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satorhime · 11 months

Text

. ･｡･ right where you left me ࿐gojo satoru.

── ◜ ⪩⪨ ◞ content : angst, fluff, dad!gojo (reader ‘n’ gojo have a daughter), set in 2018 and 2023, reunion, beach trips, established relationship ! f!reader. ･｡･ w.c. 3.7k & not proofread.

── ◜ ⪩⪨ ◞ synopsis : time remains the one enemy gojo can’t defeat. ໒꒰ྀི ´ ꒳ ` ꒱ྀིა notes: ik there’s a gazillion reunion fics but this has been sitting in my drafts since oct n i suddenly felt like finishing n sharing so i hope u enjoy <333 ‘m gna go cry over this fic now ;u;

satoru is having a damn good day.

it’s suspicious, it feels like a fever dream, and he can’t really pinpoint where the dubiousness comes from. maybe it’s because he feels as if he doesn’t deserve it, like if he allows himself to relax like this something terrible will happen while he slacks off. or maybe, it’s because he’s only ever had those truly good days in his youth when he was devil may care and his concerns for the wellbeing of the world slid off his shoulders weightlessly, like sheets of rain on a rooftop. a wild and selfish kind of happiness that begun in spring and ended too quickly in winter.

but today is a good day. he forgot to charge his phone last night, he is in the best mood he’s been in all year, and he can’t stop fucking smiling. gojo satoru is thriving, on top of the world, a little bit of that nostalgic, adolescent joy warming up his chest.

and it’s all because it’s a sunny day, the water is cool, and he’s on the beach with you and his baby girl.

the three of you decided to steal away on a spontaneous trip to okinawa that forced him out of his work uniform and into swim trunks with a bare chest, simply because you burst into his office with big droplets of tears in your eyes declaring yourself a terrible mother because you realized that your daughter was already three years old and she had never seen the ocean before.

it had taken him ten minutes to book three first class tickets and secure the private family villa for the weekend, fifteen to get packed, and twenty to board after hearing that.

he would do anything to please his girls, after all.

“‘anna go into the bathtub, mama!” your baby whines impatiently from the embrace of your arms, squirming and squiggling for you to let her down as she points towards the rolling ocean waves behind you. ever since she learned how to walk, she’s lost all patience for her doting parents carrying her around— especially when something catches the attention of those big, pretty blue eyes. it didn’t take long for her to become enamored with the sea, wanting nothing more than to get out of your hold and toddle towards the shallows.

“it’s called an ‘ocean’, cupcake,” you correct her, voice full of amusement and affection as you crane your head forward to kiss the soft skin of her chubby cheek, bouncing the toddler in your arms. “too bad we’re being held hostage by dada right now.”

“i heard that,” satoru mumbles with a pout, his third melon popsicle of the day hanging from one side of his mouth. droplets of green slush drips onto the broad planes of his chest in a sticky mess as it melts but he’s wholly focused on the two of you, one summer blue eye winked closed as the other peers through the lens of the polaroid camera looped around his neck. “but wait, just one more photo of my two favorite girls!”

“you’ve been taking photos for the last twenty minutes, satoru,” you huff. “we aren’t going anywhere, you know. you don’t have to take so many.”

“our baby needs to see what the three of us looked like in our prime, before we grow old and gray together.”

“you’re so ridiculous, gojo satoru.”

but despite your exasperation, you remain put. it’s hard not to feel the same way he does on a perfect day like this— contentment, light in the heart and full of love because of this little trip. the camera focuses in on you and your daughter before the shutter clicks, each snap immortalizing the sight of you and your baby girl illuminated by the lazy autumn sun.

“and done!” he cheers, catching the polaroid in his palm as it slides from the slot. it wobbles between two of his fingers as it develops, but he can already see that it’s a perfect picture. he feels his heart sink in his chest, melting into a syrupy sweet puddle of happiness that makes him lightheaded and anxious.

oh, you’ve never looked as pretty as you do right now. like a dream, a forever kind of love he never plans to let go of. wearing that cute little swimsuit he likes so much with his sunnies perched on top of your head and his baby propped up on your supple hip. the two of you are beaming, cheeks squished together, your daughter’s hand cupping your face fondly.

it’s the kind of picture that others would coo at and fawn over if he framed it in a museum, but satoru retrieves his wallet from the pocket of his swim trunks, tucking the polaroid safely in the trifold for his own selfish keeping.

“i think she really likes the beach,” you tell him, squatting to set your daughter on her feet. she waves to you and satoru before waddling toward the shallow surf, her little legs stumbling in the thick body of sand. “this was good of you, satoru.”

“what? you think i’d miss the opportunity to spend time with my best girls?” he asks you, a hand on his chest with an affronted look on his face. you resist the urge to snort as the two of you follow closely behind your stumbling toddler, rushing towards her every time she gets distracted and attempts to eat the sand or chase one of the seagulls.

“you’ve been busy lately, that’s all,” is how you respond, the accusation washed out of your tone for the gentle words instead. you don’t bring up how many milestones, how many little memories he’s already missed, just by being who he is— that no matter what, he’ll always belong to his duty first and his family second. no, you’ve always shown patience and understanding. never complaining when his side of the bed is empty before morning or your girl requests for her father to read a bedtime story in that animated, comical way you can never replicate for her. making her settle for your offkey, wobbly lullabies instead.

“i know,” he says quietly, suddenly serious— keeping one eye on your baby girl who is currently splashing her hands around in the sand and water. “one of my first year’s a vessel so the curses are getting more pesky. i don’t think that’s a coincidence.”

“you think something’s about to happen?” you ask, looking up at him, but he presses a kiss to your temple and you wrinkle your nose at the sticky feeling of his lips.

“nah,” he replies, and you almost roll your eyes because you know he’s lying. even though satoru has done his best to keep you hidden from his world, you’re no fool. you already know why he rarely comes home at night, why he was absent for christmas last year, why your daughter has never met her paternal grandparents. you know that with the reappearance of several ancient cursed objects, there is thunder crackling among the clouds. “don’t worry your pretty little head about that.”

satoru turns up the volume on the waterproof boombox half-buried in the sand next to your belongings. he can’t stand your choice of music, finds it noise most of the time, but it’s the distraction the atmosphere needs to throw off your questioning. he pulls you to sit down between his legs, your back pressed against his chest and his arms wrapped around your body.

ocean foam splashes against the tips of your toes as the two of you sit at the surf of the tide in peaceful silence, time getting away from you both in the warm sun as your baby girl plays, her energy endless— waddling around and squealing at the different curiosities and wonders the beach has to offer.

whatever will happen, satoru won’t allow it to be today.

“satoru,” you call after a long quiet, craning your neck to look up at him. “if you—”

“what, you think i’m gonna croak sometime soon?” he shoots back, already knowing where the conversation is heading. so he holds you tighter, his strong arms a protective cage around your body as his shades slide down the attractive slope of his nose. he cracks a grin at you, another obvious deflection because he knows you can’t resist when he looks at you that way. not with his hair mussed from humidity, a strip of sunscreen on his nose as he chews on that damn wooden stick from his ice pop earlier.

“i know what you’re doing,” you shake your head. “and it’s not working. i’m just worried, i’m allowed to, as your wife. you think you’re invincible but if something happens to you that’ll… it’ll—” it will break us.

satoru’s smile fades, but he thankfully doesn’t need to reply because your daughter is waddling up to the both of you now, her sand-caked hands full of seashells and stones that glimmer in the sunlight. he wants to scoff because if anyone understands the consequences of failing those you love, it’s him— it’s all he’s ever known.

“what ya got there, princess?”

“fish—!” she cries in her sweet, babyish voice. some of the shells tumble from her hands, and you watch as her expression switches from happiness to dismay to finally confusion. you have to bite your lip to hold back laughter when instead of picking them back up, she dumps the rest of the seashells in your lap. “now i don’t have any fish.”

“i think those are seashells, princess,” gojo says with a grin, picking up a shell that rests on top of your thigh and holding it up to the sunlight. “this shell looks like it belongs to a hermit crab, like your megumi-nii.”

“you’re a terrible influence on our daughter, you know.”

“i’m just setting up future dynamics, angel face,” he grins.

“look look look!” your daughter gasps, bringing your attentions back to her. “this swee-shell looks like dada—!” she squeals excitedly, her new finding held delicately in her little sand-covered palm. she stands up on your thighs to reach her father sitting behind you, holding an iridescent blue seashell next to gojo’s eyes, her tiny mind comparing the colors in wonder. meanwhile, satoru wears a smile that burns so wide it hurts his cheeks.

“it looks like you too, princess,” he boops her nose, gently taking the seashell and holding it to her eyes next. her answering giggles sound like a sweet bell calling him home to heaven, but he can’t answer it because there are two people on this earth who laugh and smile at him like he hung the moon and painted the stars. “if you put it in your pocket now, the ocean won’t call the cops on you for stealing it.”

“no, this one ‘s for dada,” she insists, shoving the pretty blue seashell back into his hand.

“thank you, my mini angel,” he ruffles her hair, and you smile softly at the little exchange because though she may be enamored with her new discoveries at the beach, her father will always be one of her favorite wonders of the world.

“i ‘anna go find one for mama now!” she announces, and you wonder how she hasn’t run out of energy yet, but you nod and stand to your feet, dusting the sand away from the bottom of your swimsuit. your baby’s entire hand curls around your pointer finger, and she pulls you along with great effort.

you glance back at satoru and find that he’s watching the two of you head closer to the water, that uncharacteristically genuine smile still on his face, and you part your lips to call him to your side— where he’s always supposed to be.

“you didn’t think we’d let you slack off, did you? finding seashells is serious business, satoru!” you tease, pretty eyes crinkling with unbridled happiness, haloed by the waning sun and the orange dreamsicle sky that holds it. “hurry up!”

“wait for me just a little while, i’m coming to you,” he calls back, a lopsided grin spreading across his mouth before he raises the polaroid camera to his face, snapping one last candid photo of the two of you before he jogs towards his little piece of heaven.

but he doesn’t think he’s imagining things when the distance between heaven and earth keeps growing further and further apart—

“satoru, you can’t stand outside forever,” your voice is gentle as it speaks behind him, your hand laid delicately on his back in comfort; breaking the sorcerer out of deep reverie, the edges of the old memory fading, replaced by the pink paint of his daughter’s bedroom door that he’s been standing in front of for the last thirty minutes. his thumb brushes over the polaroid in his hand, the one that had been his salvation and his undoing in the prison realm. he’d taken it out without knowing, his eyes reading over the date written in his handwriting.

october 30, 2018

the picture of you with your daughter on your hip that he took at the beach all those years ago— that had been the last time he’d seen her.

four, no, five years?

his feet are nailed to the floor because change makes satoru shut down, and everything has changed since then.

while time was immeasurable and immovable inside of the prison realm for him, the clock had ticked on outside of it and just like that, his little girl is no longer three years old, giving him seashells that matches his eyes or hitting the back of his ankles with her big wheel or—

“you can’t keep doing this to yourself,” you sigh. “you’ve been unsealed for months. you’re her father, no matter what.”

“i’m a stranger to her,” and to you, but he doesn’t say it. you had waited for him, in every aspect of the word. held out on hope and faith in his strength that he would return to your side, where he’s always supposed to be.

“you’re n—” but you’re cut off when the door opens to reveal your daughter standing on the other side. the child standing before him is almost unrecognizable. she’s much taller and older, wearing track pants underneath her school dress with ribbons in unruly waves of white hair. the last time he’d seen his daughter, she had been three years old and still learning things like colors and sight words and that feeding megumi’s demon dogs her vegetable purée was against the rules. now, gojo satoru was the father of an eight year old and he’d missed everything because of a mista—

“you can come in,” she says, blinking up at satoru with an expression void of emotion. “but i’m not finished with my homework so if you stay too long, you’ll bug me.”

“how did you know i was outside?” he whistles nonchalantly, unbothered by the attitude that she gives him. it fills him with bitter satisfaction that she isn’t excited to see him, that someone is angry that he failed, regardless if he won in the end. he can handle bratty children who hate him and only look at him as a tool for their success, he can’t handle a daughter who cried herself to sleep every night waiting for him while he was losing his sanity away in a cube.

or at least, that’s what he tells himself.

“i could see you and mama through the door, duh,” she replies, hip cocked to the side in an amount of sass she had to pick up from you. “mama says i have your eyesight. i don’t really get it, but it makes it easy to cheat on tests.”

he could see it in the bright blue of her eyes, even if she hadn’t confirmed it. plain as daylight, she’s exactly like he was at that age. easily irritable and bratty, cocky and spoiled rotten. suffering from the weight of being an uncontested heir to an ancient dynasty at the age of elementary.

“i used six eyes to cheat on tests too,” he relates with pride, and then he bends down to her height, waving his palm. “sooo you probably got some questions about where i was—”

“not really. grandfather said you were sealed because you’re foolish and let weakness distract you.”

“you shouldn’t say things like that,” you scold, “apologize.”

“why? i don’t want to.”

your daughter turns, disappearing back into her room after that and seeming like she doesn’t care if satoru follows or not. your hand travels up the long expanse of satoru’s back in a soothing circle as you step closer.

“huh, that’s new.”

“sorry, she’s… i don’t know if acting out is the right term,” you say, pain in your voice. “she doesn’t really understand why she’s so different, or why you were … gone for so long. i know you didn’t want her around your family so i kept her away as best i could, but she started to have crippling migraines because she didn’t know how to use her ability and well… they were the only ones who knew how to help. filled her head with foolishness every time she visited the estate, though and it’s changed her.”

“huh,” is all he says, a broken record, tongue running across his inner lip in thought.

“do you need me?”

“what, you think i can’t handle her?”

“well, you were outside the door for a half hour, ‘toru.”

he shoots you a lopsided grin before he’s stepping into his daughter’s bedroom, glancing around at the unfamiliarity of it all. you follow close behind, watching with a heavy heart as he takes in the difference eight years can make.

her tiny baby crib has been traded for a poster bed decorated with a sanrio duvet and various stuffed animals where a laptop and study papers lay scattered on top. the angel themed decorations, along with her first ultrasound photo you and satoru had hung up in her nursery had been replaced by pink paint and pictures of her with a group of friends from school and a photo of her on a volleyball team.

he has to rip his gaze away.

“so,” he starts, standing in the center of the room and trying not to feel like an intruder, desperate for something to say— something to relate to her with. “how many episodes did i miss? did aya-chan ever get married?”

“i’m too old to play with dolls now, father,” she huffs, scrunching up her nose, and though satoru expected that exact answer, it doesn’t stop his heart from shattering into a million pieces. he feels that familiar itch, anger welling in his body until it burns at his fingertips because this is no one’s fault but his own. “don’t you know anything about me?”

“my bad, you’re a big kid now,” he snorts, even as his chest aches. he sits on the edge of her bed, flipping up one edge of the coloring book laying next to her laptop. “maybe you should start paying taxes.”

“i’m also too young to pay taxes. you really don’t know anything about me anymore,” she snaps, and she’s right— he doesn’t and it burns like saltwater on a wound. now he knows why you asked if he needed you; he’d hide behind you if he could, but he settles for flickering his eyes up to you helplessly.

you realize that neither of you can be upset with her for being angry that one of her favorite people vanished out of thin air. that while he was sealed, his clan had taken advantage of his absence and your powerlessness against them, and had begun spoiling your child rotten, teaching her how to use her ability— plumping her up for the inevitable day that she becomes her father’s successor, turning her against him.

“i think,” you say softly, leaning against the frame of the door. “that your dada— your father— would like to learn, though. he’s missed a lot, baby.”

she considers this for a long while, then she heaves a great sigh, hackles lowering. she scoots off the bed and before satoru can feel the hurt of figuring she doesn’t want to be near him, she does something unexpected. she moves one of her trophies out of the way to open her closet door, rummaging around for the longest before she yanks out a cardboard box you had labeled ‘donate one day since my snotty kid is a hag now’— it’s a box full of old dolls, covered in dust. she sits on her knees in front of the box, peering inside.

“aya-chan didn’t get married, but hinata-chan did,” she explains with an exasperated sigh and a roll of her eyes, taking out the dolls one by one and setting them on the floor in front of satoru’s feet.

“to the mailman that lived in your ugliest dollhouse?”

“you remember,” her eyes widen a little in surprise before her expression shutters again, smoothing out the doll’s colorful polyester dress before reaching back into the box and retrieving a brush covered in synthetic hairs. she looks at it for a while before extending her arm and offering the brush to her father. “aya-chan decided to be independent and explore the world. she’s planning to go on a trip soon so she needs to get ready. do y’wanna brush her hair?”

satoru is sliding off the bed and sitting cross-legged on the floor before he knows it, barely wanting to breathe because he doesn’t want to shatter the fragility of the moment between them. he takes the brush, and seconds later she hands him one of the dolls that had once upon a time been her favorite one that no one was allowed to touch. you would giggle at the delicate way he brushes the doll’s hair with utmost care and precision if you weren’t about to cry at the scene instead. “oh, and where’s she headed?”

“okinawa.”

“ponytail or messy bun then?” you don’t think you’re imagining the wobble in his voice. “to compliment her swimsuit.”

a tiny, hopeful smile twinkles over your lips at the two of them on the floor, babbling away to each other about the outlandish stories they’ve created together with her dolls. how many times had you offered to play with her, only for her to burst into tears because it wasn’t the same? you know that this won’t bridge the gap between the years that have been lost, but it’s a start. just hearing the soft murmurs of their conversation, the sound of your little girl giggling for the first time in ages, makes your heart swell.

time may be an undefeated opponent, and with it comes change that no one can control, but something tells you that as long as the three of you are together— everything will be okay.

you tiptoe out of the room, because they need time to catch up and apologize and reconnect, to learn one another once more, but before you close the door, you don’t think you’re mistaken when you hear, “can we go back to the beach too, dada?”

#little novels.#jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk fluff #jjk angst #gojo fluff #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #gojo angst

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donatellawritings · 1 month

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would u ever write stepbro! rafe?? love u

i love you too!

it was safe to say that your relationship with your stepbrother had way exceeded the confines of being appropriate. sure, you guys didn’t adhere to the cliche norm of being mortal enemies, or purposely being disrespectful for the sake of being rebellious — you two loved each other, perhaps a little too much. rafe knew how sick it would be to the naked eye — the older stepbrother preying on his pretty little stepbrother, but it was far more than that, much to his own disdain. you were sixteen when you were first introduced, doe eyed and welcoming to him and his family, but now you were nineteen — a bit older, and far too wise for his liking, you knew what you wanted and that’s what made things even more complicated for the two of you and you precarious little situation.

the routine cheek kisses that you’d give to your blended family when you’d come down for breakfast, dressed in one of his old college t-shirts, and skimpy panties that were hopelessly swallowed by the plush of your ass, they lingered just a little bit longer when you reached rafe. your plump lips were warm and pillowy against his cheek, and he’d simply smile at you, “mornin’ sweetheart,” he’d mumble, not missing the way you’d pathetically blush as you pulled away from him, before swiping a ripe piece of cubed melon from his plate.

and both of your parents would simply sit and watch, completely oblivious, as they were just relieved that rafe had finally gotten along with someone.

however, others on the divided island were much more privy to just how close rafe cameron and his doting stepsister were. when it came to outings and drug-ridden parties, rafe was far from inconspicuous with the fact that you were his. if his bloodshot bright blues weren’t honed in on your every move, he’d have you perched on his lap, a dopey grin on his face as you smiled lazily at him, your gums numb from the fine white powder he’d smeared on them a few minutes prior, “how y’feelin’ baby, y’okay?” he’d ask, pressing his chapped lips to your temple as you let out a content sigh, laying back to rest your head against his firm chest.

“m’okay, rafey,” you’d hum, your delicate acrylic-nailed fingers coyly fiddling with his longer and ringed digits.

to make the waters just a bit murkier, rafe had been the man to rid you of your purity — and you wouldn’t have it any other way. i mean, he knew you, he knew what made you tick, he knew just the right spots to get you to come undone.

“fuck, keep your eyes on me, mama — know it hurts baby, just look at me,” he cooed, his sweat-slicked forehead resting atop of yours as you nodded, your pouty lips parted slightly as the entirety of his hard cock filled you to the hilt, a pained whimper leaving your throat as rafe’s fingers laced through yours, his heavy hand pressing yours into the lush mattress.

a soft cry left your lips as rafe kissed you, the kiss hungry, yet gentle as he swallowed your sweet sounds. with his free hand, rafe lifted your leg to hook around his waist, “s’too much — hurts,” you moaned, your dolly eyes welled with threatening tears as rafe lifted his head, validating your concerns with a slight nod.

maintaining his slow and deep rolls of his flexed hips, rafe licks over his dry lips — it took everything in him not to fuck you deep and hard into the mattress, he couldn’t hurt you, “i know baby, shit — y’feel so fuckin’ good, fuck!” he grits out, his stringy curtain bangs falling over his eyes as he greedily watches your sopping wet pussy swallow him in, his spit-coated lips parted with a drunken gaze.

once ward was out of the picture, and rafe had taken it upon himself to take over the duties that came with being the main man of the cameron household, he became a bit more forward with your relationship. your mother had become far removed, due to her ongoing affair with her tennis coach — which made things just a bit sweeter for rafe. he decided to buy you a diamond-encrusted ring with his birthstone on full display, a symbol of his undying affection for you. and you wore it with pride, the two of you parading around a vacant tannyhill, engrossed in smiley and sloppy kisses, kisses that turned into feverish fucking against any nearby wall or solid surface.

“m’gonna marry you, princess,” rafe exhaled sharply, pressing his lips to your forehead, before returning his lips to yours, a wet smack coming from your conjoined lips, “ward’s not comin’ back — y’mom is busy with her new boyfriend — y’mine for the taking, baby,” rafe spoke between wet kisses, his voice low and breathy as you gazed up at him with hopeful eyes, batting your curled lashes at his every word. god, you were a hopeless romantic, it was easy for you to get caught up in your romance-ridden dreams.

“i’m yours, rafe,” you decided, and you didn’t care who knew it.

#divider: im4yeons #asks #anon #obx #rafe cameron #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron prompt #rafe cameron x reader #obx imagine #rafe cameron smut #stepsister!reader

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luveline · 8 months

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JADEEE I'M THE ONE WHO REQUESTED SPENCER X BADASS READER (the one where they read a book together). I LOVE IT😭😭 may I share some request again? maybe it is a day off and one of the bau member saw reader and spencer spend their day off together like a couple?? maybe they bump into them at the alley of supermarket because reader and spencer is going to cook dinner together???

thank you for requesting gorgeous!! ♡ fem!reader

Derek supposes he shouldn't be shocked. He knows you and Spencer are making a go of going steady, knows you see each other outside of work, even knows you're sleeping at one another's places between cases (Here, you forgot your badge last night, Spence).

It's hard to align his view of you with what he's seeing, is all. You're not spiteful, only stoic. Never cruel, but stern. And there you are on your knees by the cantaloupes tying Spencer's shoelace, mumbling something too quiet to hear.

"Do you like honeydew?" Spencer asks, thumbing along your forehead gently.

Derek's proud of him through the boggled haze. He always knew Spencer was a kind, loving man, and seeing him display that through small gestures has a brotherly pride swelling in his chest.

You tap Spencer's ankle and climb to your feet. You keep some of your usual attitude even with Spencer, refusing his helping hand. "I like it if you like it."

"That's not an answer." Spencer points to the dropping shelf of watermelon, their green stripes like shining emeralds, freshly misted. "We need one of these."

"We don't need one. You just liked when I cut them up for us."

"Yeah, I did. In Egypt they serve sliced watermelon with feta cheese."

"Yeah?" you ask, reaching for a melon. You turn it around to examine the bottom, looking for a yellowed spot where the watermelon would've laid in the field. "That's a choice. Doesn't sound as nice as our chocolate fondue."

"The first ever record of watermelons were in Egypt, so they'd know best."

You smile at him with lips pressed together, your eyes soft with fondness. All the women in Derek's life are beauties, but he thinks love has made you prettier still. He isn't surprised when Spencer reaches out and strokes the back of your hand.

"Hey, lovebirds," Derek croons.

Your shoulders don't stiffen, exactly, but you lose the relaxed droop you'd acquired as you and Spencer both turn to face him.

"Hey," Spencer says, "what are you doing here? I thought this place was too 'hokey-pokey' for you?"

"Hey, their coupons never work. What are you guys up to? Plans tonight?"

You withhold the typical None of your business, confessing, "Spencer and I are making breakfast for dinner."

You have your secrets, but you don't hide Reid. It's why Derek doesn't mind the occasional snap or frosty smile; your coldness is a shield rather than a weapon.

"And you guys eat watermelon and…" He peers into your shopping cart, miscellaneous items scattered throughout. "Massage oil?"

You glare at him. "Don't get any ideas. It's for his knee."

Derek smirks. "Breakfast of champions."

"We only just got here," Spencer explains your empty kart.

"Yeah, well if what I just saw is the norm, we can expect you'll both be home sometime tomorrow morning. He'll talk your ear off if you let him, you know?" Derek asks you.

Your glare softens. Derek might even say you're smiling at him. "I'd let him," you say.

"He's a lucky guy," Derek says. He gives Spencer a clap on the shoulder. "I'll see you kids Monday."

"See you, Morgan," Spencer says.

Derek walks away, basket in hand and determined to grab a carton of eggs and get out of here, but he slows when he hears Spencer talking again.

"Why do you act like you don't like him?"

You're too quiet for the untrained ear. Thankfully, Derek's highly trained. "I don't. Derek knows I like him. I just didn't want there to be any confusion."

"Confusion about what?"

"About who I want." You say it simply. Derek can imagine the steam funnelling out of poor Spencer's ears. "You can be easily deterred, Spence. I wanted you to know I liked you."

"I know now. You and Morgan would get along really well if you let him talk to you, you both care about–"

"You?" you ask. "Let's go look for that weird miniature toast you wanted, or we really will be here all night."

"It's not miniature toast, it's melba toast, and it's actually a kind of rusk–" His babbling fades out of range. Derek snorts and grabs a small carton of eggs. He knew you liked him.

Not as much as you like Spencer, that's for sure.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader

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inkdrinkerworld · 2 months

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Love the idea of calling dick ‘bluebird’ in front of his family when you want to see him get flustered <33

Omg omg omg!!!!

You’d had a fight before you’d went to Wayne Manor to see his brothers.

Not a big one, but one enough to the point where he was still lingering in upset even though you’d both forgiven each other.

“Leave it,” his voice is gruff as you move to open your door and you smile- at least he’s talking to you now and not simmering.

“Will you please stop being mad?” You mumble, slotting your fingers between his as you walk to the door. Dick sighs, kissing your forehead.

“I’m not mad, baby.” Except he only calls you baby when he wants to be extra sweet and he’s trying to make up for something.

You just hum, letting him open the door and lead you to the living room where all his brothers are sat.

“Oh trouble in paradise?” Damien asks when you sit beside him and Dick opts for the seat closer to Jason.

Usually you’d be cuddled up right next to each other, being as Damien would phrase it, ‘disgusting and couple-y’ in front of them.

“No,” you say quietly, allowing your mind to run wild a little as you sit beside Damien.

“For what it’s worth, he probably just doesn’t know how to move forward from it as easy as you do.”

You love all of his brothers, but you and Damien had always been the closest so you nod, taking his words for what they are- a comfort.

“Neither do I. But I don’t like fighting.” Damien shrugs and passes you the control for the tv, something that rarely happens because you like watching films in languages none of them can understand.

The first hour of the movie passes smoothly, all of you just waiting for brunch to start and when Alfred calls to you all you perk up.

You’d been plotting how to get Dick to let the argument go all the while half heartedly listening to the Swedish movie playing.

With a plan in mind, you wait for him to put his hand out to you and let him help you up.

“What do you want, sweetheart?” That melts you a little, a familiar name and his soft tone.

“Anything but the strawberries, please baby.” Dick pauses, cheeks flushed a deep red- especially when Jason snickers.

You grin a little at how flustered he gets and Damien only shakes his head. Dick sets about making your fruit bowl for you, skipping on the strawberries.

You kiss his wrist as he sets the bowl down, “Thanks, bluebird.” It’s a little evil, the kiss and the nickname, but you just want him to smile with you again.

Dick sits beside you the same flush as a beetroot and it amuses his brothers. Enough so that Damien fake gags and repeats ‘bluebird’ in a sing-songy voice and Jason mocks a make out.

“I’m trying to be cross with you,” he mutters- affection seeping into each word and you smile.

“And I don’t want you to be, kiss?” He tries to remain stoic and stony but a smile takes over his face when you pucker your lips.

“You’re insufferable.” He presses three kisses against your lips and then starts dishing his own plate.

“You suffer me pretty well, Grayson.” You chew on a cube of melon.

He cuts you a mock glare, “Oh now I’m, ‘Grayson’?”

Jason nods then, chewing on his own fruit, “I thought he was ‘bluebird’?”

Damien can’t resist, “Or even ‘baby’?”

Dick laughs when you glare at both of them, and kisses your temple. “Whatever. Pass me a scone, love?” You say sweetly and he laughs even more.

“That’s better, gorgeous.” Dick passes it to you after he’s cut it open and set some butter and jam in it.

#dickgrayson #dick grayson #dick grayson one shot #dick grayson imagine #dick grayson drabble #dick grayson fanfiction #dick grayson fluff #dick grayson fic #dick grayson blurb #dick grayson x black reader #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson x you #dick grayson x yn #dick grayson x gender neutral reader #dick grayson x y/n #dick grayson x female!reader

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sapphicandafraid · 1 year

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In another life, I'll find you before your life takes shape

The One That Got Away (ft. B.o.B) - Katy Perry // Another Life - The Killers // Everything Everywhere All At Once // En Esta Vida No Se Pudo - Luis Antonio Lopez // Promise You’ll Find Me Again In Another Life - Ellen Nguyen // We’ll Meet Again - Vera Lynn // Rylee’s breakup letter to Sedona // Sign of The Times - Harry Styles // All Things End - Hozier

#web weaving #everything everywhere all at once #harry styles #mitski #taylor swift #Hozier #Katy perry #gravity falls #phoebe bridgers #girlboss #sad girl #in another life #melon mumbles #this is MY Summer of Like™

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foxtrot-rep · 2 years

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not gentle reminder, harsh reminder actually. unfollow and block me if ur prolife <3 i do not support taking away peoples rights. a person will always have more value than a fetus idc

#melon mumbles

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crimsonblackrose · 2 years

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Not me actually crying on my lunch break over the series finale of a cartoon. 😂

#mumblings #I have so many feelings over this one #and honestly I'm not ready for the other one to end either #I also get why they did it the way they did but every series that does the person goes to another world and gets stuck there trope #and then goes home but can never ever go back breaks my heart a thousand times over #cries into my lunch #lol apparently I have a tag that just came up from that about crying into melon bread where did that one come from?

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jupitercomet · 1 year

Text

Teddy

summary - All the people he cares about call him by a nickname, so he doesn’t know how to feel about the fact that you won’t. Especially because it’s so obvious that you have one.

It takes a night out celebrating your friend’s graduation, lots of alcohol, and Bradley’s eyes looking into yours as he gently takes your makeup off for you to finally reveal your nickname to him.

How Bradley got his name.

warnings - age gap relationship (Bradley is 38, reader is 25), language, mentions of drinking, brief mention of painkillers

word count - 1.4k

I’m back at it again with the Bradley = bear agenda (and my emotional support stuffed animal agenda) - bugs

i ain’t worried ‘bout it

As strange as it sounded at his age of 38, Bradley was used to people calling him by a nickname. Mainly it’s “Rooster”, a callsign he took a sense of pride in because it was his and he earned it. Sometimes it’s “Brad” or “Brad Brad”, that was usually when Natasha or Jake felt like teasing him—somewhat endearingly Mickey calls him “Brad Brad” entirely unironically and Bradley doesn’t have the heart to tell him it’s a stupid nickname. But really, it was “Rooster”.

And he didn’t realize how much he’d grown used to being called “Rooster” until the day you flat out refused.

“There’s no way I’m calling you that,” you almost laugh, popping a grape into your mouth as you and Bradley both sit over a fruit cup, a muffin, and two coffees in a Starbucks.

Bradley furrows his brows. “Why not?”

“Why not— That’s like if I called you ‘Cock’,” you scoff through a pineapple chunk. “You want me to call you ‘Cock’?”

“I would prefer it if you didn’t, thank you.”

You swallow. “I rest my case. I’ll call you ‘Chicken’ maybe—but only if I’m making fun of you.”

“Well, that’s good to know,” Bradley reaches for a chunk of honeydew. He knows by now to eat it, you hate melon. “But seriously, what’s wrong with ‘Rooster’?”

“There’s nothing wrong with it, but I’m not a pilot or your coworker. It’s not my nickname,” you shrug. In the middle of a Starbucks, Bradley finally wonders if he’d even want you to call him “Rooster”. Maybe he was just so used to people calling him something, that he never really thought about why they call him it in the first place.

“That… makes sense.”

“I know it does, Chicken.”

So you didn’t call him “Rooster”. Bradley doesn’t think you’ve ever called him “Rooster”, but there are times—really only when your defenses are down—that it seems like you want to call him something else. You mumble it sleepily, or when you’re distracted, in a voice that’s too quiet for Bradley to pick up.

He doesn’t understand why you don’t just say it. Bradley calls you a plethora of nicknames from “princess” to “pretty girl”, but mainly “honey” because he remembers that’s what his parents called each other. Maybe he’s sentimental, but he likes to think the two of you have a “honey” kind of love. You’ve called him “babe” a couple times—unfortunately, “Chicken” also stuck—but for whatever reason you don’t really call him by nicknames.

And Bradley doesn’t know why it bothers him so much, but it does. Because all the people he cares about call him by a nickname, so he doesn’t know how to feel about the fact that you won’t. Especially because it’s so obvious that you have one.

“You look just like him,” you’re smiling dopily as Bradley wipes at your cheeks with a cloth.

Bradley hums offhandedly. “Look like who, honey?”

“You—” Bradley’s actions are stopped when your hands cup his cheeks and squish them together. “You have his eyes. That was the first thing I thought when I saw you. That you have his eyes.”

“What do you mean, honey?” Bradley words come out muffled through his squished lips and you continue to ramble on about some mysterious “him” that Bradley looks like.

“You remind me of him too, so much,” you nod along to yourself, ignoring Bradley’s furrowed brows. “Like when we sleep. Just like him.”

Bradley really tried not to jump to conclusions, but when he tucks you into bed and you let out a sleepy “I love you, Teddy” it feels like there was no other conclusion to jump to. Because how else could he interpret the way you told him that he reminds you of another man while also calling him another man’s name when you said you loved him?

He went to sleep filled with dread about the next morning and woke up with that lingering pit in his stomach as you let out a low groan next to him. The small smile you give him in response to the water and painkillers he left for you the night before did nothing to calm his nerves either and he swallows thickly.

“Hey, can we… talk?”

You gulp down the last of the water, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “I mean, I feel like shit right now, but sure.”

Bradley can’t even bring himself to laugh, shooting you a weak smile before clearing his throat. “Um, last night, you, uh, said some things. You— You told me that I look like some guy and that I remind you of him and… and you called me ‘Teddy’.” Bradley watches as your expression morphs into one of sheer mortification. “If I’m like a rebound or something, that’s fine—I mean, it’s not fine. It’s actually really not fine—but I’d rather you just tell me now.”

When Bradley finishes, you’re covering your face with your hands to muffle a loud groan. “This is so fucking embarrassing.”

“Listen, I’m really trying to understand—”

“I was talking about a stuffed animal, Bradley.” Your words cause Bradley’s mouth to snap shut and, though you clearly look flustered, you’re finally able to look him in the eye. “You remind me of my teddy bear.”

Bradley blinks. “I— What?”

“I have this—God, this is so embarrassing—I have this teddy bear that I’ve had since I was a little kid and I can’t sleep without it. And the first time I spent the night here, I was super nervous because I didn’t bring him because who brings a teddy bear to a date? So I was worried I wouldn’t be able to sleep, but then we were cuddling and I actually slept really well. And you kinda look like him—I mean your eyes do—so… I was talking about a teddy bear,” you finish with a wince. As you had been rambling, your hands had crept farther back up your face until you were hiding behind your fingers again.

“I remind you of your teddy bear?” Bradley checks and you nod bashfully. “And that’s why you called me ‘Teddy’? Not because you’re in love with another guy?” You shake your head, squirming under his gaze as he just stares at you.

“You’re so fucking cute.” Suddenly, Bradley lunges forward, essentially tackling you to the bed as he kisses you with bruising lips. He swallows your squeak of surprise, his hands slipping under the worn shirt of his he put on you the night before.

His fingers brush against your sides and you wriggle with a laugh. “Bradley, that tickles!”

“That’s not my name, honey,” Bradley’s lips have moved to cover your face in kisses and he gently nips your cheek. “I’m not stoppin’ until you say my name.”

Bradley’s tickling intensifies—now that it’s on purpose—and you light up with giggles. “Okay, okay, I’ll— Please, Teddy!”

Bradley grins widely, relaxing his fingers against your sides as you catch your breath. He kisses you again, but it’s more gentle this time, humming in content when your fingers weave through his hair. When he pulls away, he can’t help but grin again, and he flops onto the mattress next to you.

“You should bring him next time you spend the night.”

“Pooh Bear?” You turn to look at Bradley before clarifying, “That’s his name. He doesn’t look anything like Winnie the Pooh, I was just obsessed with the movies as a kid.”

Bradley smiles at your explanation, his large hand brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Then, yeah, bring Pooh Bear next time.”

“Why?”

“Well, I’m takin’ over his job of taking care of you. He’d probably feel better if he met me and knew that he had nothing to worry about.” Bradley’s hand travels down to your hip and he plays with the hem of your shirt that’s ridden up.

A smile slowly grows on your face.

“—Or, if he’s so jealous that I have to fight him, I wanna see what I’m up against. Ya know, size him up before I make him eat his own stuffing.”

I don’t have a taglist but feel free to follow my library @jupitercometgold if you want to be notified when I post

#bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw imagines #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw fluff #rooster imagine #rooster imagines #rooster x reader #rooster fluff #top gun maverick imagines #x reader #i ain't worried 'bout it #buggy's got a pen

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granddaughterogg · 1 month

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König fluff. Also, mentions of gore. But you know, it's par the course with him.

As if an angel pissed on your head. That's how your kindness and affection feels to König. Unbelievable stroke of unearned luck.

König is the type of guy who will break enemies' backs on his knee like they're made of matchsticks.

Yet when the squad returns to the base and he sees you, his Absolutely Non-Obvious Crush, lounging around the helipad, smiling and waving at the boys - he gets all Nervous under that filthy sniper hood.

"Yo, you won't believe what the big guy did today!" cries out one of your teammates, patting the giant on the back. Lower part of said back, more like it. There isn't anyone on base who could actually reach the top part without standing on their toes.

"He went through five of them in a row, no knife, no nothing, just his bare hands - "

You meet König's tired grey eyes. In passing, because then he looks away, his hidden face suddenly burning.

"It was nothing special..." He mumbles, thick accent lending its jaggedness to his unsure words.

"Nothing special?! He took one of them by the head, smacked it on the concrete and it burst like a melon! Blood was everywhere!!!" That other guy gushes in the background. König winces.

"Hey, I'm sure you did great", you say gently, undeterred by being presented with this mouthwatering visual. "You hungry? Come on, judging by the smells around the cantine, they actually cooked something good for us tonight."

"...Ja, I'm starving."

He wants to say so much more. That he's happy to survive another day of this senseless carnage. To return to this base, which is the only kind of home he's ever known. To return to you.

You know who he is - or rather, what he is - and yet you still wait for him on the tarmac every time. You still greet him like he actually did something worth praising.

His late father used to have a saying: "As if an angel pissed on your head." That's how your kindness and affection feels to König. Unbelievable stroke of unearned luck.

If he knew how to pray, he'd be on his knees every night, thanking powers that be for this miracle.

#konig cod #konig x reader #konig call of duty #konig mw2 #konig/you #könig x reader #könig cod #könig mw2 #könig call of duty #König fluff #könig #könig x y/n #könig x you #fluffy König #shy König #love me this teutonic skyscraper of a man

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neonghostlights · 7 months

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I had this cute idea i was hoping maybe you’d be interested in writing it. Eddie and reader in an established relationship and they get into a small heated argument and reader is giving him the cold shoulder/ silent treatment. So as an apology Eddie cuts up some fruit and gives it to reader just cute and fluffy

Aw! This is so cute! Thank you so much for your request and sorry it took so long! 🍉

Warnings: arguing, cussing, eating/food, 18+ only for my writing

Wordcount: 600

Sweet

It started over something so trivial and dumb.

You had collapsed on the couch after a day of work, happy to watch the show you had been waiting to catch up on all day. You had triple checked that you had recorded it before you left for work that morning.

You had propped your feet up when you thought that maybe you should grab a drink and run to the bathroom before it started.

No big deal. Right?

Well, after you did your business and also grabbed the drink you wanted and some snacks, you pranced back to the couch to find Eddie lounging in your spot.

It was fine. Annoying. But fine.

You pulled your fluffy blanket and pillow out from under his butt and went to sit beside him but when you finally got comfortable you realized he had changed the channel.

You asked him kindly first to change it from some car show he was watching. He huffed and puffed about doing it, saying he had looked forward all day to relaxing and watching tv too.

When you finally asked him enough times he flipped through the recorded programs, just for dread to sink in when you realized your show wasn’t on there anymore.

You finally broke when he admitted he deleted it to make room for what he wanted to record. He said that he thought you recorded it by mistake since it didn’t seem that interesting.

And that’s when you started yelling.

And he yelled back.

It didn't last long, only a few heated moments before you stomped off to the kitchen in your shared small apartment, telling him to watch whatever he wanted.

And to shove the remote up his ass.

There were dishes to do anyway. You filled the sink with hot and soapy water, getting right into angrily scrubbing when you heard the sound of the show Eddie wanted to watch playing loudly.

You huffed out a breath, imagining the plate you had in your hand was Eddie’s face.

You heard him enter the kitchen behind you and go for the fridge, probably getting snack to go with his show.

You ignored him, refusing to look up with him as he rummaged through the drawers for something. You kept your head down, focusing on the dishes in front of you.

The bubbles up to your bare elbows frustrated you even more.

You didn’t realize what it was when you saw a pale, calloused hand covered with rings slowly move towards your mouth.

You jerked your head back, examining what he held in front of you.

You turned to him and he wiggled the slice of apple in his hand and raised his eye brow.

You didn’t say anything, just silently opened your mouth to allow it to pass your lips. The juice dripped down your chin in a dribble but you couldn’t wipe it up. You just let it fall onto your chest and disappear into your shirt.

You chewed the fruit and swallowed, thinking that was it but a slice of melon was being pressed to your lips too. You bit into the soft flesh and chewed thoughtfully for a moment.

Before you knew it a grape was being pressed to your lips and you couldn’t hold back the laugh.

“Eddie,” you mumbled against the grape.

“Yes, baby?” He said cheerfully, happy that you were talking to him now.

He had spent the moments since you angrily stomped in there regretting your argument and all of the things that led up to it.

“What are you doing?”

“Thought you might have wanted some fruit. Since you’re so sweet,” he said as he held the grape back out for you to grab with your teeth.

You pulled your hands out the dishwater and wiped them with the towel on the counter.

“I’m sorry,” you both blurted out at the same time, talking over each other. Both of you holding back smiles when you realized you were both apologizing.

“No. I’m sorry.”

“No, baby. It’s my fault.”

You wrapped his arms around him, pecking a kiss to his neck, ready to let go of the meaningless arguing.

“How about we go sit and relax together? Sound good?” You asked sweetly.

“I can’t think of anything better.”

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson au #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x you #eddie stranger things #eddie munson series #eddie munson angst #Eddie munson Drabble #Eddie munson blurb #Eddie munson request

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