through the reflection.

"It's nicer in Greece, moved a few years back." She smiles amicably.

You hum, nodding as if in agreement, even though you hadn't even set foot in a Mediterranean country, "When did you come back? To the UK?"

She looks up, recollecting the days, "Hmm, must been a week now, Greece is lovely, but the UK's home, you know?"

Once again you just nod, watching as she pulls out a red Dior lipstick and reapplies to her supple lips. Watching her intensely focus on her lips makes you question John once again, a wave of insecurity rushing through you like that previous time.

She's so much better than me... You think to yourself.

"How's he been then?"

There's a pause in your breath, your eyebrows raising slightly. Rose makes eye contact with you again through the mirror, and you're grateful that she doesn't turn to look at you physically, you're scared that you might pass out in nervousness.

"I- uh, who?" You manage to blurt out, mentally cursing yourself for what you think sounded like a helium-produced high pitched squeak.

Rose chuckles at your response, "John Price. I see the way he looks at you, you been dating him for long?"

You purse your lips into a thin smile, even after years of dating and marriage, any compliment given to the both of you would send your heart to a warm frenzy.

"Been together for 4 years, married for 1..." Your smile in inevitably giddy as you admire the glittering rock plastered on your ring finger. Rose looks at your ring, her smile faltering a little, but you don't notice it in time.

"And you?"

"Me?" She straightens her posture, and even her mannerisms reflect that of your husbands a bit, "A few years of marriage...it's...nice." But it sounds like she's trying to convince herself more so than answering your question.

Your response is again, a shy nod.

Silence evades the conversation as she closes her lipstick delicately, placing it back into her expensive purse. You want to press the conversation further, beg her for more answers about the history that she might have had with John, you wanted to hear it from her perspective.

"I loved him you know."

Oh.

The world stops for a moment, and you feel the slow emergence of bile erupting from within. You're silent for moment, your thoughts halting. What kinda woman just announces that she had feeling for another's man...no, not just feelings...love.

Her reflection in the mirror breaks into small minuscule frames, as your eyes tear up. Not even a breath escapes from your mouth.

A droplet of sweat cascades down your back and you tremble at the thought of John kissing Rose.

"I...of course, realised too late. When we were celebrating my retirement, me and the team, I, uh...I was about to tell him...and I saw his phone screen...didn't know about you then, but it was a picture of you," She giggles at the memory, "Thought you must have been important 'cos that man's had that brick phone for years, and this is the first time I'd seen a different lockscreen."

You don't respond, unsure of whether to scream at her, calling her a homewrecker, or just to let her complete her speech. You realise she had used the past tense, loved. Did she still feel the same?

"And then I followed him back to his office...he was on the phone...to you. And oh my God. I swear I looked through the crack of his door, that guy was literally melting. Caught him twirling the invisible phone line and everything."

You can't suppress the tiny smirk on your face.

"And it was just a mundane conversation, nothing special...and it looked like he would kill the task force, just to have a spec of your attention on him. I've...never seen him this way, not even with me..." She whispers the last part, looking down at the droplets of water on the porcelain sink.

"I'm sorry if I'm intruding, I guess I just came here to get closure-"

"Did you get it?"

The first you've said in minutes, and the tone was so gruff, one would think you were berating her.

She nods, still smiling, and for a second you wonder how strong this woman would have been, flying all the way back, just to see someone she'd harboured feelings with another.

"And even if I hadn't, I wouldn't do anything to either of you...forgive me, I'm not like that."

You nod, intaking some air after what felt like hours. You force yourself to turn your body towards her, a question still stuck in your head, urging to be answered.

"Rose." You whisper. She looks at you with a sweet smile, and for a second you feel bad for even thinking such inhumane thoughts about her.

"Do you still love him?" It was short and curt, no hesitation in your question, which did sound somewhat more like a command.

She looks at her reflection in the mirror, as if assessing her flaws and imperfections. There's another uncomfortable pause in the atmosphere, and it feels like the two of you have sucked a breath in anticipation.

The truth is...she doesn't know. What even is love? Is it measurable? Is it subjective, objective, definite, is it yes or no? Are there layers to love? Can you love two people at the same time? Has she ever felt love?

Does she still love John?

Did she ever love John?

Did John ever love...her?

She thinks back to when she walked into the bar, her eyes searching for the bearded captain, only to see them locked on...you.

Oh the way he looked at you. It reminded her of a loyal dog watching upon his master, like a peasant being granted a sip of golden delicious nectar for the first time. Like the way the moon orbits the Earth indefinitely, following Mother Earth on her orbital path.

Like the way a wounded man would rest in his knees painfully, praying for his Goddess to notice at least one his pleas, as he weeps for her.

It was a look she never gave to him, and one he never gave to her. That look, he had only reserved for ... you.

"No, I suppose not, not the way he loves you." It comes out in a pained whisper, and Rose can't tell if she wanted to go back in time to have John all to herself or if she believes that she would ever experience that kind of connection with him.

You hum, it felt like your voice box was strained every time you responded, but you felt at peace, finally.

How long have been in the bathroom for?

Run along now, John's probably looking for you.

You hug Rose, and you can tell she's not used to physical touch, the way her tall frame freezes at the contact. She smiles to you, silently apologising for her burdensome self.

You leave the bathroom, with a smile bigger than you had ever worn.

Soap's points towards you, at the table, and the others smile, John immediately whisking his head so quickly, you fear he might have pulled a muscle.

"Hey baby," you whisper into his hair, sitting down next to him, with his arm around you, where you belong.

"Jesus, sweetheart, 'was about to go to the bathroom m'self to look for you..." He mumbles, pressing his soft lips against your temple, purposely brushing his beard against your cheek.

You hum, as he presses fluttering kisses against your neck, whispering all kinds of affectionate names, oblivious to the fact that Ghost was already submitting a letter of compliant for excess PDA.

Rose shortly leaves, exiting the pub, her eyes falling on John's blushed cheeks burying into your hair, as she opens the door.

He turns to her, feeling someone looking at her, but instead of freaking out, he just smiles, acknowledging her presence, and quickly shoving his cheek against yours.

Tulips truly were his favourite flowers.

"SHE GAED TAE TH' BATHROOM 'N' DINNAE WASH HER HAUNDS"

tag yourself, i'm gaz's wife 😹 tags -> @lilliumrorum, @kxtz3, @poohkie90, @rainlovesyou12, @restrictionsapply-blog, @lunamoonbby , @nigthmar3moon , @thychuvaluswife , @itsnourm , @bubusi11, @chessecakelover , @owkittie, @cheomain , @corvusmorte , @k4es , @mandythemint , @copiasratscheese , @yyiikes , @funkyysho3es, @delta98-idk , @spankmydepression , @yourfavbabigirl

#captain john price if you see this come home NEOWWWWW #call of duty #cod #call of duty modern warfare #john price #captain john price #john price x reader #john x reader #john price angst #price x reader #captain price

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swift-works · 3 months ago

Text

A No Good, Very Bad Day

masterlist

pairing: portgas d. ace x reader (no gender mentioned)

word count: 3k (i may have gotten carried away)

summary: you noticed something was wrong with the second division commander, then you make him talk about his feelings, and then you make him feel better (with cuddles, get your mind out of the gutter)

a/n: WOOO first published AND finished fanfic. Everybody cheer! of course it had to be for my boy Ace <3. the first of many lol i'm emotionally attached to this man. this fic will deal with a little mental health issues and i want everyone to know rn that you are loved, you are appreciated and you are good enough. With that being said i hope you enjoy! ~anna

tags: mental health issues, brief mention of violence, sprinkles of angst, fluff, sfw

┌─────═━┈┈━═─────┐

You had noticed it immediately, the way his usual grin lacked any real warmth and his eyes were a dulled of their usual sparkle. Today was one of those days.

You had known Ace for years, as one of the first members of the Spades and continuing to serve in the second division under his leadership. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.” you had told him when your fellow Spades were finding their new places amongst the Whitebeards. You’re amongst the few who knew of his true parentage. “I know I'm supposed to be impressed that your sperm donor was the king of the pirates but, it's much more impressive that your mom carried you for 20 months. Now that’s a badass.” The way his tense body slumped in relief and the bright smile and soft eyes he gave you is seared into your memory.

Back to the present. Something was off about him today and you were gonna find out what. So you became his shadow for the day. Following him around the Moby Dick has he went through the motions of his daily routines. His chores? He mopped the same spot for 15 minutes with a faraway look. Lunch? He only had two plates and didn’t even faceplant in them. Sparring? It was less sparring and more like he had something to prove. You didn’t even think he was fully in control of his actions. He had this far away look in his eyes but that didn't stop him from fighting like his life depended on it. After numerous crewmembers started making their way to the infirmary, it was only a matter of time until Marco heard.

Marco was one of the last people you wanted to piss off. Especially if it was causing an abrupt rise in patients on a slow day. You could vaguely make out the pineapple that Marco called his head before he made a beeline for Ace. It wasn’t until Marco made physical contact that Ace seemed to snap back to reality. The second division commander seemed embarrassed and rubbed the back of his neck with a nervous smile but that seemed to ruffle the phoenix's feathers more. “What has gotten into you today?! You took it too far today. Do you know how many people I'm seeing with broken bones and burn marks? You know you're not supposed to use powers for hand to hand sparring, Ace. Get your shit together or I'll tell Pops.”

Ace instantly tensed up, a flash of guilt crossed his face before his gaze hardened. He bowed in apology before rushing off to the crew's quarters. Not even muttering a word as he passed. The deck was silent for a minute before everyone resumed what they were doing before the disaster that was sparring.

Marco frowned and locked eyes with you. With a tilt of his head, you knew his unvoiced question. ‘What crawled up his ass?’ You gave him a concerned look and shrugged. “He’s been like this all day,” was your response when you approached the first division commander. You decided to give Ace a few minutes to himself before you stormed into his room to force him to open up. Marco sighed and ran his palm down his face.

“Well would you be oh so kind, and figure it out before he goes on another rampage.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and gestured to the lingering crew. There were a few who had a slight limp or an ice pack held to their face. You gave him what you hoped was a reassuring smile and a two finger salute before you started making your way into the lion's den.

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

Ace was not having a good day. He knew from the moment he opened his eyes that today was gonna be one of those days. He could feel it in his bones. All he wanted to do was stay in bed and wallow but he knew he had to show his face sometime. The last thing he wanted or needed was people worrying about him. Especially you. You always had a knack for knowing exactly what he was thinking. It was like some superpower you had. He wondered if you had a secret devil fruit power.

He knew as soon as you got him alone that he'd become a giant puddle of vulnerability. One soft look from you and he was a goner. So his number one objective today was avoiding you. He got lucky when he was one of the last ones in for breakfast. That meant that you had already eaten and started your day. Without you to distract him, he allowed himself to get lost in his thoughts. About how he wasn't good enough. About how he didn't deserve this crew. About how he shouldn't be alive. These thoughts were always in the back of his mind. Most of the time he would just ignore the little negative voices in his mind, but today was different.

He tried, he really tried to put up a happy facade. He kept up with his chores, one spot on deck looked especially clean. Thoughts swirled around his mind all afternoon. Nothing seemed to snap him back to his usual cool guy behavior. Not even lunch. People started to notice when the daily spectacle of his food naps hadn't happened so far. Two plates of food? It looked like he was practically starving himself. Even though he really just wanted to hide away, Ace knew it wasn't going to be long before you or someone cornered him.

Conversations ended in blurs, forced smiles and laughter that were beginning to hurt his cheeks. Being on a crew as rowdy and strong as the Whitebeards meant there were usually sparring matches throughout the day. Usually these were all in good faith and more training than actual fights. One big rule for these was the prohibition of devil fruit powers. It was mainly for close combat practice after all. So that injuries were kept to a minimum. Although some used it as an excuse to go bother the nurses even for a slight scratch. (Thatch)

Everyone knew that Portgas D. Ace didn't run from a fight. That also applied to casual spars. He was strong and he knew it. However he didn't feel strong today. Especially with all the eyes on him today, your eyes. Yeah, he knew you’ve been watching him throughout the day. He could always sense when you were around. If it was a better day, he would have searched for you and gave a cheeky wink that usually made your face flush. That wasn't the case today though because he knew as soon as he locked eyes with you that he'd lose the semblance of composure that he's tried to keep all day.

As soon as his matches started it was like his body moved on autopilot. A Jab* here. ‘Come on Ace, you can do better than that,’ he thought to himself. A Cross* there. Thud! Somebody was gonna be feeling that when they woke up. The more people that went against him, the more powerful his punches became. His thoughts were getting the better of him, he didn’t even notice the heat that was emitting from his hands. ‘Is that all the Fire Fist Ace has to offer? Pathetic.’ Consumed in his thoughts, Ace didn’t notice the danger that was rapidly approaching him.

Suddenly a firm hand gripped his shoulder and whirled him around. He was met with the furious eyes of the first division commander. That seemed to snap him back to reality. An angry Marco meant that he fucked up. He looked down at his bloody fists. When did that happen? He could faintly hear Marco giving him a lecture but, as he raised his head he surveyed the scene around him. Members of his division were sporting bloody noses, black eyes or burn marks. Did he do all that?

Ace rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment and conjured up a sheepish smile. “My bad? Guess I got lost in thought and didn't pull my punches.” He tried to laugh it off but the laughter died in his throat when no one laughed with him. If anything that just pissed Marco off more.

“What has gotten into you today?! You took it too far today. Do you know how many people I’m seeing with broken bones and burn marks? You know you're not supposed to use powers for hand to hand sparring, Ace. Get your shit together or I'll tell Pops.”

His body tensed and he knew that it was his fault that so many people had injuries that could have been easily avoided. The feeling of guilt was overwhelming. ‘Why can't I get a grip?’ He couldn’t take much more from today. “I’m sorry for my actions” Ace bowed to the remaining stragglers and then his feet acted before he even realized he was moving. All he had to do was make it to his room before someone stopped him.

On his way to the cabins, he passed you. No words came out of his mouth though. He’d already embarrassed himself enough today. He knew you’d seen the whole thing. The concern written across your face meant that he would be expecting a visit from you soon. Well, better that you come to check on him instead of Pops. Then he’d really wish that the sea would swallow him whole.

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

You arrived at his door only a few minutes after him. You raised your hand and gently rapped against the wood. “Ace? Do you wanna talk?” you called.

Silence followed. You frowned and tried to open his door. It didn't budge and a locked door was never a good sign. You weren't leaving without a fight though.

“I’m giving you five minutes to open this door before I start trying to pick the lock.” you huffed before sliding to the ground. You brought your knees to your chest and leaned against his door before calling out again. “I’ll be right here waiting but I'm not gonna leave you alone until you talk to me, Portgas.”

About a minute passed before you heard shuffling and a thunk as another body pressed against the door from the other side. “You don’t have to waste your time, you know, I'm fine, really.” Ace stressed out.

You hated when he did this, acting like he’s fine when you know he’s far from it. He’d rather let himself drown than have someone throw him a line. “We both know that what just came out of your mouth is total bullshit. Now would you save us some time and let me in? I was serious about the five minutes and would you look at that, you have one minute left.” you started counting down from sixty.

As soon as you got to thirty, you heard the lock click. You were at twenty when the door finally opened. You looked up from your spot on the ground to see a look of despair on Ace’s face. That was not a look that belonged on his face. You got up from your spot and faced him. His hat was missing as well as his belts, shoes, and his knife. You waited for him to speak first but he was doing the same. It became a stand off to see who would make the first move. Knowing that he was as stubborn as an ass, you caved first and brought him in for a hug.

Ace didn’t move for a moment. All he could focus on were your arms around his neck. He had to stay strong. You couldn't see how weak he really was. But you brought his face into the crook of your neck and he wavered. Technically you couldn't see his face and you smelled so good, so he let his guard down. You felt him relax against you so you shuffled the both of you forward and removed one arm from around him to pull his door shut.

When he heard the door shut, he felt his remaining walls crumble down. He felt the burn as he tried to hold his tears back. If he started crying he didn’t know if he would ever stop. So instead he wrapped his arms around you and held on as if his life depended on it. Ace felt your hand move to his hair, you weaved your fingers through his dark strands and you held him as if he’d drift away. Neither of you said anything or moved for some time.

Ace finally pulled away but kept his arms firmly around you. Your hands fell to cradle his face, to keep his eyes on you and to catch any stray tears that would fall. The silence broke as you spoke first. “Do you wanna talk about it? It would probably help to not bottle it up.” You stroked his cheek as you spoke. “I promise whatever it is will stay between you and me, not even Deuce is gonna pry this from me.” That got a smile out of him. You and Deuce were like long lost twins, you told each other everything.

“Today…I’ve felt like every bad thought that has ever crossed my mind was on repeat, at max volume. It was like I was a kid again, before my brothers came into the picture. Over the years, the thoughts drifted into the back of my mind, I found people who made them all but forgotten.” He closed his eyes and put his hands over yours, leaning into your touch.

“Sometimes though, like today, they come back in full force. And I feel so alone. Like I’m not Portgas D. Ace, second division commander of the whitebeard pirates. Like I'm just the worthless child of that bastard, who doesn't even deserve to live.” With that, the dam breaks and tears flood down his face. Shoulders shaking as sobs, he buries his face back into the crook of your neck. You continue to hold him and move your hand back to his hair and continue soothing strokes that you hoped would calm him.

You move the both of you to his bed and he is all but glued to your side. He follows your movements until the both of you are in a comfortable embrace on the edge of his bed. You pull back and hold his face, leaning forward until your forehead meets his. “I need you to look at me, Ace. I need to see that you’re listening to me and hearing me.” He met your eyes and nodded.

“You absolutely deserve to live. Your mother carried you for 20 months so that you would have a chance to live. Who cares that you are the biological son of the most famous pirate? I don’t. The Spades wouldn’t. The Whitebeards mostly wouldn’t. Your brothers didn't and Pops sure as hell didn't care either. We care about you. You, Portgas D. Ace, who is one of the kindest souls that I've had the pleasure of meeting. You are so strong a-and i don’t know where I would be without you.” Now you were the one starting to get emotional. “I-People love you Ace. You don’t have to believe me now but I don't want you to forget that. Okay? You. Are. Loved”

The rest of the day went by with you muttering reassurances into his ears while you both cuddled in his bed. His head fell against your chest and you knew he had finally given into his narcolepsy. You stayed with him the entire time, not wanting him to be alone when he woke up. Besides, he was really warm. You could feel yourself grow drowsy and soon fall into a peaceful slumber.

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

BONUS:

When neither of you showed up for dinner. Marco took it upon himself to fetch the both of you. Thatch also decided to tag along with a tray of food. Just because Ace caused a bit of chaos that afternoon didn't mean that the both of you needed to miss dinner. “You know, I bet that they actually get together within a month.” Thatch remarked as the duo made their way into the cabins.

“Nah, I’d give it until the end of the year. Have you met them? They’re for sure the slow burn type.”

They made it infront of Ace’s door and Marco took it upon himself to make their presence known. “Yoi! Ace, open up! We have dinner since you decided to hole yourself in here for the night.”

Thatch squinted at the blond. “Why do you know the term slow burn?”

“What? I read.” Marco shrugged and knocked on the door again but louder. Thatch made a face and made a note to bring that back up later. Who knew Marco the Phoenix liked romance books.

Deciding that it was too silent on the other side, Marco went ahead and opened the door. The scene before them made them rethink when you two would end up together. “Did I say the end of the month? I meant the end of the week.” Thatch wished he had a den den mushi camera at that moment.

You both were asleep on the bed. You were on your back with your arms wrapped around Ace, who was basically on top of you with his head on your chest and arms wrapped around your waist. It was almost too cute. Thatch quietly put the tray of food down on Ace’s desk. Meanwhile, Marco found a discarded blanket on the floor and used it to cover the both of you.

He was glad his little brother was having a better night than the no good, very bad day he had. Thatch looked on the verge of tears himself. So before Thatch could make a ruckus and wake them up, Marco dragged him out and softly closed the door behind them. He put his finger to his lips and gestured with his head to go back to the mess hall. Thatch nodded and shoved his hands in his pockets.

“So……... have you read any good romance novels lately?”

“Shut up, Thatch.”

└─────═━┈┈━═─────┘

another a/n: thank you so much for making it this far! my writing is a little rusty so if there's any mistakes please let me know! and if anyone is ooc thennnnn ignore that. I'm still getting used to writing for one piece. I hope you all enjoyed! stay tuned for more! ~anna

*Jab - A quick and straight punch thrown with the lead hand

*Cross - A powerful straight punch thrown with the rear hand

#im so normal about him #one piece #one piece x reader #one piece x you #portgas d ace #portgas ace #portgas ace x reader #portgas ace x you #portgas d ace x reader #portgas d ace x you #swift-works

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arminsumi · 2 years ago

Note

HEAR ME OUT JAY— i’ve also been on a gojo kick too😩 i literally have no medical knowledge but thinking of gojo x reader angsty where he has to set one of our broken bones after a battle lowk has me giggling and kicking my feet UGEHHEHEHE

take your time w requests!! take care of yourself, lysm thank you sosososoosos much🫶🏻🫶🏻

blood n' bone.

note: hey honeypie!! yeah istg gojo has a death grip on my mind the dude doesn't let me think of anyone else rn. anyways, i have little medical knowledge on this too but i tried my best !!

warnings — lowercase used, injury ( knee dislocation, bone setting ), blood visuals, angst ( with fluff, happy ending 👍 ), he calls u angel, i think it might be implied fem reader ??

" are you okay ?! a—re you hur — oh shit, fuckfuckfuck that's bad. that's bad... okay. um. just breathe. just breathe! don't worry, you ain't gonna die sweetheart. look at me, ok — question. do you trust me ? "

" what on earth do you plan to do ? " you ask gojo wearily.

you look at him, the pain fogs your mind. it's so painful; a blinding, piping white hot pain, one that singes all your senses. it's all you focus on until you look into those soothing blue eyes.

he's hovering over you, eyeing out your knee and the gory scene of your battle-bloodied body. he's got your blood on his hands already. it hurts his heart more than anything to see you in pain.

part of him hates you, because if you had just listened to him and stayed out of this battle, then this wouldn't have happened. but you were so stubborn about staying at his side. and then part of him is thankful, because he didn't want to be alone, he didn't want to be without his girl just in case he didn't make it out alive. he didn't want someone else to come to you and bear the news that he's not coming home. gojo was selfish; if he died, he wanted to take you with him.

but he was fine. you were fine. well, "fine" besides the fact your knee was dislocated.

" do you trust me or not ? " he asks again.

" yes. " you say truthfully. of course you did, he's been your one and only since birth; the gojo clan and your clan were intertwined by fate. you and him have been in each other's lives since you were toddlers throwing tantrums.

there's a memory that comes to gojo when he places his calloused hands on your knee. it's a memory from his childhood with you.

one day, you fell and scraped your knees. gojo found you curled up, crying alone in an alley. " what the hell ? why didn't you come find me ? let's go back to my house. i'll carry you. yes of course i can carry you ! i'm stronger than you ! "

he takes his blindfold and puts it in your mouth, " need you to bite on this, angel. "

" hmmmf ?! " the reality of what he was about to do set in. but how could it be more painful than the dislocation itself?

there's no question that he can set your bone. he's the strongest; of course he can.

you watch his bicep muscles flex, his grip firm. he hesitates, breathe ragged like he's nervous. then you hear a loud pop and instantly scream blue murder into the fabric; it doesn't really do a good job of muffling the sound. it pierces gojo's heart.

" angel, angel — look at me. breathe. it's okay. i've got you. it's alright. it's really alright. angel ? there, just stay in my arms like th-this. you're okay now. i know it hurts, but you're okay. " his hair is messy, your blood is all over him, and you yourself look chaotic; but still you look beautiful to him. your face comforts him like no other; he's always had excited pangs in his chest when you walk into a room or show up at a battle.

he's always shared your pain. he's a highly sensitive, emotional boy but conceals it well; when you're in pain, he's in pain. when you're sad, he's sad. when you're happy, he's happy. and hence, if you would have died, he would have died. you're tied together by an invisible thread, the two of you couldn't escape each other even if you wanted to. at times, you hated how you always found your way back to him; especially when you and him had that fallout in your twenties after your dating life interfered with your friendship.

but your hostility towards each other ended, of course it did. and now you and him were always at each other's side. handholding, just like when you were kids exploring your little village.

" let's go home. " he murmurs, soothing you with his voice and the gentle feeling he radiated.

" i can't walk. " you mumble, " it hurts. "

" i'll carry you. "

" we're not little kids anymore, you can't carry me. "

" what the hell ! of course i can carry you; i'm the strongest. "

you smile, remembering that memory only now. " you're right. you are. "

his heart flutters hearing you agree for the first time. of course you always knew he was the strongest, it was indisputable. but you liked to tease him.

" better believe it . . . now wrap those arms 'round my neck. "

he wears a stupid, proud smile on his face while he carries you. when you're home, you feel extremely grateful.

" it's good to be home, huh, satoru ? " you say, knee bandaged and propped up.

he's given you pain medication by now. there's the background noise of the TV, and golden afternoon light sieving through the sheer curtains.

" home is wherever you are. " he says earnestly.

whenever he says things like this, it's always in a soft voice, almost like he's too shy to let you know his true feelings.

you feel warm, homely; and so does he.

Do not plagiarize / repost / translate / copy layouts / etc.

Do not steal what I've worked hard to create.

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batmanisagatewaydrug · 10 months ago

Note

You seem like an incredibly well read person, plus someone with a lot of insight into intimacy because of your work. So, in light of your romance book reviews, which are an absolute highlight on your patreon, do you have any insight into what is needed/suggested for a good romance novel?

g o d this is so fucking hard and also really fun to chew on. I want to preface this by saying this is ENTIRELY subjective and based completely on what I *PERSONALLY* find that I enjoy in a romance. this isn't, like, an objective guide on how to write a romance that doesn't suck. that doesn't exist because people like different things, and I'm speaking from one perspective.

also I should say that my preferred flavor of romance novel is solidly contemporary. I haven't read many historicals, certainly not enough to opine well on them, I don't do those mafia dark romances or whatever the fuck, and I've barely dabbled at all in any kind of fantasy romance, whether they're full high fantasy or witchy urban fantasy stories. (although I'm about to do one of the latter next month, you can vote for a book on my patreon rn!)

having gotten all of those caveats out of the way, here's some shit I like and dislike:

there are exceptions to this but broadly, I prefer a POV for everyone involved in the relationship. to me a romance where we're only seeing events from the POV of one member of the relationship automatically makes it seem like one person matters more in a dynamic where everyone should be of equal importance. also, god, if the plot's really going to hinge on not knowing what's going on in one partner's head suggests that miscommunication is going to be a pretty critical part of the plot, and I hate that shit. TALK TO EACH OTHER. I'LL KILL YOU.

on that note, there needs to be an actual compelling reason why the characters can't be together, okay? the #1 driving tension of every romance is "why the fuck can't they be together yet" and you BETTER have a good answer. whether it's interpersonal or external forces, if there's a very easy solution to what's keeping them apart then your characters look dumb and I'm bored. one of the most frustrating romances I've ever read involved two characters who were mutually attracted to each from the JUMP, who refused to act on it because they were coworkers (neither of them in any position of authority of the other, nothing unprofessional or inappropriate about it) and they were "only" living in the same state for A YEAR. A FULL YEAR !!! shut up. get a grip and kiss each other.

now, having said that: whatever your bullshit reason is for these two characters to be interacting with each other, you need to COMMIT to that shit so hard that I, the reader, will feel silly for even questioning the logic. the worst offender I've ever seen on this front is D'Vaughn and Kris Plan a Wedding, which pulls its protagonists together via a reality TV competition and then just... promptly loses any interest in really dealing with the actual realities of being filmed 24/7? it's insanely distracting how little the book engages with its central hook, and was a huge point deduction for me. whereas you have, like, The Bride Test, a book with a premise that skirts dangerously close to a little bit of human trafficking but embraces the whole premise so wholeheartedly that you completely forget about the potentially horrific elements in there. who cares that Esme was bribed here with the promise of a green card if she seduces a man she's never met? there's whimsy happening! we've moved on! it's literally fine and she's in no danger except the danger of a BROKEN HEART.

this one is going to seem SO obvious but like. I need them to be actually like each other. I'm not saying they can't be mutually bitchy while they grow to like each other or anything, they don't have to always be NICE to each other, but there are so many M/F romances where the dude is just flat out fucking MEAN and condescending to the girl until he decides he wants to fuck her. and sometimes even after that! stop it! after a certain point I don't want her to fuck him I want her to run him over a car!!!! there's suuuuch a line between "guy I butt heads and exchange banter with but could fuck if we just got to know each other" and "man who hates me and is for real fucking bullying me."

"kisses only," "doors closed," whatever term they use for a romance novel without any sex scenes on page, I don't like it. listen: I know that they're not everybody's cup of tea, and I FULLY recognize that a lot of romance novel sex scenes are unfathomably cringe. and yet, I need them. partly because they're funny, but also because if this book wants me to be invested in the developing relationship between two adults who are supposed to be WILDLY sexually attracted to each other, then I want to see the damn sex. no matter how many bad similes or unfortunate adjectives it entails. and if you're not going to show me the sex, don't you dare have the characters gushing about how great it is. I'll be the judge of that, thank you very much. (I'm looking at you, Sorry, Bro.)

related: there's this thing that I call "Horny Wolf Syndrome," which is derived from this tweet:

initially I used it to refer to when previously sweet-tempered male romance protags inexplicably started talking like horny wovles during sex scenes - "LET ME SEE YOUR PRETTY CUNT ON MY COCK" and the like - but now I more generally use it to refer to scenarios in which characters of any gender completely dispense with their established personality while they fuck in order to fulfill a more broadly appealing, one-size-fits-all sexual fantasy. I hate that shit; if your characters act like completely unrecognizable people during sex, you didn't write very strong characters. one of my favorite things about writing sex scenes is that it's so SO interesting to see how their the characters' personal quirks translate into a setting that's very different from most other contexts, and it's deeply disappointing when authors take the easy route in favor of some pornhub dialogue.

one of the things that actually won my most recent read, Raiders of the Lost Heart, a HUGE amount of points with me was how frank the female lead was about initiating sex for the first time. it was completely in character for her and felt really different than any other book I've read, and honestly? it was a breath of fresh air.

#bookblr

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shradsmanifestt · 8 months ago

Text

Why you will never fail at manifestation

Hi! Late night post over here rn. But I'm so excited for this one because I just know that it's gonna finally click for you guys.

You will never fail at manifestation, yk why? Because your outer world is always gonna be a reflection of your inner assumptions. Ok lemme explain this.

You are always manifesting. Irrespective of whether you know about the law or not. Every single person on this Earth is manifesting. And they are master manifestors too because their reality is shaped by their assumptions. There are no exceptions to this. Now get this. How can you fail at manifesting when your reality is a perfect reflection of your assumptions? I mean like isn't that crazy. You are all master manifestors.

Now lemme tell you where you go wrong - your reality is always gonna be a reflection of your inner thoughts. But... I didn't say that what you desire is your inner assumption. Now don't get me wrong. I'm not saying that you can't manifest. I'm just trying to make you realise how this works.

Your assumptions will always create your reality. No questions asked. But it's your responsibility to actually have assumptions that's favourable to you so that you can manifest what you want and not what you think you have.

The only reason why your reality is exactly how it is now is because you let it be so. Change that and change your life.

#loass #loassblr #loassumption #law of assumption #affirm and persist #loa #loa tumblr #neville goddard #consciousness #loa blog #loatwt #imagination #loassblog #manifestation is real #desired reality #4d reality #reality shifting #shradsmanifestt

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bellysoupset · 4 months ago

Text

Professor Monacelli

Reminder this is NSFW and KINKY.

----------------

"Are you sure you're alright?" Vince asked for the second time, as he hugged Sophia goodbye, outside of her hotel. Boston was freezing and he couldn't stop shaking.

"Yesss," Soph rolled her eyes, hugging him back and shoving his arm, "my head is not even hurting anymore, go away."

Vince let out a huff, "well, alright, but I'm a call away if you need me. It's only two hours to Welton, I can be here in a heartbea-"

"Go away, Vince!"

He chuckled at her shriek, waving at her as he walked back to the car, "I texted you Angie's number, don't forget!" Vince let her know, before finally driving away.

He was really giddy. There was a nice school near Welton's center, that taught from ages 0 to 18 years old, which had contacted him after he had let Fernanda, his current principal, know he'd be leaving after prom. In all honesty, not once in his life Vince had been invited to a job interview, he had always applied to them and that made him feel incredibly smug.

He really wanted this job, not only the school's location was perfect, but it was a quite fancy building, so he assumed the salary didn't suck either. Besides, he had heard great things about them... And this would mean moving to Welton exactly in the timeline he had anticipated.

It was well past lunch when Vince arrived to Welton, for his 4 PM appointment. He parked inside the building, whistling under his breath and making sure his button up was right, as well as putting on the blazer that had been in the backseat until then and removing his dumbass beanie.

Vince checked his phone, making sure he was on time as he grabbed his suitcase and locked the car.

HoneyBee: Are you in town yet??

HoneyBee: I'm missing you like crazy rn

HoneyBee: Good luck at the interview, you're gonna crush it 💕

He sent Wendy a bunch of strong-arm emojis back, stomach filling up with butterflies as she had said she missed him. Hell, Vince missed her too, much more than he was willing to admit to himself. Now that moving back was such a close reality, he couldn't help but feel the yearn as a physical pain.

"Professor Monacelli?" The front desk employee was a guy, in his late 40s, balding and with thick glasses, "hi, I'm Ethan."

"Hi, Ethan, I'm Vince," Vin opened his best smile, breathing in and bringing out his best attitude.

It was really weird to go through a teacher job interview. Not only he had to teach a class on the fly, had a long conversation with the principal, Ophelia Dashwood, but she didn't actually tell him he had gotten job, simply launched herself into explaining the benefits they offered and the salary.

It took Vin a flat minute of sitting there with a smile on his face and watching as she circled what was going to be his schedule, for him to get it.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Dashwood," Vince interrupted, planting a hand over the schedule, "I'm taking this as me being hired?"

"Yes, of course! If you'll take the job...." She looked flabbergasted at his question, "Mrs. Castillo spoke so well about you... I want you to think on it-" she handed him the schedule, as well as other papers and what he assumed was a contract, "and get back to me Monday."

"Absolutely," Vince nodded, getting up to shake her hand and thank her for the interview, trying not to show just how giddy he was and how he would've signed it on the spot if she asked him to.

As soon as he was inside his car, though, Vince allowed himself to pump the air in a triumphant gesture and fished out his phone to text Wendy.

Vince: I just left the interview. ILY

He decided not to let her know via text, instead driving to the grocery store that was near her place and drafting up the dinner he wanted to make for them.

Wendy wasn't home, but Vince was there enough by now that it didn't cull him in any way. He removed his shoes at the door, put the groceries away in the kitchen and left his bag in her room, taking a quick scorching hot shower before heading back to the kitchen, stopping only long enough to start Wen's fireplace.

Then, he got to cooking. Limoncello liquor put in the fridge to chill, onions and leeks chopped, cheese grated... Vince had just killed the heat after the rice absorbed all the white wine when he heard Wendy opening the front door.

Her voice travelled as she smelled the dinner, "this-" she walked in, leaning against the kitchen's doorway, "smells like a celebration."

Vince smiled at her, unable to keep it to himself for a second longer, "I got the job!"

Wendy's dimples appeared as she opened a huge smile and crossed the room in one leap, throwing herself on him. Vince chuckled, pulling her off her feet and kissing her, lips haphazardly clashing as they smiled into the kiss.

"I'm not surprised at all," Wendy said, bumping her nose with his, "I'm so proud, honey."

Vince's face burned at the compliment and he kissed her once again, planting Wendy down.

Since she preferred to wear scrubs for work, Wendy could get away with her "work outfit" being more colorful and out there than most people would expect from a doctor. Today she was wearing a colorful floral midi skirt, caramel boots and a yolk-yellow cardigan that she had already undone the top buttons off, all of it covered by a fuzzy long coat. Her hair was a mess, frizzy from the ugly weather outside, waves pointing everywhere, the tip of her nose all red...

Vince let out a happy sigh, leaning in and planting a kiss on her forehead, "I love you," he pulled her into a tight hug, causing Wendy to giggle as she was smushed to his chest.

"I love you too..." Her voice came out muffled and Vince tilted his body back just so he could look at her, without undoing the hug.

"I thought we could celebrate with something different," he told her and Wendy nodded, none the wiser, looking around the kitchen.

"Smells amazing..."

Vince let out a chuckle, causing her to frown as she realized she wasn't in the joke, "Vin?"

"That's not the different part," he rolled his eyes, pulling back from her, "risotto has parmesan," he gestured at it with his head, "and this is a lot of food."

He could, of course, just straight up tell her he wanted to indulge in her latent tummy ache kink, but it was more fun this way. To watch her frown, confused, and then her whole face turning a strawberry shade, eyes widening as it dawned on her.

"You mean you wanna make yourself sick...?" Wendy whispered and Vince shrugged, releasing her from the hug.

"If my girlfriend will take care of me?" He teased her and she nodded eagerly, eyeing him up and down.

"I will," her words came out breathy, lips pressing into a thin line as Wendy struggled to collect herself, "yeah, of course- Aren't we supposed to be celebrating you? Why am I getting the gift?"

"You think I don't enjoy myself?" Vince rolled his eyes, circling her so he could wrap his arms around her from behind and press a kiss on her cheek, "watching you nearly lose your mind with how much you want me? That's the best feeling."

Wendy's face was burning, but she tilted her head to smile at him, "so your kink is me, eh?" her nose wrinkled in the most adorable way, causing Vince's heart to skip a beat.

"It sure is," he agreed with a smug smile, pressing his lips to her temple, "so let's eat?"

Wendy was completely obsessed with table setting, although she couldn't cook more than the basics. Even though it was only the two of them, she insisted on breaking out her good tablecloth and weirdly shaped plates with gold dinnerware. Vince couldn't smile more if he tried, his cheeks were hurting.

They sat down together and for about an hour the whole kinkiness of it all slipped his mind. His girlfriend wanted all the details on the job interview, squealing as he told her about the principal's comment on his recommendation and how he had been offered the job.

"Can I read the contract?" Wendy asked, as Vince polished off his third serving of dinner and about his fourth glass of white wine. He was far from drunk, but in that pleasant tipsy state where everything felt soft and he felt warm.

"Yep, I left it on top of your bed-"

"Our," Wendy interrupted him, draping herself on his back, "we haven't really discussed it, but you are moving here, right?" her chin dug into his shoulder, "you're not moving to Welton to go hole up in some tiny house because you're too proud to move in with me, right Vin?"

He leaned his head back with a chuckle, "I wouldn't dream of it," Vince promised, closing his eyes as Wendy let out a relieved sigh and pressed her lips to his temple, "get the dessert out of the fridge, please?"

She came back not a minute later, with a frown on, "what is this?" Wendy asked, holding the tub of gourmet ice cream, the glass bottle and the contract in her opposite hand.

"Vanilla gelato, obviously," Vince shrugged, pulling her to sit on his leg and opening the bottle "and this is limoncello, it's a lemon liquor..." he grabbed the dessert spoon he had put on the table earlier and drizzled some of the limoncello on top of the ice cream, "open up," he said, holding up a spoonful for Wendy.

Her eyes went wide, eyebrows jumping up and a hand rushing to cover her mouth as she mumbled with her mouth still full, "this issso good!"

"I know, right?" Vince grinned, jerking his leg and causing Wendy to bounce on his lap, moving closer, "it's amazing."

"It's super creamy... Is this lactose free?" Wendy frowned, picking up the gelato tub and letting out a noise as she confirmed it, "okay, good."

"You're really counterproductive to your goal, girly," Vince smiled, feeding himself a huge spoonful. The flavor was amazing, sweet and creamy thanks to the ice cream, but zesty and burning the back of his throat due to the liquor.

"I don't want you to be super sick," Wendy pouted, holding up a spoon to his mouth, "just a little bit..." she smiled cheekily, wrapping herself around Vince and continuing to share the dessert between them.

The thing was, Vince wasn't stuffed. The last time they had done this, he had been stuffed up to the gills and felt overwhelmingly sick, now he was just pleasantly sloshed and full. The parmesan was, obviously, starting to cause his belly to whine, but nothing as brutal as milk did...

And he wanted the night to go as he had planned in his mind.

"Hey," Wendy pouted, stealing a kiss and cupping his face, "where did you go?"

"Nowhere," Vince forced a wince, deciding that if he couldn't have it his way, he was going to make it his way, "my stomach's just hurting..."

It was a big fat lie, at most he had the start of a tummy ache, but Wendy's cheeks turned pink nonetheless and yeah, that was what he wanted.

He grabbed her hand, guiding it to his stomach, and pressing it there, "can you feel it gurgling?"

It helped that his belly was churning, although it was just mildly upset. Wendy's head bobbed up and down as she agreed, eyes locked on his stomach, "do you want to keep eating?"

"Yeah," Vince agreed, squirming in his seat in fake discomfort, "but I ran out of wine. I'm going to go get more-"

"I can do it!" His girlfriend piped up, but Vince shook his head, patting her ass so she'd get off his lap and he could stand up.

"No," he kissed the top of her head, "stay here, try some more of the ice cream, you barely touched it. I'll be right back."

Perhaps it was insane of his part to instead head for the fridge and grab the milk carton Wendy had sitting there, taking two large gulps before fishing out a fresh bottle of white wine and returning to the dining room. Whatever, fuck it, it was his celebration and if he wanted to see his girlfriend looking at him with mind numbing lust, than who gave a crap?

Wendy was reading the contract while he was gone, with a pleased smile on, "I'm envious of your hours," she sighed dreamily and Vince let out a snort, leaning over her and kissing her upside down.

"Should've dropped med school and joined us teachers," he teased her, "not as fancy but at least my hours don't suck royally."

"I'd be a horrible teacher," Wendy immediately moved so she was back on his lap and eagerly grabbed on the spoon, while Vince served them both with wine, "third time a student asked me if they could do a pair of three people, I'd be out of patience."

He let out a hearty chuckle at that, then turned his head quickly to muffle a burp. Wendy's pleased smile could not be hidden as she grabbed yet another spoonful, "here, honey," she grabbed at his chin, fingers almost digging in, "have some more."

Vince took it without a complain, grabbing the bottle of limoncello and drizzling more of the liqueur over the dessert, grinning as Wen wiped at his lips and licked the vanilla off her thumb.

in ten minutes, they reached the bottom of the gelato tub and the dull ache in his stomach spread, although Vince doubted it was due to his milk intolerance just yet. He let out a groan, squirming on the seat and loosening up the cords of the sweatpants he had put on after the shower.

Wendy cupped his belly with both hands, "how... How's it feeling?" she asked, breathlessly, and Vince made a pained grimace that now was only partially fake.

"Really gross," he brought up his hand, muffling a burp against his fist and shuddering, truly, when a splash of milk hit the back of his throat, "ugh..."

Wendy pressed her hands in, rubbing circles on the sides of his belly, until her hands met in the middle of his navel, "queasy?"

Not really, no. Indigestion was starting to kick in and he felt fuller than before drinking the milk, even if only fifteen minutes had passed, but he still felt incredibly fine...

"Can we lie down?" His voice was whiny and Wendy immediately nodded, jumping up.

"Yes, of course..." Her cheeks were flushed, hands fluttering over his arm as she ushered him up, as if Wen could truly help Vince stand up.

He sat down with a groan and Wendy moved closer, tugging on his pants, then climbing him, sitting atop his lap and pressing Vin against the headboard as she kissed him, "I'm going to take care of you..." she mumbled, dreamily, lips dragging from his mouth to his cheek and down his neck.

Vince tugged up his shirt, throwing it across the room and squirmed as Wendy kissed down his body, over his stomach. It was bloating up now and he muffled another burp in his hand, "hey, gentle-"

"Uhummm," Wendy hummed, all but ignoring him, tracing her nails up his belly, biting his belly and moving her mouth further down, "oh wow," she perked up suddenly, as Vince's stomach let out a growl loud enough to spook both of them.

Yeah, that hadn't felt good. Suddenly the thought of their dinner wasn't appetizing anymore and his belly became incredibly vocal. Vince took a deep breath, as an invisible hand seemed to squeeze his insides.

"Oh honey..." Wendy's voice was soft, but she couldn't keep a smile from it, pressing her hand in and rubbing in circles around his belly button, "your belly's so upset..."

He moved a hand up her back, sliding under her yellow cardigan and pulling it up as he moved his hand to stroke the hairs on her nape. Wendy raised her arms just enough to shrug it off and Vin opened a pleased smile as he saw her floral bra.

"C'mere," his fingers curled on the root of her hair and he guided Wendy up. She tried to climb him, but her knee was trapping her skirt and Wen half fell on top of him, causing Vince to groan and muffle a burp against her mouth.

"Oh-wow..." Her face was a delicious shade of pink and Vin scoffed, rolling them on the bed so he could be on top of her, using his arms so he wouldn't crush her. He sat back on his heels, chuckling as Wendy squirmed up against the pillows and raised her leg so he could unzip her boot.

He rested her leg on his shoulder, unzipping the boot and throwing it across the room, turning his head to plant a kiss on her calf, up her leg all the way to her exposed thigh- Vince's belly let out a nasty gurgle and he felt the cold prickles of nausea clinging to him.

He ceased moving all together, pressing his face to Wendy's crotch, over the colorful skirt, and taking steadying breaths as a cramp gripped at him once more. It was much harsher this time and Vin muffled a sickly belch against the fabric, feeling her erection pulse under his chin since he was pressed so close.

"You're turning green, honey," Wendy's voice was gleeful, hips tilting up in search of any friction and Vin let out a slow breath, before removing her second boot, then patting her ass so he could slide the skirt from under her, letting it fall in a crumpled puddle on the ground. Her panties matched her bra, all transparent tule and little embroideries of vines, sunflowers and roses.

Vince lurched in, nausea and stomachache be damned, pressing his mouth over her panties, kissing her, letting his lips drag up her belly, between her boobs- A gag rocked him before he could control it and Vin froze, gulping down the sudden lurch of milky vomit in his mouth.

He squeezed the sheets, eyes squeezed shut as he fought a heave, the taste of milk causing his spine to curl... Vince sat back, off of Wendy, and pressed a fist to his mouth, gulping convulsively.

"Hey," Wen's fingers were on his hair, lips pressing to his naked shoulder, "deep breathes, hon..."

Vince didn't want to cause a mess. Clean up was never fun, what he wanted was Wen's giddy voice and her hands all over him and the weird sensation cross between being so horny he could die and so nauseous he felt dizzy.

He shuddered, clearing his throat, "bath- bathroom..." Vince grumbled, getting up and Wen came with him as if they were tied at the hip. She grabbed a towel to plant in front of the toilet so his knees wouldn't hurt, then filled up a glass of water, but didn't pass it to him, sitting by his side as Vin knelt on the ground and leaned over the toilet.

He wasn't quite there yet, but staring at the water and the folded position worked up a burp and with it a mouthful of cloudy saliva. Cold sweat ran down his back and Wendy rubbed his arm, "Vin?"

Without thinking, he reached for her hand, pressing it to his bloated stomach, "I'm gonna be sick..." he closed his eyes at the pressure of her hand there, pushing on the upset organ. Everything was turning into a sludge inside him and yet another cramp caused Vince to curl up, letting out a whine.

"It's okay, honey," Wen's voice was brimming with excitement, closer than he expected as she draped on his back, "I got you, I got you-" she pressed on the top of his stomach and before he could even think, vomit rushed up and into the bowl.

It was a long stream, he wasn't packed full but his belly felt awful by now and Vince's thoughts flew out of the window as he choked on it, coughing and burping the bits of rice stuck in his throat. He reached in, blindly, for the flush, only for Wen's hand to find it first.

Vin let out a groan, curling up and turning towards her, pressing his forehead to her shoulder and nearly sending Wen flat on her back, "fuck-"

"Are you okay?" Wendy asked quietly, kissing his temple, hugging him closer, "Vin?"

He nodded, gulping down and squirming as another cramp twisted his insides, "did you- Are you-" he mumbled, head swimming a little and reaching between them so he could feel Wendy up. She slapped his hand away, forcing him to open his eyes.

"You're not feeling well," she was glaring at him, "truly."

"I don't care," Vince grumbled, pulling back and grabbing the hand that had just slapped his wrist, pressing a kiss to each fingertip of hers before bringing it down to his unsettled stomach. He had bloated up, but when he forced Wen's hand to press in, there was a sloshy sound, "I want you."

"No," Wendy shook her head, biting her lip and looking conflicted, "no, you're actually sick, Vin, I can tell-"

"I don't care," he shrugged, gulping down air and working up a sickly wet burp, spitting some of the sweet gross saliva in the toilet, "you said you'd take care of me-" Vince whined as his jaw felt heavy, "Wen..."

It was like a lock went off in her brain and Wendy scooted closer, pressing herself to his side, her mouth to his bicep as Vince draped himself over the toilet, "I am taking care of you-" she said softly, only for Vin to shake his head.

"I need it- I need to throw up..." He forced a burp, but it wasn't enough. He could taste the milk, slimy feeling in the back of his throat, "Wen..."

It was more like a whimper and his girlfriend got the memo, nails dragging over his belly, then fingers massaging in the top of it, gentle at first, then deeper, deeper- Vince retched, but it wasn't enough and Wen let out a little groan in the back of her throat, a noise he knew well.

Her hand that wasn't pressing on his belly, in rhythm with the retches, slid inside his pants and suddenly Vin went all but blind as the sensations mixed in. He tried to turn his head to look at her, but it was too close, as just then a wet burp brought up a watery stream of puke, the pathetic wave followed by a much larger one, Vince's gags echoing in the bathroom as his body got completely overwhelmed by all the sensations.

He coughed for air, squeezing the porcelain, whole back arching- Wendy pressed her lips to his neck, little bites on his earlobe, down to his shoulder...

He came undone with a groan, head swimming from the lack of oxygen, stomach sore from all the heaving and a wet spot in his sweatpants as Wen retrieved her hand with a smug smile, panting too.

"Feel better?" Her voice was hoarse and she used her clean hand to grab on the sink's granite and pull herself up, stumbling as if she was the one who had been puking for a ridiculous amount of time.

Vince nodded, unable to speak, ducking his head and letting up a string of little burps as his girlfriend washed her hands, splashing cold water on her face and reaching to flush the toilet.

"Drink the water, honey," she instructed, crouching down next to him and grabbing some toilet paper, wiping his lips, "c'mon, Vin, just a sip."

"Don't- don't think it'll stay down..." He admitted, head feeling heavy and emotions all mixed up. It felt like coming down from a high, only to crash down straight into his still queasy stomach, still grumbly belly.

"Well, that's what you get for chugging milk," Wen wrinkled her nose, sitting by his side, folding a leg over his lap so they could be as close as possible. He rested his hand on her knee, frowning.

"You... You knew?"

"Vince," Wendy rolled her eyes, "you're a terrible liar, honey."

He let out a groan, all but collapsing against her, curling up on the bathroom floor and hiding his face on Wendy's tummy, "just the food wasn't gonna work," he pouted, looking up at her and doing his best puppy eyes, grinning as he saw a blush go up her chest, devouring her cheeks, "but you still found it hot, didn't you?"

"I find everything about you hot," Wendy scoffed, smiling down at him, only for Vince to let out a frustrated huff, squirming on her lap so he was on his side and in a better position for her to rub his stomach. It wasn't done with him, Vin could tell. Vengeance against him for being greedy, lustful, gluttonous and maybe all the other four sins too.

"But like- Kinky hot?"

Wendy's whole body shook with a chuckle and she folded in half so she could kiss him, her fingers tracing invisible patterns on his tummy, "yeah, kinky hot too, Professor Monacelli."

#mywriting #sickfic #emeto #emetophilia #vince monacelli #vin was actively derailing my plans on this one #smut

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