#Childe would be highly disappointed then | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

noira-l · 5 months ago

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𝙳𝚒𝚜𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝

𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: You were a prodigy, destined for greatness, until one mistake cost you everything- your powers, your legacy, and your father’s pride. Now, powerless and adrift, you wait for your father's decision on your fate, unsure if you’ll face exile, servitude, or something worse. A shadow of who you once were, you push everyone away, drowning in the weight of your own failure. Then there’s Gojo Satoru. Your rival, your tormentor, and the last person you expect to care about your fall. But instead of mockery, his gaze carries something else - something you can’t bring yourself to believe.

𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 — teen!gojo satoru x f!reader

𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜/𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚜 — mdni, heavy angst, hurt/no comfort, prodigy!reader, reader is from clan, rivals with benefits, mention of sexual intercourse, hate sex, depiction of complicated relationship, loss of technique, hurt, mourning (pain, grief, regret), depression, self-doubt, changing body, depiction of loneliness, reader pushes everyone away, jjk clans are shit, family abuse, long term manipulation, smoking, drowning, failed attempt of self-destruction (gojo saves reader), reader goes no contact, reader becomes maiko/geiko later on.

𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝 — 11 k

𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚛'𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎 — this is the longest list of warnings I have ever written, congrats to me (kidding). I don't know if anyone will like it. I know it's dark, very unhealthy and absolutely depressing. It's not good, and I don't recommend anyone to act in the way depicted in this fic. It is possible that I will remove it in the future. If you are struggling with such issues, I would highly encourage you to talk to someone you trust about it. However, I want to thank everyone who chooses to read this.

𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

It really wasn't difficult to avoid.

You could've waited literally two seconds.

You could've let the assistant check the area as he should after the mission.

You could've not searched the area yourself.

You could've notified the assistant that you had found a cursed object, in the shrine debris.

You could've waited for the assistant to come up to check with you.

You could've not approached the cursed object.

You could've not picked it up. You could've been smarter.

Maybe if you were - you would still have your powers.

Your technique had been everything they claimed it to be. Rare, devastating, invaluable. It wasn’t just a skill - it was a mark of distinction, the proof of your place in a centuries-old legacy. The elders whispered of its rarity, marveling at the precision and control with which you teach yourself to wielded it.

They called you a prodigy, the one destined to elevate the clan to greater heights.

The weight of those expectations had always been crushing, but you bore it with a silent, unyielding resolve. You had to. You had no choice.

But there was another side to this. You wanted to bore it. You wanted to shush all the gossip, all the rumours that might suggest that you can't do something. Besides you found yourself enjoying this kind of powers

The whispers about your gender - about how being a woman might complicate your ability to lead, to fulfill the role they expected of you - only hardened your resolve.

You would prove them wrong, all of them, you told yourself.

But you also wanted your father's approval.

Your father was the only thing close to you. Your mother died in childbirth or left with a lover, you never knew which version was the truth. As a child, you never thought about it, the truth is, everyone around you only mentioned your father, how you should be his pride, his tribute and how you should do everything to make him feel content about you.

This propaganda worked.

And this mindset became an integral part of you.

His approval wasn’t just your goal - it was your oxygen, your sustenance. His rare moments of pride were your reward, and his disappointment - your greatest fear.

You could hear his voice in your mind, the way it would brighten ever so slightly when you succeeded "Good. This is good. Keep this up." those words had kept you going through grueling hours of training, through sleepless nights spent honing your skills to perfection. The bruises, the pain, the exhaustion - they were nothing compared to the glow of his approval, the fleeting light that told you you were enough, if only for a moment.

But his eyes also dulled with such terrifying speed when you stumbled, even slightly. A poorly executed maneuver, a delay in judgment during a sparring session, a lapse in control, all of it was met with silence, with the cold weight of his disappointment pressing down on you like a vice. It was in those moments that you became acutely aware of your imperfection, of how fragile his pride in you truly was.

This however had shaped you into a perfectionist, a creature of cold calculation.

Training became part of your life, your identity. You lived for the applause of the elders, for the murmured praise of the clan, but above all, for the fleeting flicker of pride in your father’s eyes.

He had once told you, long ago, when you were too young to fully understand his words, that you were his gift "Special, rare." he had said, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it since "A gift I received at your birth."

You had clung to those words, replaying them in your mind whenever the pressure became unbearable. They were your anchor, your proof that you mattered, that you were loved - not as a daughter, perhaps, but as something far more valuable, something exceptional.

But in a perspective - you weren't the only exceptional thing in this world.

Even before you understood what rivalry meant, you had been told, over and over, how your birth ranked second in significance.

The second most talked thing.

The first? Him.

You had grown up under the long shadow of a name: Gojo Satoru.

A boy born with unparalleled power, eyes as vivid as the summer sky, whos very existence shaked the foundations of the jujutsu world. While your family whispered of your technique with cautious pride, his family declared him the strongest before he could even speak.

Comparison was inevitable. You were prodigies, both of you, but where your brilliance was honed through discipline, his was uncontainable, raw, and overwhelming. You were rare - he was the one.

You still remembered the first time you saw him. You couldn’t have been more than six, dressed in formal robes too heavy for your small frame, the silk scratchy against soft skin. The clan meeting was dull, filled with stiff adults exchanging words that meant nothing to you. But then, in the corner of the room, you felt a presence - bright, piercing, impossible to ignore.

When you turned, his eyes met yours.

Wide, unblinking, and startlingly blue, they stared at you like they could see through your skin, through your bones, through everything that made you, you. He didn’t say anything, didn’t smile or nod - just stared, like he was trying to decide if you were worth noticing at all.

Even then, something about him annoyed you.

As you grew older, the comparisons became sharper, louder. Clan sparring matches became a regular event, a spectacle for the elders to evaluate their bloodlines. You, Gojo, Kamo, that Zen’in heir, and a handful of others were pitted against one another under the guise of "training." But you all knew the truth. It was a game of dominance, of proving which clan held the strongest future.

Gojo made it a point to be insufferable.

"Chicken fights." he had once sneered, grinning as he sat perched on a rock like a king addressing his subjects. You had just beaten one of the Zen’in cousins, a victory that had left your father smiling faintly in the audience. But Gojo’s voice cut through the cheers "That’s all this is. You flap your wings, you strut around, but it doesn’t matter. None of you will ever beat me."

The others ignored him, too smart - or too scared - to engage. But not you.

"I’d rather be a chicken than a brat with a big mouth." you’d shot back, your voice steady despite the fire burning in your chest.

His grin widened, and for a moment, you thought he might actually take you seriously. But then he laughed - a loud, obnoxious sound that echoed through the sparring grounds "Cute." he said, hopping off his perch and walking past you like you weren’t even worth his time "Let me know when you’re ready to play with the big kids."

Now, years later, the rivalry had followed you into Jujutsu High, where it seemed impossible to escape him. The same classes, the same missions, the same suffocating aura of superiority that surrounded him wherever he went.

He was a little different. Not in the way you’d imagined someone "different" might be - quiet, mysterious, unassuming. No, he was loud, arrogant, and so assured in his strength that it bordered on unbearable.

The fire you’d felt as a child, that relentless desire to outdo him, to prove yourself, had cooled over the years. But it hadn’t gone out. Instead, it had transformed into something sharper, something a little colder - a blade honed not just to cut him down but to carve out your own space in a world that refused to see you as anything more than a shadow cast by his brilliance. It wasn’t just about beating him anymore. It was about standing on equal ground, forcing him - and everyone else - to recognize you as something other than second best.

You tried to take it slow, to ingore him.

Gojo didn’t make it easy.

He had a way of getting under your skin that no one else could. Just a glance from him could set your teeth on edge, that wide, knowing smirk playing on his lips like he was already ten steps ahead of you. He mocked you constantly, his words sharp and teasing, always laced with that infuriating arrogance that only he could pull off.

Every encounter was a contest, every conversation a challenge, every moment spent in his presence a battle for dominance.

You danced around each other endlessly, an intricate, unspoken rhythm that neither of you could break. One moment, he’d set the direction, leading with a cocky ease that seemed unshakable - the next, you’d outpace him, forcing him to catch up, to adjust to your steps.

The dance extended into every aspect of your lives. Missions became opportunities to one-up each other, to prove who was faster, sharper, more capable. Training sessions were wars of endurance, each of you pushing harder, refusing to yield until exhaustion forced a truce. Even on days off, when most people would relax or recover, you found ways to compete - whether it was sparring, aruging or something as mundane as seeing who could stack the most chairs before they toppled over.

His attention was relentless, his focus always sharp and unyielding. He discounted you with every other word, mocking your efforts, analyzing your achievements as if he were the ultimate judge of your worth. His words - arrogant and biting - were no better.

"Trying to catch up to me again? Good luck with that, shortcake."

"Don’t trip over your own shadow while you’re chasing me."

"Nice job today, small fry. Almost makes me feel like you’re worth competing with."

Each message was a spark, igniting the fire that drove you to prove him wrong, to show him - and yourself - that you were more than capable of matching him. To the point of beating him.

Neither of you ever held the upper hand for long - one day his victory, the next yours. The score didn’t matter, though. What mattered was that the fire between you never burned out, keeping you locked in this endless, maddening dance.

And maddening was pace of his hips that were thrusting into you every other day. The old floor, even with a layer of training mat, would creak under his powerful movements.

Both of you decided after some time that your dispute had to be settled by other means, so you challenged each other to a duel where there were no rules and all moves were allowed. It usually ended with the two of you meeting in the old training room after class, to resolve a conflict you were currently having. The winner was the one who first knocked his opponent finally to the ground.

Differently these encounters ended, sometimes he was the unbeatable winner, pounding you into the floor, bending you at every possible angle, whispering sweet nothingess and words of mocking encouragement to your ear, making tears drip down your flushed cheeks. Sometimes it was you who won, pinning him to the floor, bouncing off his hips in a frenzy, one in which you commented on how loud he was, how crying and pathetic he looked - words that were meant to degrade him, were just making his glimmering eyes roll back. Eyebrows raised and stupid handsome face twisted in a sigh so beautful that you would end up with the lost of insults after a while.

He won last week. Your asscheeks painfully pounded into the mat material, as your hands clasped tightly on his shoulders, creating scars that were meant to affect him, but only seemed to make him whine even more. Laughing breathlessly at your attempts to hurt him, as if he wasn't the one leaving rudely visible red marks on your neck that poke through uniform.

He'll probably laugh about winning his final match, too.

Because there will never be any again.

Everyone tried everything to undo the effects of what had happened - to remove the curse. When this proved impossible by the specifications of the object you touched, which could be called a trap, they at least tried to restore the flow of your cursed energy. This, too, proved to be a failure.

You’d told yourself, at first, that it must be temporary. That the connection to your technique would return, that this was just a setback. It had to be. Something so integral to your being couldn’t just vanish - it was part of you, wasn’t it?

That was you, right?

But each attempt proved fruitless. Every meditation session, every exercise, every attempt to summon even the faintest flicker of cursed energy - it all ended the same way: in silence, in emptiness.

The denial fueled your determination, pushing you into training sessions that bordered on self-destruction. You traded your technique for raw physicality, throwing punches at the training dummy until your fists bled, the skin splitting open as you struck again and again. And again. Sweat soaked through your clothes, mingling with tears you refused to acknowledge as they streamed down your face.

You screamed, raw and guttural, into the empty training field, but the sound brought no release, only exhaustion. You never shouted like that, never cried like when you fell on the ground and realised it was all pointless.

One conclusion came from your attempts.

You had been crippled.

"Maybe if I had a son, he wouldn't have made such a foolish mistake." the words clung to you, searing through the phone’s receiver like acid. Your father’s voice, sharp and cold, cut through the fragile thread of composure you had been holding onto. The regret, the disappointment, and - worst of all - the indifference. He didn’t even sound angry, just tired. Tired of you.

Your throat burned.

"Father, please..." but you didn’t know what you were asking for -mercy, understanding, or perhaps the impossible: forgiveness.

"You've squandered everything." his voice was steady, unaffected "Centuries of legacy, your birthright, your technique - gone. Do you understand the magnitude of what you’ve done?"

Do you? You couldn’t even bring yourself to speak. Your thoughts swirled into a vortex of self-loathing, replaying the moment over and over again.

"We'll talk later when I decide what to do with you." and just like that he hung up.

That was it. No comfort. No acknowledgment of the years you’d given, the sacrifices you’d made, or the countless moments you’d bled and bruised yourself into perfection. The line had gone dead with a finality that echoed through your chest like a hammer strike. His voice - so cold, so detached - ingered in your mind, cutting deeper than any curse could.

You set the phone down on the desk, your hand trembling slightly as you withdrew from it, as though it might burn you if you held on any longer. The chair creaked faintly beneath you as you sat motionless, staring at the wall opposite you.

You wanted to apologise to him, to beg his forgiveness for your mistake, for your stupidity, you wanted to cry on his shoulder, to apologise - again - that you had let him down. But he just wasn't interested. He was no longer interested in your perspective.

You, simply didn't interest him.

That room was dim, the shadows thick and suffocating, broken only by the faint glow of a single overhead light. It wasn’t enough to fully illuminate the faces of the elders who stood before you, their disapproval palpable, their voices sharp and cutting as they dissected your situation. Each word they spoke dug into your chest, stripping away what little pride you had left.

You were stripped off the title of a prodigy.

They called you a dissapointment now.

You became an example.

A cautionary tale.

The damage has already been done.

People tried to reach you. Geto, Shoko, Nanami - even Yaga made an effort to draw you out of your spiral. But their words felt hollow, meaningless. What could they possibly say that would fix what had been broken? They didn’t understand. How could they? They still had their power, their purpose, their place in this world. You didn’t.

He was on mission overseas, so maybe the information about your state didn't quite reach him yet. Not that you cared if he made contact.

He would probably just laugh at you anyway.

Of all these people Geto, had tried the hardest, his presence quiet but persistent. He tried to be there for you. But there was no you inside.

He’d sat beside one day, his hand resting gently on your shoulder. His touch, once an unremarkable soft gesture, now felt heavy - too heavy. You realized then just how much strength he had, how much stronger he’d become while you had only weakened. His grip, once equal to yours, now dwarfed it.

"You’re still here." he’d said softly, his voice careful, measured "That matters the most."

You couldn’t bring yourself to respond. The weight of his words pressed against your chest, but they couldn’t penetrate the hollow void inside you. Instead, you’d turned away, muttering some excuse to just leave.

You didn’t want his pity. You didn’t want anyone’s.

You didn't believe that anything else mattered to anyone except your gift. Not after everything that happends.

So you let yourself sink in that conviction.

Your own reflection became that a stranger. Each glance in the mirror revealed another part of yourself fading away. Your muscles, once taut and defined from years of rigorous training, softened, weakened. Your face, once bright with determination and pride, dulled, the light in your eyes all but extinguished. Even your posture changed, slouching under the weight of your defeat.

You avoided mirrors after that. It was easier not to look at yourself, not to see the person you’d become.

The thought of him haunted you. He was the only person who had not yet spoken about your situation. You could almost hear the laughter that would spill from his lips when he found out.

He’d won, hadn’t he? He will be happy that you lost.

Not through a sparring match or a test of strength, but through your own stupidity. He wouldn’t even need to lift a finger - your downfall was self-inflicted. The irony wasn’t lost on you.

He’d probably make a joke of it, something biting and sharp, something that would leave you hollowed out even further. The idea of facing him, of hearing his voice, made your stomach twist - but you kinda wanted him to say somthing to you.

Although you were sure what his reaction would be.

By early autumn you became a ghost of the person you’d once been, a shell going through the motions. The world felt distant, muted, as though you were walking through a haze. The wind carried the crisp scent of leaves, the air beacme sharp enough to sting your lungs as you exhaled. Your student status was taken away by higher-ups, they decided that sending you on a mission was pointless. Just like you. The peak of your skill now was ability to see a curse, not to fight one.

You could do whatever you wanted, so you went to all sorts of faraway places.

You’d grown used to the isolation. It was easier not to see anyone, not to hear the pity in their voices or feel their lingering stares. Geto had tried, tried and tried. Staying with you whenever he could, but even his presence, as steady and grounding as it was, felt too heavy. He tried talking to you, but your mind seemed closed to his willingness to help and his affectionate tone. You weren't a person who knew how to accept help from others, no one ever taught you that. Even if you appreciated it, you didn't know how to show it. And the truth was - you couldn’t bear the weight of his concern, couldn’t summon the energy to reassure anyone that you were fine.

Because you weren’t fine. You were no longer yourself.

That was the only thing that had mattered.

You wanted to disappear into the nothingness that seemed to have taken root inside you. You wanted to stop existing in a world where you no longer had a place, where the purpose that had defined you all your life was gone.

But instead, you thought. And thought. Alone, in the dark, your mind was a relentless spiral, turning over every moment, every decision that had brought you to this point.

You never really faced your fears before, you realized.

This and many other thoughts stirred in your head like a swirl, twisting your perception of reality.

You were walking through the school gates, the crisp golden leaves crunching under your boots. The sun hung low in the sky, its light casting long shadows across the pavement.

You really didn’t expect to see him.

He was back.

Snow-white hair catching the sunlight, posture impossibly relaxed, as if the weight of the world didn’t touch him. He walked with that characteristic ease, the kind that could embarrass a hundred men without effort. His phone was pressed to his ear, and you could hear his laughter even from a distance - light, careless, the kind of laugh that had always annoyed you.

For a moment, you thought he wouldn’t notice you. Of course - why would he? You didn’t even have the faintest trace of cursed energy anymore. You were just a random person, a shadow of who you’d once been, just a presence walking aimlessly on a pleasant autumn afternoon.

You kept your hands buried in your pockets, eyes fixed on the path ahead, determined to pass him without incident. Without one stupid comment. Without one look into that judging eyes.

You realized you weren't ready to face him. A whole range of emotions came up in you: anger, anticipation, sadness, wanting, resignation, longing, but most of all - shame.

But then his gaze fell on you.

You could feel it before you even looked up, the weight of his attention, sharp and unmissable. His eyes flicked over you once, casual and dismissive, but then he froze. Head snapped back in your direction, and the expression on his face shifted so quickly it almost startled you. Satisfaction melted into pure, unfiltered shock.

You didn’t stop.

You didn’t have the strength to deal with him, with his taunts, his smirks, his cutting words, his blue eyes. Not now. Not ever. You moved past him without a word, steps steady and deliberate, though your heart pounded in your chest so much.

You will let him enjoy his win in your silence.

"Oi!" his voice cut through the air, sharp, insistent "Stop you - Wait!"

You didn’t turn around. In fact you didn’t even flinch. Instead, you reached into pocket, pulling out the battered pack of cigarettes Shoko had handed you weeks ago. You lit one with a shaky hand, the ember flaring briefly before the smoke curled into the air. You inhaled deeply, the bitter taste grounding you as you kept walking.

Gojo stood frozen, watching you disappear down the path. He tried calling after you couple of times, louder each time. But he didn't run after you. Six Eyes scanned your silhouette with dangerous precision, noticing every small detail that had changed. The slump in your shoulders, the sharpness of your cheekbones, the dullness in your eyes. The lack of a slightest trace of cursed energy.

What the hell happend to you?

He hadn’t seen you in weeks, but the person walking away from him now was unrecognizable.

You weren’t just tired. You weren't yourself.

You came back hours later to pack your belongings.

The weight of tomorrow hung heavy in your chest, suffocating and inescapable. Your father’s decision loomed over you, its implications gnawing at your already fragile sense of self.

You decided to take a walk, one last time over the terrain you knew and loved so well.

You didn’t want to think about what he might have planned for you. You didn’t want to imagine the hollow life that awaited you, stripped of your identity and power. But the thoughts were relentless, swirling in your mind as you walked, each step taking you farther from the dormitory and deeper into the forest.

Would he make you a servant? Marry you off to someone important, someone who could salvage what little value you had left? Would he exile you to the far corners of the clan, where you would live out your days in quiet obscurity?

The possibilities churned in your mind, each one heavier than the last.

For weeks, you’d been coming here, searching for something in that reflection. Searching for the person you used to be, the prodigy who had stood tall and proud, who had been her father’s pride and her clan’s future. But all you found was a ghost, a shadow of what you once were.

The night was quiet, perfect for the last one here, the air heavy with the crisp scent of fallen leaves and damp earth. A pale moon hung in the sky, its light casting silvery ripples over the world, softening the edges of reality.

You crouched down, as you approached the edge of the water. Your hands brushing against the damp grass, and stared into the lake’s surface. For a moment, the sight of your reflection startled you, as it always did now.

You closed your eyes, for a brief moment, the quiet of the forest enveloping you. A faint rustle of leaves, the distant call of nightlife and the soft lapping of water against the shore - it was all so achingly peaceful. And yet, it offered no comfort.

The lake held no answers, no revelations. Just the same distorted reflection, the same fractured image of yourself.

The reflection there was faint, distorted, but still recognizable. You could make out the curve of your jaw, the hollowness of your cheeks, the dim light in your eyes that once burned so brightly. You stared at yourself, unblinking, searching for the person you had been.

But you were gone.

...

What is the point of all this?

The question came unbidden, as it had so many times before. It's not like you're usefull to anyone. Your whole life has been based on being a sorcerer, the next clan head also, but not being just a human. You don't know how to live a normal life - you don't know if you even want to live one.

You thought about the weight of your father’s expectations, the years you had spent chasing his approval. You thought about the countless hours of training, the bruises, the exhaustion, the fleeting moments of pride that had kept you going. And you thought about the emptiness you felt now, the void left behind by the loss of your technique.

It's all been bringing you to one conclusion for some time: you are nothing without your technique.

This is a painful truth that you had to accept some time ago.

You had the feeling that the water was looking at you - offering a hideout.

You moved, taking one hesitant step forward.

It won't be that bad, right? Everything is better than facing the consequences of your own stupidity.

Another step joined the previous one, your feet touching the cold surface. The smell of wet grass and vegetation wafted through the air.

You’d left everything behind on the shore. Your jacket, hoodie, and shoes - they lay in a silent heap, abandoned like everything else in your life. You won't need them anymore.

The water was cold. Icy. It cut through your skin like shards of glass, wrapping around you with an unforgiving grip as you plunged deeper and deeper into the darkness. The shock of it made your muscles tighten, but you didn’t fight it - not at first. You let the weight of the water pull you down, let the emptiness consume you.

Everything was dark, impossibly so, swallowing everything in its depths. You couldn’t see, couldn’t feel anything but the cold pressure against your skin and the burning in your chest as your lungs screamed for air. You let yourself sink further, closing your eyes against the suffocating blackness.

And yet, your mind wouldn’t still.

Thoughts came rushing in, unbidden, like a flood breaking through a dam. Every memory, every failure, every moment of doubt and despair surged to the forefront. The weight of it all pressed down on you, heavier than the water, dragging you deeper into the abyss.

You had thought this might be the solution. The way out. An escape from the suffocating spiral of your existence. But as the air in your lungs ran out and your body began to betray you, survival instinct kicking in, you realized there was no escape. Not from the memories, not from the pain, not from yourself.

Your limbs flailed, your arms slicing through the water as you tried to fight against the primal urge to breathe. Your body betrayed you, forcing you to the surface even as your mind screamed to let go, to give in.

Just a little bit.

But it was too late. The water felt thick, heavy, an impossible barrier keeping you from the surface. Your lungs heaved, desperate for air, but all they found was water. Cold, bitter, unrelenting water that filled your chest and drowned your last desperate gasp for life.

The memories came in flashes, fragments of a life that now seemed so far away. The pride in your father’s eyes the first time you mastered your technique. The sound ofm Geto’s gentle laugh on a quiet afternoon. Shoko’s quiet. The way Gojo’s voice had always irritated you, his smirk a constant thorn in your side.

They all felt so distant now, like they belonged to someone else. Someone who wasn’t a failure. Someone who still mattered.

And then there was the weight of the other memories - the shame, the disappointment, the voices of the elders as they condemned you. The coldness in your father’s tone when he told you he’d decide what to do with you. The emptiness that had consumed you in the weeks since.

You felt your body shutting down, your vision darkening as the water enveloped you. Your limbs grew heavy, your mind hazy. The struggle became a distant thing, like a flickering light fading out.

And yet, in those final moments, as the water pulled you under completely, one thought rose above all the others, sharp and unrelenting:

You are a failure.

Gasp.

The world returned to you in gasps and violent coughs, water pouring from your lungs as your chest heaved painfully. Your body felt like it had been ripped apart, the freezing cold of the lake still clinging to your skin, but the sharp sensation of something - someone - holding you brought clarity in a rush.

You blinked against the blurriness in your vision, barely able to make out the figure above you. His white hair was plastered to his forehead, the sharp strands dulled and dripping, and his electric blue eyes were wide, filled with a mix of fury, fear, and something raw. His hands trembled as they held you, but his grip was firm, refusing to let go.

Him.

You coughed again, turning your head as water spilled out of your mouth, your chest burning with each labored breath. Reality slammed into you like a punch: you were on the shore, cold earth pressing against your back, and he was the reason you were still here.

"No." you croaked, the word scraping against your throat like sandpaper. Panic surged through you, body reacting before mind could catch up. You twisted violently, shoving against him with what little strength you had left, trying to escape the strong grasp. You didn’t want to be here. You didn’t want to be saved.

He didn’t let go.

"Stop." he growled, his voice low and strained. It wasn’t the teasing, mocking tone you were used to. This was different. Commanding, almost desperate.

"Let go of me!" you shouted, your voice cracking as you thrashed against him, the fight in you born not of strength but of pure, unrelenting despair "Let me go, Gojo!"

"No." his grip tightened, his hands locking around your wrists as you tried to claw at him. You jerked and struggled, but it was no use. He was stronger, and even without your powers, you were nothing compared to him. The realization hit you like a dagger to the chest, sharp and agonizing. You couldn’t even free yourself. You couldn’t do anything.

"Stop it" he snapped, voice cutting through the chaos as he pinned your wrists to the ground, forcing you still. His weight loomed over you, his breath ragged and uneven as he glared down at you, his eyes burning with an intensity you couldn’t meet.

You froze, your body trembling beneath him, the fight draining out of you as the cold seeped deeper into your bones. The only sounds were the quiet lapping of the lake’s waves and the harsh breaths between you. For a moment, neither of you spoke. His chest rose and fell rapidly, droplets of water sliding down his face, hair wet. His grip on your wrists loosened slightly, though he didn’t let go.

"What are you doing? What the hell were you thinking?" he demanded, his voice rough and low, each word laced with something you couldn’t quite place. Anger? Fear? Pain?

You turned your head away, refusing to meet his gaze "You shouldn’t have stopped me."

His grip tightened again, his fingers trembling as they pressed against your skin "Stop you -" he cut himself off, his jaw clenching tightly as he took a shuddering breath "You’re such an idiot."

You wanted to scream at him, to shove him away, to make him understand that there was nothing left of you worth saving. To let you go and withered. But the words caught in your throat, tangled with the grief, anger and despair that had been building inside you for so long.

"What are you doing here? You've been following me?" your voice sharp despite the hoarseness from the water you’d just coughed up. You glared at him, still pinned beneath his weight, wrists trapped in his hands.

Gojo’s expression flickered between irritation and something you couldn’t quite place - concern? No, that wasn’t possible. He raised an eyebrow, his voice laced with his usual brand of mockery "No. Better -what were you doing here?"

You turned your face away, refusing to answer. The moonlight glinted off the water, its calm surface a contrast to the chaos swirling inside you. You could feel his eyes boring into you, Six Eyes missing nothing.

It didn’t take long for him to piece it together.

His grip on your wrists tightened, just slightly "You should have known better." he said, his tone shifting, lower now, more serious "With all that negative energy bottled up, you could’ve attracted a curse."

You snorted bitterly, the sound harsh and raw "As if I’m not already a curse."

His lips turned into a thin line, glimmering eyes narrowing as he leaned closer "Don’t say stupid things." what you said wasn't stupid, he was stupid for coming here and saving you.

"You are stupid for saving me." the words burst out of you, cracking, unrestrained.

The admission hung in the air, raw and cutting, and you hated how much it revealed. You hated how much he could see now. You felt as if he had caught you on something. Not only at this desperate attempt to avoid your fate, but also at being vulnerable. His face was so close now that you could see every drop of water clinging to his white long lashes, you could also feel the intensity radiating from him like a physical force.

"I told you not to say stupid stuff." he said, his voice low and biting, each word hitting like a hammer "You’re dumb enough as it is."

You wanted him to leave you alone.

You growled in frustration, your movements wild and erratic as you struggled against his grip, you tried to kick him, but to no avail "Let go of me, you asshole!"

"No." his response was immediate, tone resolute.

Can he listen to you for once?

"Fuck you!" you hissed.

"You already did!" he barked, his voice cracking through the tension like lightning.

You froze, the retort you’d been about to throw back dying on your tongue. That was an answer you didn't expected. It made you pause. Well...

Gojo sighed, a sound of exasperation tinged with something softer, something almost like… care "You’re a pain in the ass, you know that?" he muttered "But I’d rather deal with that than lose you."

What?

No, you must have overheard, he would never say such a thing to you.

You would almost believe those softly sparkling eyes, that looked at you in a way that it felt anxious. Well, almost, because you knew exactly who was saying those words to you. You scolded yourself for this in your head.

"Why the hell are you here?" you demanded an answer on dodged question, voice shaking with both anger and something dangerously close to despair "Did you save me because you were afraid you’d lose your favorite object of derision? To mock me? To laugh at how pathetic I’ve become?"

His eyes widened briefly, the accusation catching him off guard, before narrowing again in frustration "Do you seriously think I’d waste my time saving your sorry ass just to mock you?" he shots back "God, you’re so full of yourself sometimes."

"Then why?" you spat "Why did you saved me?"

He didn’t answer, his gaze shifting to the side, avoiding yours entirely. You could see the tension in his jaw. But he still said nothing. As the answer was too much for him to bear. He was about to speak, but he noticed the way you shivered violently, the cold catching you again. The soaked fabric of your clothes still clung to you, and the sharp autumn air made it impossible to stop trembling. Gojo changed his mind.

"I’ll let you go now." his voice lower, less biting "Get dressed - but no stupid actions."

His grip on you eased, and he moved back just enough to give you space, though not far enough to let you out of his reach. He stayed seated on the damp ground, watching your every move with an intensity that made your skin crawl. He didn’t trust you. Not yet.

You listened, you didn't have a choice now.

You crawled toward the pile of clothes, hands shaking so badly that it was difficult to grab anything properly. You stripped off your soaked shirt and pulled on your hoodie in a hurry, not caring whether he saw or not. You were too cold to care about modesty, too angry to care about anything else.

He also got dressed, buttoning up his sweats and putting on his jacket. The silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating, until his voice broke through.

"Why do you act like a moron?" his words were sharp, almost accusing, but there was something beneath them - a tremor of genuine frustration. Not a trace of his previous gentleness.

You didn’t answer, keeping your focus on zipping up your jacket, your movements jerky and uneven.

He grabbed your arm suddenly, firm but not painful "Oi, answer me!" his voice rose, the intensity of it cutting through the cold air.

You snapped your head up, your eyes blazing as you glared at him "The hell do you want?"

All you wanted now was to escape to a warm room and cry.

His grip on your arm tightened for a moment before loosening slightly, but still there, his expression flickering from serious to worried to confused "Why... why did you want- " he struggled for the words, frowning "Why did you want to end it all? It’s stupid, this logic is idiotic even for you."

You growled.

"What’s dumb is that you don’t understand it." you shot back, your voice sharp, almost venomous. The anger bubbling inside you was the only thing keeping the cold at bay. You wanted to get up, but his grip kept you down.

"The stupid thing is what you’re doing." he countered, his voice rising again "Do you think your death will change anything?"

That was enough for you.

"Great!" you shouted, pulling your arm free of his grip and stepping back, your chest heaving as emotions boiled over "If I’m so fucking worthless, then let me die, for fuck’s sake!"

Shock.

Pure, undeniable shock.

Those vivid blue eyes of his, so infuriatingly piercing, widened. Eyebrows raised, lips parted slightly, as if he were about to speak, but no words came out. It's as if he doesn't believe you just said that. As if he just realised the seriousness of the situation. You saw his chest start to rise faster, not sure if from the cold…. or from panic.

"I don’t want you to -" he started, his voice breaking slightly, even softer than before.

But you crossed your limits.

"You won, okay!?" you cut him off, voice sharp, loud and trembling. The words spilled out of you like a flood, raw, unrestrained "You can rub my face in your victory now! I don’t care anymore! Torment me, mock me, laugh at me - now’s your time!"

His eyes narrowed, confusion clear as his brow furrowed "What?"

"Do it! Now’s the time where you can laugh all you want, insult me all you want - because now, at least, you have a reason!"

"I- " he tried to speak, but you wouldn’t let him.

"Tell me what a failure I am!" you suddenly cried "Tell me how I mean nothing, how all my efforts have gone to waste, how I’m worthless! Because now, at least, I’ll admit you’re right!"

"Stop-" he started, but his words fell flat against the force of your pain.

"Tell me how all your life you knew you were better!" you shouted, hands shaking as you gripped the sleeves of your jakcet "Tell me I’m an idiot, that I’ve always been dumb! Laugh in my face, mock me, just finish me! Say all the things you’ve been thinking, all the things you’ve wanted to say - just say it!"

Your voice broke completely, the words tumbling into a sob "You can finish me..." you choked "Come on. Just… just do it!"

This was to much, you felt so so much.

He was so disoriented. You could see this by his reaction.

"Because I'd believe you'd laugh than suddenly care what happens to me." you chocked.

Silence.

Tears blurred your vision. You were done pretending to have any pride left. You've had enough of everything. You didn't understand his reaction, his sudden tenderness confused you, everything was so wrong. You just wanted to get back to normal, when you - and everything had it's place.

But no, suddenly the world has turned - you don't have your technique, your father will probably disown you, and your rival and bully is suddenly trying to be nice. You don't want to be here anymore. You don't know how to find yourself in this world and you don't know how to talk about it.

It's humiliating to cry in front of him, you know it, but you don't care. You let it all out, just like the water from before.

He just stared at you, eyes wide, jaw tight. You could barely see through the fact that you sobbing next to him, hiding your face and bringing your legs to your chest.

"No." he whispered.

You blinked at him, raising your head, confused "What?"

"No." he repeated, louder this time, his voice firm but trembling "I’m not going to mock you."

You let out a loud bitter laugh, shaking your head "Of course not. Because you don’t even have to, do you? I’ve already done it for you."

"That’s not-" he cut himself off, shortening the distance between you "You’re wrong."

"About what?" your voice breaking again "About being a failure? About being nothing? Tell me what part of that is wrong?"

"All of it." he confirmed, voice steady now, glowing eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your heart clenched "Every single word. You’re not nothing. You’re not a failure. And I swear to God, if you say that again, I’m going to-"

"To what?" you challenged "Save me again? Drag me out of the lake and lecture me about how I should see the bright side of losing everything? Spare me the pity, Gojo. I don’t need it."

"It’s not pity!" his voice ringing loud, showing that emotions were also building up inside him. Unexpectedly, two large hands moved to cup your face, forcing you to look at him, to stare at two glowing blue dots "I’m not here because I pity you. I’m here because-" he faltered, voice catching as his breath hitched, his thumbs brushing against your cold, damp skin "Because I care."

The silence that followed was deafening. You froze, your face dropping as the weight of confession hit you like a tidal wave. He wonders if you know how much it cost him to tell you this directly. You, you wonder if what he says is a joke.

He... what?

His hands stayed on your face, steady despite the way they trembled slightly "I wanted to talk to you." the voice that came out of him was so quiet, so full of affection, that it was almost nothing like his "I started looking for you as soon as I got back from the mission. I wanted to... I don’t know, do something. Anything."

You burst out laughing bitterly, the sound sharp and raw in the stillness. It felt absurd, impossible. Gojo Satoru, your rival, the person you’d been compared to all your entire life, the one who mocked you, humiliated you endlessly, competed with you relentlessly - suddenly was caring about you?

You don’t believe him - because how could you?

For so many years, he had been the same infuriating presence in your life, treating you with an air of superiority and, at times, outright disdain. His words had cut shar, leaving wounds you’d carried silently for years.

There wasn’t a single thing he hadn’t laughed at. Your hair, he’d compared it to the end of a broomstick. Your smile? He’d once called it a donkey’s grin - or whatever the Japanese equivalent it was, delivered with his trademark smirk that made you want to slap it off his face. Your taste in music? "Cheesy pop thrash" And your clothes? Oh, that was his favorite target "Are you dressing ironically?" he’d asked once, tilting his head with mock curiosity "Or is this a social experiment I missed?" It didn’t stop there. He even mocked the way you walked once, calling it "Too stiff, like you’re auditioning for a role as a wooden puppet"., the way you ate "You attack food like it owes you money." and even the way you carried your books "Why are you holding them like that?" he’d said, mimicking your grip dramatically "You're so weak that you can't hold them properly?"

So yeah, it was laughable.

He may have saved you and you may want to believe in what he says, but you are just not able to.

Can you really blame yourself?

Well, kinda, because you were the one making out with him every other day. You might have believed that he liked your attention, that he might have wanted you - but you wouldn't believe that he wanted to care about you.

You reached up and pulled his hands off your face, your cold fingers brushing against his quite warm ones "Don't give me that. What could you supposedly do?" you asked, voice dripping with disbelief and mockery. The cold seeping back into your body now that his touch was gone

"Anything." he said, his words still tumbling out, almost frantic "Talk, sit with you, I don’t know - something. I- " he stopped, his own frustration bleeding into his voice "I don’t know." his eyes were so pleading.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to stop the tremors as you looked away "Don't bother." voice low, void of fight "Doesn't matter now. My father is picking me up tomorrow."

His eyes widened slightly, but he didn’t interrupt.

"I have heard too many versions, all from different people, of what my father supposedly planned that - that I don't know..." you paused, the lump in your throat growing unbearable as you forced yourself to say these words.

You wanted to say that you were afraid, that you didn't know what to do, that you felt you had let everyone down, that nothing made sense to you now.

That it was too much.

That you didn't allowed yourself any form of comfort.

"I know one thing, though." you hesitated, the weight of your next words heavy, but you looked up, meeting his gaze with trembling resolve "I’d rather die now, than live my life as a clan failure."

He growled, frustrated, as if nothing is working on his favour. As if he was breaking.

"Who cares what the clan thinks? Who cares about anything they say?" Gojo’s voice rising, desperate and insistent, his words coming faster now, blabbering "They’re a bunch of old fools who don’t know what they’re talking about! You are more than their expectations. You are more than your technique. You are - "

Maybe he wanted to comfort you that way or maybe he wanted you to believe his tale of him 'caring about you'.

But you had already made up your mind.

Gojo knew that you might not believe him in what he was saying now, he knew, that you would be angry with him for all that he has done- you were right - you should be. What he didn't predict, however, was that you would know him well enough to know this one hidden truth about him.

What you say now will leave a mark on him for years. You frowned, voice totaly sure of the words you're saying.

"Don’t preach to me about things you don’t even believe yourself."

You hadn’t spoken since that night by the lake.

Not when you were picked up, your father’s silence mirroring your own as you sat stiffly beside him, staring out the car's window. Not when he informed you of your new path with the cold efficiency of a man making a business transaction.

Your age wasn't very favourable for this, admittedly - you should have started your training as a maiko a long time ago, wanting to become a geiko. However, your father, using his connections, found a place that will accept you for training. He found an okiya in Kanazawa that from now on - will be your temporary home.

You didn’t fight him. You didn’t speak at all. You have done enough.

The years that followed were grueling in their own way, though nothing compared to what you’d endured before.

Training as a maiko demanded a different kind of perfection, a complete transformation of body and mind. The disciplined, precise movements of martial arts you had once mastered - were now replaced by the elegant, deliberate grace of traditional dance. Every step, every turn, every motion had to flow with effortless beauty, concealing the pain and time it took to perfect them.

You hated every second of it.

Your figure changed over time, slimming down in ways you hadn’t anticipated and curving in a few other places. You "got smaller", your once powerful frame softening into something more delicate, more feminine. Your reflection in the mirror became even stranger - a porcelain doll painted and adorned to please others. Gone were the rugged hands that once wielded cursed tools, now they held fans, makeup brushes, creating beauty where you once brought destruction.

The contrast was unbearable.

You missed the fight, the passion, the adrenaline, the raw exhilaration of your old life. Sometimes, as you trained with the fan, your body betrayed your mind, instinctively slipping into the stances meant for a sword. For your lost technique.

Every day felt like a reminder, a performance, not just for others but for yourself, as if pretending long enough might make you forget what you had lost.

But it didn't.

You never completely left your old self behind; the memory of that person remained vivid, etched into your mind. Recalling the past -missions, getaways, trainings, fleeting moments of triumph and connection - became a daily ritual. Nostalgia and grief intertwined, two of many companions that you had learned to live with, their weight both comforting and unbearable.

Despite it all, he kept reaching out to you.

Gojo’s messages came daily at first, long, rambling texts filled with details of his day - missions, strange encounters, little jokes he’d picked up along the way. He sent pictures of things he thought might make you laugh: a badly drawn doodle of you scowling, a ridiculous meme, a cursed object that looked suspiciously like a poorly designed toy. Each message carried a tone of casual insistence, as though he were trying to prove his point - that he cared. Or perhaps he was trying to reshape your relationship, to turn you from the rival he mocked constantly into something else, maybe - a friend.

Eventually, the messages slowed. Whether it was his own frustration, the demands of his life, or something else entirely, you didn’t know. You didn’t care to know. Cutting yourself off from him, from everyone, was the only way you knew how to endure.

At some point, you stopped reading them altogether. The weight of shame pressed down on your chest, suffocating any inclination to respond. You couldn’t face him - or anyone from your past. The person they knew was gone, and what remained of you was too broken, too hollow, to withstand their judgment or pity.

Your thoughts spiraled endlessly, dragging you deeper into a pit of self-doubt. You convinced yourself that no one could possibly care for who you were now - powerless, dull, and unremarkable. What was left of you wasn’t worth saving, and surely, he had to see that too. Eventually, you were certain, he would stop trying. And that thought, as much as it pained you, felt like the only mercy left.

Sometimes, you’d catch yourself hovering over his messages, tempted to open them. The thought of catching a glimpse of the snippets of his life - once so intertwined with yours - felt like a small, guilty comfort.

But no, you didn't do it.

Years just passed, and the day of your Kurokami, the ceremonial debut marking your transition to full-fledged geiko, arrived. Your father had spared no effort, inviting everyone of importance - every known clan in the jujutsu world, their representatives gathered on the sprawling estate for a grand celebration steeped in tradition and political maneuvering.

It wasn’t about you. It was never about you.

This was a spectacle, a carefully orchestrated display of your father’s influence and connections. Each guest, each detail, was part of a greater plan to cement alliances and further his ambitions. You were just another piece of that plan, an accessory to his power.

The highlight of the evening was the final dance of a maiko, the moment of transition - a symbol of beauty and accomplishment in its purest form. But it wasn’t your dance. It wasn’t you, his daughter, he didn't even introduce you.

No, you were just a dancer now.

You entered the stage in silence, your heart slowing as the soft glow of the spotlight bathed you in its warmth. The muted chatter of the crowd faded into an expectant hush, the weight of hundreds of gazes pressing down on you. The air felt thick, heavy with the unspoken demands of the evening. The elaborate kimono you wore seemed to amplify that weight, its intricate embroidery shimmering under the light. Each layer of fabric, from the trailing hikizuri hem to the opulent obi tied with meticulous care, felt like a chain binding you to the role you were expected to fulfill.

The role that you didn't like.

The adornments on your hair - a delicate array of golden combs and jade pins - added to the strain, each piece glinting like a reminder of the perfection demanded of you. Even the subtle fragrance of incense clinging to your garments seemed to emphasize your place in this performance: a symbol, a display, but never a person.

Your movements, however, betrayed none of your inner turmoil. You moved with the fluidity that had been drilled into you for years, every step and turn perfectly calculated. The soft clack of your lacquered sandals against the polished wood echoed through the room, a rhythm as precise as the dance itself. Each motion was a testament to your training, your arms flowing gracefully as though carried by the air.

And then you saw him.

He’d changed. A lot. The years had shaped him into someone sharper, more refined, though the essence of him - remained unmistakable. His snow-white hair was still its signature mess, but it seemed more intentional now, as though he’d taken the time to style it. The glasses he wore were different, darker and sleeker, framing his face in a way that gave him an air of maturity you weren’t prepared for. Somehow, impossibly, he seemed even taller.

Even more handsome.

You couldn’t remember every detail of his face - time had eroded those memories - but some things stayed vivid. You remembered his hands cupping your face that night by the lake, trembling and warm despite the chill. You remembered the look in his eyes, desperate, as if trying to hold onto something slipping through his grasp. Those moments had etched themselves into your mind in ways you hadn’t dared to revisit.

Is it bad that you missed seeing him?

At first, his expression was unreadable, his lips slightly parted as though he’d been caught mid-thought. His usual cocky smirk, the one you had come to know and despise - was nowhere to be seen. Instead, there was a stunned stillness to him, an uncharacteristic vulnerability that made your chest tighten. Those piercing blue eyes, always so vivid, widened as they traced your figure.

You could see the faint flicker of recognition in them, the way his gaze darted across you as if trying to reconcile the person before him with the one he had known.

You couldn’t glance at him as much as you wanted to, though the urge tugged at you with every turn, every delicate gesture. The temptation was a steady hum beneath your practiced composure, but you ignored it.

Whatever he felt, whatever you felt, didn’t matter. Not here. Not now.

It was the longest performance you've ever done.

When your it ended, the room erupted into applause, a symphony of polite enthusiasm filling the grand space. Guests turned to your father, their compliments flowing freely, every word dripping with veiled flattery.

"What a remarkable performance, truly exquisite." one elder said, nodding with approval. He said this loud enough that you could hear him.

"Master, your planning is unmatched." said another, their tone measured and calculated "A brilliant highlight for the evening."

But not him.

He didn’t join the chorus of praise. He didn’t clap. He didn’t say a word. He just sat there, silent, his piercing blue eyes fixed on you with an intensity that felt like it might swallow you whole. The weight of his gaze burned hotter than any ovation, lingering on you as though he were trying to reach across the distance, trying to say something without words. Maybe something like - look at me again.

You didn’t dare to do this again, too afraid to face him, to face the reality of all you’d ignored: the messages you’d left unread, his attempts to connect with you, his clumsy, awkward texts filled with jokes and small glimpses of his life. You couldn’t bear the thought of the weight in his gaze reflecting those unanswered words, those years of silence between you.

Instead, you kept your head high, your back straight, your movements precise as you exited the stage. You didn’t need to see his face to feel his disappointment - or his persistence. It lingered in the air, following you even as you stepped out of the light.

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songbirdseung · 1 year ago

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pinky ring / sim jaeyun

synopsis: jake made you a promise to marry you when you two were toddlers. he would fake propose until he really did get down on one knee.

pairing: childhood besties jake x reader

wc: 1.1k

To your parents, it was all good fun. Seeing their child being proposed to by their childhood best friend at their favorite beach. Documentation was highly important to them, filming little you and little jake holding a candy ring pop in his hand, asking your hand in marriage. To them, it was adorable.

For young child you, you were petrified. At the time, your dad just gave a small talk on how to stay away from boys and you're definitely too young to get into a relationship. This happened when you called the actor on scene handsome when you were having a family movie night.

"We are too young Jake" pouting your lips, feeling bad for rejecting his proposal. Jake shrugs and hands you the ring pop anyway. "Fine, I'll just wait and get you a real ring".

That didn't last long because fast forward to the next year, he does it again. He has done it so much that for the next few following years, it had become an inside joke to everyone in your immediate family.

"You have rejected me for 4 years now" crossing his arms in a fit, Jake looks at you disappointed. "Maybe because we are only 12 years old?"

At this point, you aren't sure if he's doing this because he really wants to marry you or just to tease you and lead any guy interested in you far far away. Remembering all the instances where a boy would approach you during lunch and sit next to you and confess and say that they think you' re cute. There then comes Jake, wearing a smug smirk and says something along the lines of "I'm actually her future husband, please go away".

It makes you think about how you could never get away from Jake and his antics.

Even when you guys reached your teenage years, almost reaching adulthood, Jake never dropped the fake proposal joke. Like on your 19th birthday, at the restaurant he took you both to, he claims how he's your boyfriend and he's planning to propose soon, the waiter thought he was weird for saying that he wanted to propose soon with you sitting right there but nonetheless, he gave you both free desserts.

You thought at by the age of 14, he'd stop since you both are going through puberty, his feelings would change and he'd drop it due to his own pride and embarrassment, but no.

Now you both were 20, if you had to count how many fake proposals Jake has done over the years, it would reach 100.

"You can't say that we are too young, we're both legal adults and we basically known each other our whole lives." You turn over to him and flick his forehead, causing him wince in pain and shoo you away from him. "You're mean"

"You're the one that wants to marry me, so get used to it"

"Oh, so you're playing along now" He removes his hand from his head and pokes your side. "After years, you're finally warming up to the idea"

"Keep that up, I won't be anymore" Once you said that you realize how you didn't even deny it. Looking back at Jake who went back to playing video games, you take in his appearance and guide your eyes to follow the lines that make his side profile.

Jake was good looking, you knew that. He's always been the apple of your eye since you two were kids, then as you got to know him, his humor, personality, and behavior kind of sealed the deal for you.

"If you keep staring at me, I might disintegrate."

"Then, who is going to marry me?"

"We're still on that? I thought you didn't want to?"

"Make me your girlfriend and I'll rethink it" Now it was your turn to cause a ruckus in Jake's mind. He pauses the game and looks over to you, reading your expression wondering if you were serious or not.

That night, Jake stayed over. Unlike the other past sleepovers that you two had, this one was different because the way you cuddle into him now, it felt different. He was always yours and until now, just a different kind. He was now your boyfriend, not boy-friend.

With your dynamic and bond with Jake, it felt like sunshine and rainbows most of the times, being around each other all the time and knowing each other too well, you always found ways to fix things or any miscommunication that would come along.

Transitioning to relationship from friendship was surprisingly easy from the outside perspective but the thing with you and Jake was he was always a gentleman and treated you right and how you deserved to be treated, and of course vice versa.

When you told your mom the news, she did not show any surprised reaction, simply telling you how she saw it coming and was just waiting for this moment to happen, you dad shared a similar reaction, happy that it was Jake to be the one you were dating.

Fast forward to a whole year of dating Jake. People would say that you two were like a fairytale love, match made in heaven, meant for each other, all that. "Hey yn, maybe you should do that trend where you call Jake your husband"

"I'm pretty sure he's already seen that on tiktok, no?"

Still, even if he did, you were going to do it just to see his reaction. That same day, you two meet up after your last class ended. Waiting for you somewhere in the university's campus, you run up to him and give him a hug. "Someone missed me?"

In the car ride home, you guys both agreed to stop by your favorite restaurant and get some take out. Which was a perfect time to put your little prank in action. Just like everyone else, after placing your order, you ask Jake what he wants and tell the waiter. "Then my husband would like ___"

Once the waiter leaves, you finally take notice of Jake who is wide eyed, staring at you in awe. "There's no way you just called me that" To say he was a lovesick puppy after that was an understatement.

But now since you called him that, you have to keep calling him that. Because if you call him or introduce him as your boyfriend, he'll act surprised and startled. "Are you asking for a divorce?" "Do you not love me anymore?" "I thought I was your husband?" to name a few.

"I'm gonna have to propose now, for real this time"

#enhypen #enhypen imagines #enhypen au #engene #enha #enhypen x reader #jake #jake enhypen #jake sim #jake sim imagines #jake sim x reader #jake x reader #sim jake

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yojeongin · 5 months ago

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It’s my desire to give myself to you | p.js

→childhood friend!jisung x f!reader

genre: smut, romance, 80s au, childhood friends au, lost communication, open ended

synopsis: being the youngest in all friend groups has always proven to be beneficial for jisung but he’s no longer that little boy you met years ago. so why won’t you look at him for what he truly is: a man. he’ll have to prove it to you then.

warning(s): ADULTS ONLY, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! obsessive and whiney jisung, oral (f receiving), pussy drunk jisung, vaginal fingering, implied age gap although it’s not significant, public indecency, unprotected sex, bratty jisung, praise kink, bulge kink, begging, creampie, virginity loss (virgin jisung), alcohol consumption, infantilization mentions, overbearing mother.

wc: 11.6k+ || soundtrack || ao3

an: happy end of the year fic, I’d consider this an accomplishment (writing 3 fics in one year lol)

Summers began to be the best thing for Jisung starting at the age of nine. He might have gone to summer camp reluctantly at first, not wanting to join his older brother. He had enough of seeing him all the time at school and home so why did his parents think it was fine to take away his precious summers of pretending to be an only child? It was a rough start, that’s for sure; but being taken under the wing of older kids served to be more fun.

Up until the age of sixteen he lived in bliss waiting for the day summer break to begin and be back where he felt free from the watchful eyes of his parents, only seeing them twice a month for visitations. As for his brother? He had his own life to run and the two barely bumped into each other which was a blessing in disguise for him. His bags were always packed weeks prior to the departing date and when his mother started to ask if he truly wanted to go –for she has been missing him terribly due to their increasing mommy-son dates– Jisung didn’t hesitate on turning her down. Summer camp is all he looked forward to, the only thing he put effort into school for.

Nowadays the only yearly highlight comes in Winter for the holidays in the form of season greetings cards. He’s learnt to conform. “You get what you get and you don’t complain.” Is what he told himself often and that’s all the fight he has left in him the faster the years pass by.

“No mail for me?” Jisung asks with that same pleading whine laced onto his voice upon entering his parent’s home. Leaning down to kiss his mother’s cheek while she shuffles through the mail. She hums, elongating her words while flipping through the envelopes of bills and season greetings. Hoping her hesitance would cement the feeling of disappointment onto her son once more. “Well, it doesn't seem so… Oh! No. Here you go.” His mom utters with a slight smile, cruel as it is. “Took them longer to send this year. Thought the Y/l/n girl was going to fully desert you this year.” She quips balefully. Jisung gives her a quick glance before looking at the picture.

This is the most he sees and hears from you nowadays and it has become unsatisfactory. He wonders where things went wrong more often than he wants to. When he wakes up he thinks about it. When he brushes his teeth and showers he thinks about it. He’s burnt his hand thinking about why your letters minimize little by little every year and it so happens to be that this year he only received a happy birthday letter leaving him in the dark for the following ten months until today. If you can call it that, all the card says is: “May the beauty of the Holidays bless your home with happiness.” Signed off in golden glitter: The Y/l/n Family. No hand written note on your part, no acknowledgement at all. He’s sure your mother only sent it as his address hasn’t been erased from their address book. Otherwise, he’s not sure if his –hopefully– mother-in-law knows or remembers who he is.

“She’s been busy.” Jisung defends in a murmur, turning on his heel to walk upstairs to his room. “She told you that?” His mother yells back sardonically once he turns the corner. He ignores her but the glimmer of her pearly whites blind him through his peripheral view. A reminder that he can try to ignore reality but his mother will always be there to remind him. She wouldn’t understand it. She won’t understand when all she sees is that little nine year old coming back from camp excitedly telling her about the friends he made and the pretty girl he wouldn’t stop talking about.

Or the ten year old that was so ecstatic to come back and ask her for her pretty paper to write a letter to that same pretty girl that finally hugged him and gave him her address to write letters to. She took his too and put it in her ‘important things’ box. Jisung saw you do it.

But Jisung is twenty-two now and lives off of the crumbs he gets to devour whenever he rereads every single letter you’ve sent him. His favorite ones are the birthday letters when you send him pictures of yourself with cakes you’ve baked for him even if he couldn’t eat them. He’s content knowing you cared for him that much. He clings to hope more when this year the cake looked even prettier but not as pretty as you in the multiple pictures sent.

He doesn’t entirely care if you only sent one this year or that you did not reply to his own birthday letter for you. He’s glad that you still cared enough to bake him his cake and let him see how much prettier you’ve gotten. One of those pictures is in his wallet at the moment.

It’s insane, no? To fall so head over heels for someone that has never been his. Jisung has known you for over ten years but nothing has progressed past embraces, friendly hand holding, and constant cheek pinches because you found him awfully cute. He still feels your touches linger despite lastly seeing you in person at sixteen.

Longing is the word he’s looking for. Longing and yearning is all he’s done since that last time he saw you and it becomes worse through the years with little to no communication. He wonders if you’re truly that busy to not spare him a few minutes to write back. Or if you’ve found someone that has prohibited you from contacting him further.

He foolishly expected a letter for his college graduation the way you sent him one for his high school graduation but it never came. He’s kept in contact with his other summer camp friends but they’re no good with information regarding you. Most but one left in the dark about your whereabouts. The last he heard from Jaemin, you had gotten a job and as vague as it is, that’s all he told Jisung.

Useless but also valuable. He envies Jaemin sometimes. He was the only one able to get far more closer to you and he doesn’t fully know how to feel about it. While you spent treating Jisung like a child, like a younger brother, things were always complicated between you and Jaemin. Vague as he is, to be specific.

All he can do now is lay on his bed with a cassette he bought precisely because you recommended it. He doesn’t like it but he does like you so he will endure. Endure like he’s done with anything regarding his yearning for you.

With your deliciously perfumed letters, fountain ink stains all over the pages, and images of you scattered across his bed with the music full blast on his walkman— Jisung revels in the pleasure of your indirect touch. Your fingerprints embedded on the paper and their oils seeping into his own skin the way they did years ago with every single one of your touches. He wished those touches were far more than playful and cuteness aggression. That the times your fingers lingered were because you wanted him as near as he wanted you. But once again, he will conform.

Conform, conform, conform.

In his state, Jisung doesn’t hear his mother’s covert steps when he twirls on the bed with images of you laying on his face. And he surely doesn’t hear her when she cracks the door open to spot his hands lingering on his thighs, memories of the time Hyuck and Chenle snuck alcohol on the grounds and all of you had a ball with it. He remembers your hands vividly on his short-clad thighs, giving them gentle squeezes as you chewed his ear off. He remembers the names Ralph Machio and James Spader spewing from your lips here and there. He wanted to shut them up with his, consumed by jealousy but also wonder how they’d feel against his.

Of course he didn’t, the alcohol made things seem funnier than they were and he wouldn’t overstep. Not when he knew his role in the group was to be cute and be taken care of. That’s how you liked him most, he noticed.

And when he twists again to fight off the temptation of letting his fingers crawl to the hem of his pants, a face he’s known all his life is looking at him directly. Startling more when frustrated. “Park Jisung!” leaves her lips, sending his body into a shocking jolt and his walkman flying across the room. His body crushed the photographs he was admiring, much to her delight.

“Mom!” Jisung whines, holding onto his dangerously fast palpating heart. He huffs and pants, attempting to relax himself before dropping another word. “What?” He aims to say calmly but she’s far from that. Her hands on her hips and a stern look around his bed transmits her disappointment, disgust, and anger.

“I read your grandmother’s letter and it turns out she will be spending the remainder of the month with us after all.” Silent scoff, as if this was the most absurd thing. “Take a run to the mall and get her a gift. I didn’t count on her even contacting us.” Well, that explains her foul mood. It’s made worse when all he musters is a nod but doesn’t make an effort to stand up. God, how she would love to pull him by those raven locks or his ear. Whatever gets the message through.

“Well hurry!” That’s all she can muster.

So Jisung does, collecting everything he can and shoving it into a locked box while his mom turns to walk out the door. Embarrassed is all he feels besides shaken up from the scare he gained.

“Don’t forget your gloves and scarf. Don’t want you to catch another cold.” She mutters while mixing whatever she was cooking. It smelled fine but he knew her food became dangerous when cooking upset. It had a life of its own. He hums as a reply, wanting to leave it at that. “Jisung.” She calls again, calmly this time, turning halfway to look at him.

“Forgetting something?”

He shakes his head, bundled up under all warm clothing.

“Sure?”

He nods and she huffs, walking towards him. She kisses his cheeks and the tip of his nose, cupping his face. That reminds him, manifested in a sigh and a smile that he leans down to kiss his mother’s cheek.

“Bye.”

His bid farewell always leaves him upset. He’s twenty-two, why does she still treat him like he was three? Just yesterday his brother couldn’t stop pinching his cheek after buying him a crepe. Continuing to compare him to a cute little hamster despite Jisung having surpassed him in height.

Three weeks ago when he met with Jaemin to talk about you, the words ‘cute’ and ‘adorable’ would not stop spewing from his lips the way bile does. With the exception that Jaemin welcomed these in comparison. Mark, similarly enough, always clutches his face with restraint from crushing his skull and then engulfs him with a bone crushing hug that leaves him aching for minutes to pass.

He thinks Jeno is the only one with sense that treats him his age, yet he’s caught him other times babying him at the arcade. Especially when a stranger playing against Jisung wants to get quippy and there he becomes that eleven year old that Jeno and Hyuck had to defend from some idiots that had just watched Star Wars and felt inclined to the dark side.

Jisung decided to take the car, it was getting colder and he felt the remnants of snowflakes begin to fall even if they could only be seen under a microscope but he was sure of it. He contemplated walking in hopes of ailing himself to disturb his mother’s sanity but proved futile knowing she’d hover over him 24/7 until betterment. Therefore, his sanity would be the one disturbed.

For such a busy season, the streets looked empty and the mall itself wasn’t entirely full besides the movie theatre parking lot. Their billboard lights blinding him the longer he stares to see which movie seemed fun. He should at least get some enjoyment out of this. He can decide later. RIght now he has to pick up something he thinks a geriatric angry woman would like.

Let’s see… She likes disgustingly small yappy dogs like chihuahuas— as angry as her. She likes cats as sick as her… some yarn and new patterns should be a good gift. She doesn’t like those.

Decidedly, Jisung will take a stroll towards the end of the mall. Taking his sweet time to enjoy the scenery of the water fountain. He truly does like the mosaic. The flamingo pink tiles crawl up into a gradient of green tiles that surround the mouth where water spurts out. In better times, it shines under the sun. Right now, not so much.

He doesn’t leave before throwing in five pennies. Five for his birthday and five for safe measure that his wishes are secured. He always wishes for the same two things. Three to hear from you and two to beat Jeno’s centipede high score.

Jisung smiles and nods to himself, walking past the fountain, some water spraying on him. He doesn’t mind, he’ll take it as a sign that one of the two is to be granted soon.

Halfway through a cinnamon sugar pretzel after nearly choking from its dryness, Jisung decides to touch his heart and not gift his grandmother something she doesn’t like despite her being such a vile woman. Instead he should give her something that she won’t ever be able to lift and only admire which leads him to Sur la Table on the east wing of the mall. He grumbles and huffs annoyedly at the walk but he knows it’ll be worth it. Hell, maybe he’ll steal it for himself when she goes senile.

The only thing that he appreciates about this wing is the warm yellow lights from French and Italian wannabe restaurants that aim to attract hungry consumers and cooks. He enjoys the set up at Sur la Table, mainly because he gets to play with their faux kitchen setups and the shock on people’s faces when they overpay for these cookware items. Fooled into consumption from their fabricated experience.

He plays with some of the display pots and pans, twisting knobs and reading tags to see how pretentious he’ll feel after learning about Swedish enamel. He doesn’t know how much that matters —if it's a cash grab— but it sounds fancy. Before him, he prepares some plates. A nice hearty bowl of Caldo de Gallego. Jisung doesn’t know nor understands what it is but he remembers hearing it while flipping through the channels when his father got cable. A monumental moment for him.

“No dessert?”

And just like when his mother scared him shitless back in the privacy of his own room. A familiar voice snapped him out of his public exposition daze.

He goes through the same motions he went through back home. Clutching his harshly palpitating heart, panting and huffing to regain his composure, and feeling embarrassment. If he went through this once more today, he’ll definitely faint for good.

It’s far more embarrassing this time around. He took advantage that the store was nearly empty and no one came to this side of the store but he was proven wrong. Worse yet, the person that scared him was waiting for an answer.

Jisung still feels and hears his heart blaring in his ears but he tries to act cool. Only to fail when his knees buck once he registers the face that’s been accompanying him for the past ten months in his wallet. Albeit something was different. The length and color of your hair that’s for sure.

“Don’t be a stranger, come on.” Your voice is as sweet as he recalls.

Fuck, how he missed it…

Your arms extend to him, pleading for his embrace. Jisung doesn’t hesitate to give you what you want— as always. Swaddling you with his long limbs and making sure you can’t let go until he is done savoring this moment. He’s truly craved this for as long as he can remember.

A soft giggle works to ease his grip, letting you go with a nervous chuckle of his own. “Sorry.” He speaks, shyly covering his mouth with a sleeve covered hand. The apology not only yours to receive but himself as well for reacting like the little boy he was when you met; for the miniscule regression. He takes in your light head shake but tender smile. It’s a different scene from when he last saw you. There’s an obvious distance that he does not like.

“How have you been? You’ve grown so much!” Instinctively, your hands reach for his face, cradling it while attempting to restrain yourself from pinching his cheeks. You’ve already overstepped by touching him. Instead you give him an awkward giggle and the following words. “What happened to my little Jisungie? You’re even taller than last time.” Jisung can sense your desire to grab him and handle him like you used to but for some reason you’re holding back.

‘Please, please don’t deny me this. Touch me, hug me, pinch me… Just please touch me…’ Jisung wants to blurt out. He’s been starving for years and he finally has you before him, so why won’t you feed him? Don’t be so gluttonous, please…

Jisung won’t voice any of it, he opts to nod with that same gummy smile that you love. “Growth spurt, stuff like that.” He attempts to sound nonchalant but he’s so giddy that he can’t contain himself. You read him like a book.

“So, uh… What are you doing here? I never thought I’d see you in my town.” He questions, scratching his head. You’ve always been a good eight hours away from him, meeting him halfway for camp. Six if you count Chenle’s birthday party in ‘81 in which his parents paid for everyone’s transportation.

Your hesitance doesn’t go unnoticed by him but he wont prod. He’s content with having you near, he thinks so. He’ll be sure to start throwing quarters into the fountain for granting him this wish at least.

“Work actually,” You hum, body swaying while you nod. “Oh, right! Jaemin mentioned you got a job, congrats!” He celebrated with genuine happiness but the inkling of curiosity never left him.

‘Please talk to me. Please say more, I crave your voice. Please, I’m too malnourished, can’t you see?

“Did he?”

“That was about it. You know how vague he can be.”

You hum and nod again. This awkward cycle frustrating and hurting him.

Jisung has not spent the past six years missing you for this encounter to be short lived. He’s aware six years was a long time ago and he’s definitely lost contact with other friends but they’ve never mattered the way you do and there’s no way he’s going to waste this opportunity.

“Hey, why don’t we catch up, yeah?” He clutches his arm, swinging a bit and lips puckering before pressing them tightly amongst each other. Your immediate reluctance is easily spotted and it only makes him ache more. He’s not sure what has elicited this behavior but whatever it is, he’ll kick himself over it when you’re not around.

“I don’t know, Ji… I have a report to work on.” You avoid his gaze, knowing that the second you see his pleading eyes you’ll cave in. He knows that too and he knows that if he makes his voice a tad bit squeaky, you’ll begin to crack. You always do.

“Y/n-ie, please…” He tilts his head, crouching to meet your gaze. His big round eyes glistening either from the lights, his own natural charm, or the tears that will spill if you pay him no mind. He doesn’t mean to pout but when his lower lip involuntarily juts out you let out a defeated noise through your teeth followed by grabbing his cheeks and stroking them softly, uttering a “Fine, fine!” to satiate his nerves and your own craving of touching his face like you once did.

His grandma can wait, it’s not like she’ll even use the cookware set any time soon.

“What were you even doing back there?” You break the silence, both walking towards the exit. Without you looking, he tosses a quarter out of gratitude into the fountain when passing by. He swears he can see the tiles gleam and let out satisfied clinks. They’re just as thankful.

With a hand to the back of his neck, he laughs softly. Head turning to you with excuses in mind yet he opts to tell the truth. “I like to pretend it’s my own kitchen whenever I go in there.” He laughs embarrassedly to which he is received with a silent ‘cute’ and observing look.

He’s glad he distracted you but it also feels like a backhanded compliment. Adorable. RIght, that’s what you still think of him.

“By the way. Do you mind grabbing a drink instead? Not a huge fan of coffee… Unless you want to of course.” Jisung suggests, putting his gloves on once both reach outside. He notices your lack of scarf and undoes his while you contemplate an answer. Halting your train of thought when he wraps it around you which ends up making you blurt out a “Sounds good!” in return.

It’s no surprise that the car ride was full of silence but at least the radio muffled your thoughts and hopefully his own if he had any regarding the atmosphere. There was a part of him that grew resentful and hurt with the lack of conversation but the greater part was ecstatic to have you so near. This is what he’s dreamt and wished for for years and he finally has it. He does not plan on wasting any millisecond of both your times.

Jisung wasn’t an avid drinker and did not know much about alcohol besides what his friends have shown him. His parents didn’t drink and his grandmother would shove a can of miller high life onto his hand if he ever spoke more than his usual five sentences. The way parents shove a bottle into a crying baby’s mouth to put it to rest. Why did he request a drink instead, though? Simply to gain some courage. Lord knows he’ll need it if things keep going the way they’ve been.

The place he took you to wasn’t that different from the ones you’ve been to during your college days. With ugly stained yellow walls, dart boards and old decorations hanging on them. Wooden columns covered in thick layers of resin as were the counters and tables. Grumpy beer-bellied bar tenders arguing over the football game playing on screen right now with already drunk customers. Yeah, not ideal for a first date but the only bar he knew. The only piece worth being valuable a signed poster of James Hunt.

What the hell was James Hunt doing in this fuck ass town?

He let you go in first upon finding a booth hidden in the back of the bar. Far more darker and cozier at this end. Perhaps due to the lack of distance he kept between you two when he himself slid in, his arm instinctively resting on the backrest of the booth around your head. The need to simply wrap it around your shoulders killing him.

“Pretty cold out there, right?” Jisung began, removing his gloves and jacket, shoving ghe former in the pockets. You didn’t turn to him, responding with a hum as you remove the scarf. He frowns at this, slumping against the backrest, watching you look through the standee with all drink names.

“What are you ordering, Jisung?” He hadn’t thought about it, more immersed in hearing your voice. Either Way he didn’t know a single brand of alcohol, ‘Lite’ the only word in relevance to alcohol that he knew. “You choose, I’m fine with whatever.” He diverts, leaning closer to you to read the alcohol options.

Though, as if you could read minds, you turn to look at him. A soft smile with narrowed eyes focusing on him. “Are you sure you want to drink? We can get something else, I don’t mind.” You suggest, expression relaxing now seeing how easily he reacted.

“Yes! I mean no! No, I would really like a drink, unless you want something else.” Jisung tumbled through his words. The bashful look on his face raises your lack of restraint in grabbing and handling him the way you’ve done so many years ago. Oh how truly adorable he remains. Although, he’s gotten quite handsome. Too handsome for his own good.

“Okay,” You nod, fingers ghosting over his cheek to reassure him– never touching, just yet.

Raising your hand to call a bartender over, one of the two begrudgingly stroll to your table. Tossing a worn out and smelly towel over his shoulder, he gives both of you a look as if to hurry up and order. With reluctance and indignance, you scoff. “Two blackberry smashes. Whiskey in both.”

“We ain’t got that stuff here.” His mannerisms were comical and absurd. As if he was angry that a request was made but also so nonchalant, so careless for your presence. More interested in going back to his game.

“Fine, two pints of your house beers, tap and two shots of your cheapest tequila. ” Jisung thinks your voice now matches the arrogance and annoyance of the bartender. He sort of likes it, it reminds him of the times you yourself had defended him against snobs at camp.

The balding bartender grunts as a response, sounding like an okay before leaving. “Swear, it’s like he's being held at gunpoint to work here, Jesus.” You shake your head, attitude dropping when you notice his reddened cheeks. Curse him and his presentable fondness. “Oh I’m sorry, Ji. Was I being mean?” Your body turns to him, hand clutching his out of habit. Jisung smiles at the contact, looking at it briefly before looking at you. “No, you were perfect.” He utters, reveling in your touch.

You smile at him, embarrassed. Something that he takes with pride. “You never told me what you were cooking up in that kitchen, you know.” You aim to divert the focus. He chuckles at it, “Caldo de Callo. I heard it on TV, I think the host said it was a Spanish dish. Never had Spanish food.” He sounded so proud yet clueless at the same time. Though, you tilt your head, lips parting and closing the further your eyebrows furrow. He hears you hum and finally ask, “Do you mean Caldo Gallego?”

Jisung can see you stifle a laugh when his face begins to feel insanely hot, scorching even. Embarrassment written all over his face that he has to bury them in his sleeve-covered hands, groaning into them about how stupid he sounded. If only he knew that what he originally said translated to ‘callous soup’.

Endearing is the word you’d call it though. Endearing he is with his crescent shaped eyes and shamed pout. Endearing are the whines and groans he lets out when you can’t seize your giggles. He thinks about telling you to stop but doesn’t, your noises far more prettier and enjoyable even if at the expense of his misery.

“It’s okay, Jisungie.” You elongate his name, “It sounds similar, don’t fret too much!” You giggle, petting his hair as one does a child trying to comfort them. He enjoys your touch but doesn’t enjoy the slight patronizing tone to your voice. He’s not sure if he can call it patronizing because he’s aware there’s no malice intent behind your words but it did sound condescending in the way those speak to their juniors and he was tired of you treating him like one the longer the night progressed.

Jisung huffs, sighing when his head touches the table. He turns to look at you momentarily, distracted when your drinks arrive. He hears a few forced thank you’s and sarcastic my pleasures. Your feud with the bartender is amusing but not for this time. Right now he wants to focus on this sentiment brewing in his chest.

He gives you one last glance before reaching for the shot glasses. “To seeing each other again?” Such a simple question that made you hum pensively. You don’t deny it, clinkling your glasses together before dowing the burning liquor. With the taste of battery acid buring your throat, Jisung on the other hand clutches his throat, spitting it out onto a bundle of napkins.

You find him so agonizingly cute that your hands begin to ache to touch him and squeeze the life out of him. How adorable can someone be?! “Oh Jisungie… Tequila isn’t for everyone.” You tut, shaking your head. “Perhaps I should order you some apple juice to soothe that, yeah?”

Your giggle makes his ears ring, that same gnawing feeling that you're mocking him consuming him. He knows you’re not doing it on purpose. That you truly care for his wellbeing but is he truly that easy to perceive as naive and childish that you won’t see him as more? Sure, he didn’t like the tequila but so what? It was their cheapest one. If it had been a bit more expensive, then he’s sure he would have drank it as easy as you. He’s not a kid, why won’t you see that?

Jisung doesn’t voice it though, sighing while redirecting the conversation. “Were you doing some last minute shopping back at the mall?” He questions, obvious discontent and melancholy in his voice. You let it be, nodding as a response before shaking your head when you register the question. Too enthralled with how pretty he looks like this. Face flushed from the alcohol and embarrassment. So cute, so adorable, so perfect. Your Jisungie.

“No, no, actually I went with intentions to watch a movie but the cinema won’t play the movie I wanted to watch so I was on my way out when I saw you through the window doing your little thing.” Your giggle sends him into orbit. He feels lightheaded. Your words weren’t laced with judgment but fondness, he’s thankful for it this time.

“What movie?” Jisung attempts to act as if you didn’t affect him.

“Uh…” Your hesitance piques his interest. “Sex, Lies, and Videotape.” Well it seems that it’s you who is embarrassed now. He takes it, smiling to himself. “Gee, I wonder why they wouldn’t screen this at a regular movie theater.” He giggles, wiping the corner of his mouth when he feels some leftover alcohol residing there.

“Okay now, I had just gotten out of a meeting. My brain was not fully cooperating.” He giggles some more, his teeth now clutching his sleeve. “Honestly, why would a movie like that interest you?” You smile at him, the rim of your beer glass pressing against your lips. “James Spader.”

Jisung rolls his eyes, a scoff leaving his lips while he himself takes a sip of his beer. It’s unrefined and messy. The way the lager alcohol slips down the corner of his mouth and slicks his lips when he places it down. You watch it all through the window of your own, taking slow sips to admire his silent tantrum. He’s never been fond of James Spader. Or any other man you’ve mentioned.

“He’s not all that, you know.” Jisung mutters with a pout, leaning against the backrest. You don’t laugh like you intended. You simply acknowledge him through the handkerchief you pull out of your pocket to softly wipe the residue of beer before it becomes sticky on his skin. He can taste the flavor of your black cherry lip gloss when you swipe it over his lips.

Such an intimate moment prompts him to take a grasp of your free hand, playing with your fingers like he’s done before. “Oh please. He’s the perfect blend of sensible and… manly.” Jisung can only guess you’re thinking of James Spader with the way you bite your lower lip and narrow your eyes. A lustful sigh escapes your nostrils which serves as confirmation to his inquiry.

Seemed like a bunch of bullshit, if you were to ask Jisung what he thought. If you wanted those qualities then why didn’t you realize how perfect Jisung was? Maybe he’s being a little self absorbed or malleable to your desires but so what? He’ll do anything to make you look at him.

Furrowing his eyebrows, dropping your hand and pointing at his chest, Jisung spoke. “I’m sensible and manly!” It sounded more whiny than he expected which would prove to throw off whatever result he wished for. Of course it would, your laugh seems to provide an answer to such.

“I don’t know about the latter…” Your hum upsets him more.

“I am!”

“I don’t know. Just look at how cute you look pouting like that…”

Jisung huffs, upset at your continuous dismissiveness. Must you always remind him of his inferiority? What must he do if you won’t see that he’s a grown man now?

“I am, I’ll prove it to you.” His tone must have sounded significantly bratty that you receive it with patronization. Sarcastically telling him to prove it then if he was so manly.

So he did. He did in the way his large hands cradled your face, warming up your cheeks although that might be from the immediate heat his actions spurred. He proves it through his stealthy moves, bringing his face closer to yours in which he allows his lips to ghost over yours for milliseconds before finally connecting them.

Shocked is what you would describe this feeling clinging onto your chest. Never in a million years would you have thought about kissing Jisung. Sure, you’ve kissed his cheeks and forehead in the past, but that’s what friends do with someone they find adorable and innately drawn to. Jisung has always been hard to avoid, even if you wanted to, one look in those glistening round eyes and you’d submit to his every wish. Everyone does.

His lips moved with inexperience, soft and slow but uncoordinated with no idea where to go from there. His internal debates made obvious when he would part his lips for a second before going back to what seemed like peppered pecks. The way dolphins kiss. You wonder if this is his first kiss or how he kisses overall. If so, you’re only sorry that it’s so miserable.

Jisung eventually determines that he should stop. Either from shame at how uneventful it was or, well, simply because it was uneventful. Rather you two stare at each other for what felt like ages. His confidence is dying down along with your shock. By now both reverting back to your usual personas which meant that he shyly tried to look around without breaking eye contact and you, sternly looking at him without blinking much in order to gain answers.

He sighs knowing this was a lost cause. Rubbing the back of his neck, his body shifts to face you more than before. “Why haven’t you sent me any letters? Why are you ignoring me, Y/n?...” Jisung hates how easy it is for him to transmit his emotions onto his voice. While he hates to sound whiny, he would prefer that over the hurt that enveloped every single syllable he’s spewed out. What he hates more is that he’s not able to shut his mouth. “You have my home number, you have my address. Why haven’t you replied to my letters?”

“Jisung…”

“No! Please tell me.” God, how he hates how dismissive you can be, “I’ve been waiting for you for years. Please give me something, anything.”

Jisung’s face contorts the longer he begs, his lips reddening and puffing more than normal. His cheeks are ravished by that harsh crimson that warms them, borderline scorching. His voice, now a mixture of hurt but whiney that makes you shift at how uncomfortable you are that it spurred something in your chest, now traveling down to your abdomen. You really want to slap yourself for this.

Your Jisungie. Your sweet Jisungie, you idiot!

“I’m sorry, Ji. I was busy with my discretion and didn’t have time for anything. Then I graduated and it was a bloodbath to even get a job right out of college. I mean, I almost threw myself to the sharks and contemplated going to a convent. Can you imagine? All my hard work wasted. Then this year…”

Almost like a child that should have not spoken, Jisung raises an eyebrow when you reach for your beer glass, using it as a shield to make you stop talking. He grew increasingly irritated by your silence. “This year what, Y/n?!”

He’s never spoken to you like this which raises concerns with how you don’t mind it. In fact, you surprisingly invite it, although in minimal quantities. Seeing as there was no way out of it, you sigh, shoulders slumping. “Then this year I saw your mom at the film store around Easter. We were both picking up pictures and we talked for a bit until I asked about you and she said that you had a girlfriend. That I should probably be conscious that not all girls are comfortable with their boyfriend being so close to other girls. That she wouldn’t take kindly to seeing me send you letters so often, let alone pictures…”

Jisung has never been angry at his mother. Sure, irritated and hurt. But never angry, which seems to be a feeling he never thought he’d harbor for the woman that has given him life and all the love a child deserves. He knew his mom wasn’t too keen on his infatuation on you, he’s not sure if it’s for the difference in age or weary of someone she hasn’t fully met besides a few encounters on drop-off and pick-up day at camp.

He always imagined that she would come around once she truly met you, so why was she trying to sabotage him on something he’s been begging every single deity for?!

“So, if you have a girlfriend, why the hell did you just do that, Jisung?” The disgust and confusion in your voice made him feel far more awful than he already was. Appalled would probably be a greater feeling, though. He’s made sure to let you know that with the harsh ‘what?!’ that spews out of his lips like a hymn.

“What the fuck? I’ve never had a girlfriend. Jesus fucking Christ, why would she say that?” He questions the latter to himself, unaware that he’s confessed his inexperience to you (as if it wasn’t noticeable); shifting his attention to you shortly after. “Why would you believe her in the first place? I’ve never looked at anyone but you! Why won’t you see that?”

It’s not his grasp on your shoulders that startles you but rather the sincerity in his confession. Never in a million years did you think you’d be hearing these words from Jisung. The fuzziness in your chest adds to that shock which confuses you and at the same time disgusts you.

Jisung is far more perceptive than you had thought, “Please… It’s been you since the summer we met…” He goes back to pleading, his grasp softening. Kneading your arms as to beg for contact on your end. You hate how much this is luring you into whatever he wants. You’ve never been able to say no to him, yet again these found feelings are clashing with those you’ve fostered since you met him.

It’s vile and conflicting to see him in such a sweet light. As your junior who’d you do anything for, to… this incessant needy and lovestruck man that keeps begging for an ounce of affection in any form possible. If it was for Jisung he’d be on his knees kissing the sole of your shoe as long as you get to tell him you love him the way he loves you.

You sigh, contemplating on what to do or what to feel. “I don’t know, Jisung.” You huff conflicted. You’ve always been like a little br–” His hand covers your mouth before you can even finish your sentence. His eyes tremble and you realize that he’s much closer than he had been. “Don’t finish that. Please don’t ever say that again…” He begs and begs. Either it be his words, the way his eyes look at you, or his body language.

“I’m twenty-two, I’m taller than my own older brother or any of the friends we made in camp. I can drink and smoke if I want. I’m a man now, Y/n. Not that scrawny squeaky voiced kid you met long ago. I don’t need you to see me like that. So please… erase that from your brain and see me as I am now.”

You don’t know if you hate him or yourself at the moment. You’ve never been one to reject change, in fact you welcome it but it’s different when it comes to the image of people you like. Fuck it, you’re even upset at how deep you’re thinking about this when within a few minutes you might think this is stupid and unserious.

“If age is the problem, don’t let it get to you. We don’t even have a disgusting gap. For goodness sake, we were in the same group classifications every year at camp and Mark had already hit the group limit. That should be enough to get you out of whatever hellhole you’re digging yourself into.”

See? Eventually things could turn so unserious and with the sound of his voice, rather bratty and accusatory. “Do you not like me, is that it? Do you not find me desirable?” He questions, head nodding to incentivize an answer from you. He almost makes it seem natural and you wonder how many times he’s done this before. Push people’s buttons until he gets an answer. You suppose he truly has grown.

The Jisung you last knew would never whine for something like this. All he had to do was say please with a pout and he’d get what he wanted. Far more innocent and civilized. This was crude, erotic, and mocking. You expect him to give you a cheshire smile when he gets what he wants in comparison to his gummy one full of appreciation.

Yes, he’s no longer a boy. He’s now a sweetly cunning man.

“It’s not that.” You blurt out, cursing yourself at the admittance that he has more of a chance than either of you could’ve thought. Expectedly, that cheshire smile presents itself slowly. Sultrily, he speaks. “Then what is it?” He whispers, lips to your ear as his hands create a path down your upper body.

The words hang heavy on your tongue, distracted by his touch. Finding his large hands more pleasurable than you could’ve thought. “I actually don’t know…” You confess sincerely, eyelids fluttering when they land on your knee, fingers padding over the clothed flesh. Contemplating on whether to stay where they are at or slide up.

Ecstatic by your bodily response, he smiles sweetly. Whispering in your ear, “Let me prove it to you… Let me erase that image of me you have, please…” He begs, lips trailing to your cheek, a blazing trail branding your skin. When they reached your lips, you couldn’t deny him the wonders of being kissed in return.

You both sigh into the kiss the second they perfectly slot into each other. It’s slick and wet, albeit, much more pleasurable than his first one. This one you’re able to enjoy the delicacy of those plump red lips that envelope yours and leave a delicious sting that makes you crave for more.

Your hands paw at his sweater, drawing him closer to feel his warmth. He takes this opportunity to let his hands roam up your thighs, massaging the insides until he decides that he won’t wait and lets his hand crawl to the hem of your skirt. His hands –scorching– against your skin when he manages to pull down your tights. Bunching them around your knees and covering your legs with his jacket.

He smiles into the kiss when he feels you react to his feather touches. Taunting the idea of touching you further. He’s not too cruel though, not when this is what he’s wanted for so long. Therefore, he decides to reward both of you by letting his fingers go under your panties, the cotton feeling like heaven against his knuckles. He revels in the feeling of your wetness clinging to the fabric. Cooling against his skin while he lets his fingers waltz up and down your folds. Contemplating what their next move will be, unpreoccupied since you seem to enjoy whatever he is currently giving you. He can see it with the way your eyelids flutter and the kiss grows hungrier, needier. This is all he truly wanted.

Jisung decides to not taunt you any longer. He’s never wanted to upset you. Allowing his fingers to softly part your lips, twisting his ring clad middle finger and inserting the long digit into you. They felt so cold within your walls, forcing a gasp to leave your lips. He took that opportunity to muffle it with his tongue the second it intruded the cavity of your mouth.

The muscle, surprisingly strong as it dances along with yours, savoring the delicacy of your taste. This is overshadowed by the spasm of your legs the slower he pumped his finger into you. Molding your walls to the ribs of his nimble and spindly digits. Your pleasure is exerted through sighs and hungry kisses which he consumes all you give him. He thinks this is enough incentive to insert a second finger. This time his ring finger, quickly adapting it to the movement of the other one. It’s nice to feel the contrast between his warm acclimated finger to the cold shorter one.

His fingers move slowly, picking up the pace when he decrees that you deserve more pleasure than he currently grants you. He’s driven by the way you cling to him, hands going under his sweater and clutch his sides, fingernails softly taking the warm flesh. Jisung finds it delicious how you cling to him the way your walls grip to his fingers. Sucking him in and keeping them in place whenever he thinks of even taking them out without making you come first.

Neither speak but the silent mewls that leave your lips is enough to let him know he’s doing something good. He’s proven right when you softly nip at his swollen lips, sucking on the lower one, resulting in him releasing a shaking breath.

You will be the death of him.

Jisung found that he loved how you look when you writhe in pleasure in his arms. He thinks you look otherworldly with the way your lips part to release those sweet chants he has recorded in his brain. Enticing when your tongue sticks out to cling to his and his lips just to know he’s still there making you feel better than you’ve felt in a while. He knows you're ready when you gnaw at his lips and jaw, holding to the back of his neck as your lips trail as hungrily as his, prior. Leaving a trail of rouge that he wishes to seep into his skin like a tattoo.

When he feels your teeth cling to his jugular, he can’t help but let out a guttural moan, thankful at how secluded this booth was. His fingers reward that feeling by moving faster, his thumb rubbing delicate yet quick circles on your clit. At some point he felt scared that your cunt would swallow his rings with every clench around his fingers. You were so close and all he felt was pride and gratification that it was him that was making you feel this way.

Fuck, he could explode in his pants right now.

“Jisungie…I can’t hold back anymore.” You pant, leaving open mouthed kisses along his Adam's apple. Tongue roaming and savoring the saltiness of his skin taut on his clavicles.

He’s no one to make you suffer and not get what you want. Instinctively, his fingers pick up the pace, pushing them as far as he can. Curling them and covering your mouth when the volume of your prayers increase. Swallowing them whole when he connects his mouth with yours, luxuriating in the sybaritism of your orgasm through your kiss and spasming legs.

It takes you a minute to calm down, panting softly. Jisung looks down at you with a pleased smile, his fingers still in you, pruning by the second but he doesn’t mind. He sighs constantly, kissing you softly this time. It’s sweet and tender, similar to the first one he gave you with the difference that your cooperation makes it run smoothly.

When he parts, his fingers slowly ease out, causing you to shudder. You feel so empty and cold at the lack of his touch. Rewared only by the mere fact that he prods your lips with his ring finger, slowly entering your mouth. You savor yourself on him, tongue running along the underside, lingering on his finger pad.

No one has ever done this for you. Look at and treat you like you’re their whole world despite the lewd scenery.

His finger slips far more slick from your lips than it had entered your mouth. He takes them up to his own, running them along like a brush on the most pristine parchment. Letting its ink sink into the grooves and cement itself for eternity.

Biting your lower lip, you examine the way he takes both fingers into his mouth. Pupils blown out once he’s fully swallowing the taste of you in all forms. He knew you were perfect but this is beyond that. This is an exquisiteness he’s never savored before. He will never be satisfied again.

Jisung leans down making you think he was to kiss you again. The reality was that your essence was more inebriating than the shot of tequila and the pint of beer sitting on the table before him that he had to have a taste of the fruit directly.

In swift motions, he moves his jacket from your legs, shoving your skirt up and letting it fall over his head. Despite the awkward angle, Jisung managed to swipe the tip of his tongue against your slick cunt. The muscle parting your lips and forcing a gasp out of you.

It’s a mixture of shock and pleasure. He was shameless and that made it so hot and intoxicating, yet fear was consuming you. Forcing you to take a grasp at the back of his neck and pull him up with as much delicate force as you could muster. Like a starving kitten, parted from its mother’s tit, Jisung fetches your lips.

He looks so pretty and so stupid. So drunk and starved for you. The feeling so obvious in his hazy eyes and wet lips from your come that he has yet to lick or press against your own. You give him the latter, kissing him to satiate his need for just a bit. Biting his lower lip to calm him down.

“Don’t be so greedy, Jisung.” You scold against his lips, removing your mangled and wet tights and shoving them into your pocket. He cries like a kicked puppy but nods, getting out of the booth and helping you out knowing you’ll look like a newborn deer after his filthy handling.

Neither of you pay any mind to the cashier that takes in the payment. Weary eyes scanning you both and scoffing without questions. It’s not his first rodeo.

Drunk in a daze, Jisung doesn’t question when you give him directions. He expected it to be a hotel, one you should be staying at for work. It dawns upon him that it’s your apartment when he sees you punch in the entry code.

You’ve been so close all this time and he doesn’t knows how to take it. It’s evident in the look he gives you when you both enter the apartment and he looks around. His lips parting to question it but being shushed by your lips and hands tugging at the hem of his sweater to pull it off his body. Leaving him bare and goosebump filled before you.

“Not now…” you whisper against his chest, kissing his torso and pecks, nipping his nipple. You can talk about reality once you’re finished.

Jisung sighs but welcomes the feel of your lips and touch all over him. His own fingers unbutton your coat and cardigan, pushing them off simultaneously to make his fingers crawl to your back and unclasping your bra.

He withers and hunches over when your hands push down his pants, grasping his hard and leaking cock through his briefs. The wet spot ironically forming a heart. His Lip part, erotically to let out breathy gasps and pants. For this, you kiss him like he once did. Invading his mouth with your own tongue, holding his face in your hands, making sure he makes no effort in separating until both you feel the air escaping your bodies.

In the process, both of you manage a waltz in ridding of the remaining clothes. Kicking off any shoes and underwear, leaving each other bare in the middle of your living room. If he was given the time to admire it more, he’d tell you that it was truly what he expected of you— positively.

Instead he’s eating you alive, carnivorously gnawing at your lips in hopes to draw blood. An act that you embrace and let him do as he pleases. Simply because you’ll return the favor with as much fervor that you both will let the crimson paint itself on your lips the way your rogue has marked his skin.

When air finally did what you expected it to do, Jisung connects his forehead against yours. Both panting and drawing your bodies flush against each others. He grins seeing the little number he did against your lips, the cracks of them full like a dried up river during dry seasons. If only he knew he looked the same.

“Eat me… take your time in consuming me…” you implore, the words playing over and over in his brain as he pushes you down on the couch. Dropping to his knees without a care of what your neighbor on the bottom floor will say or if his palid knees will bruise instantly. For you, he’ll writhe in pain.

Jisung wastes no time, he separates your legs and throws them over his shoulders. His head delves in between the pretty image of your cunt and clings his lips around it fully. His lips suctioning while his tongue teases your entrance. His grasp on your inner thighs is a bit harsh but pleasurable enough that you’ll enjoy seeing the marks he’ll leave on them tomorrow.

He’s fueled more by your sweet words and the tugs at his raven hair by your fingers that curl on the locks. It feels much better when your nails scratch his scalp and for that he sucks on your clit. Incentive or reward, they’re interchangeable.

“Ah!… take your time…” you moan, head thrown back and giving him a pretty image of the expanse of your neck and the way your nipples perk. You look so heavenly that he knows it’s blasphemous. The way the overhead light shines behind your head, creating a glowing halo and he’s glad that it’s Sunday for this is his mass and holy communion. His mother should not dislike you after this.

Jisung lets his tongue roam around your cunt, savoring every crevice, picking up every single drop that spills from you. Be it that no one has ever paid such devotion to your mound, your legs begin to shake around his head. Your hands cling to his hair and pull him closer and closer to the point his nose manages to create a pleasurable pressure against your clit.

This is no problem for him. He lavishes himself in your taste and smell, moaning against you to create further sensitivity which is appreciated and you reward him by coming almost immediately when he lays his tongue flat on you to lick down and enter deep into you.

A slew of moans leave your lips but his name is the one you scream out. “Jisung, Jisung, Jisung.” Oh how well has conforming paid him off. For this he leans back on his feet, hands rubbing his thighs and teasing his own sensitive cock as he watches you writhe on the soiled couch. A lake of your come seeping into the faux leather, shimmering as its reflection on his lips, nose, and chin. How beautiful you both look.

Animalistically and greedily so, Jisung dives back in. This time pulling your body further down the couch. Leaving you limp and folded while he raises your hips and clings to them. He’s more messy and filthy about it this time around. He allows his lips to suck harshly and lick as consolation just to softly bite your clit and make you cry out masochistically.

Hypersensitivity, a force that travels in the form of your loud moans and cries. That’s what fuels him and it feels so sadistic but he indulges himself at least this once. He’s hopeful it won’t be the only time but for now he will enjoy it as it is.

He can hear you begging to please let you finish. That you don’t have it in you to last long anymore but he doesn’t relent just yet. Not when his hips buck forward and shudder with every grace of his cock against the leather of your couch. It’s so cold and harsh that it hurts but it also feels so good that he can’t help but be excited at how your soft and warm walls will soothe his dick like ointment to a wound.

That seems more exciting, yes.

All right, Jisung will please you once more. He kisses your cunt softly, long and languid velvet like kitten licks to push you further. His own rutting is much slower which proves to be a painful decision for he can’t control himself when his abdomen cramps up and painfully moans against your chest as he stands up to release all over your swollen and irritated cunt.

The feeling of his come feels like boiling water spilt on an open wound. It makes you come for the third time this night, the feeling increasing when he hums hungrily as he rubs his come in a sheer layer, ointment to your ache. The remaining that stuck to his hand, on his cock, rubbing up and down to suffer that same overstimulation at his own hands. This is his solidarity for what he’s caused you.

Tired and panting, Jisung takes a seat beside you. Caressing your face while trying to regain some stamina. You’re so spent that you lean into his touch, kissing his soiled hand and licking the saltiness off of it to savor him the way he has you.

Fuck… that’s making his dick twitch.

“Pure nectar from the forbidden fruit.” Jisung leans into your ear, kissing your cheek softly as he helps you onto his lap. You whine but ultimately allow him for there’s one more thing he can offer you and you need it.

His fingers are soft when they touch your entrance. It’s so soft and so warm, he can only imagine how sensitive you are. The image makes him moan softly against your ear. Your head resting on his shoulder and your arms wrapped around his torso. Limp yet so needy against his body. The body heat between both creates a layer of perspiration that travels from that connection onto your entire body.

Jisung rubs your back in soothing circles, leaving peppered kisses onto your hair and inhaling the scent of your shampoo. He inhales and exhales like his life depended on it, kiss after kiss after kiss.

“You’ve always been so good to me, Y/n. Do you like how I’m thanking you?” He hums, lifting your face with a finger on your chin. “Yes…” you sincerely confess in a breath, returning the favor with a slow kiss that allows your tongues to finally explore and examine each other the way you both are doing. By any form, you two will always find a way to please each other.

“And, I think I should keep going so you can fully understand how much I like you and have liked you…” he mutters in between kisses, his tongue shoving the words down your throat so you’ll digest them immediately.

You can only nod, feverishly and with a shiver down your spine when he holds your lower back, helping you up while the tip of his cock rubs slowly against your folds. You can tell it’s helping him get hard. His flaccid cock rapidly hardens with every stroke, his breathing increases and comes out shaky against your ear. It doesn’t help that you’re kissing his throat like you were back at the bar with the exception that they’re less hungry and far more passionate.

“Can I fuck you, Y/n?” He begs, eyes droopy in a plea. If it wasn’t because of how he’s holding you, you’d be sure his hands would be together in a prayer. You hum, pretending to contemplate when your answer had been decided long ago.

“I don’t know…” you tease. God only knew his abhorrence of those stupid three words. He’ll make sure to knock them out of your vocabulary if you say yes. For now, like the brat he is, he shakes and writhes, tantrum-like while his words come out in elongated whines.

“Please, Y/n…” he cries out, his grasp on you tightening slightly. You hum again but you don’t speak, basking in the pretty sounds he makes when he doesn’t get what he wants.

“You can’t feed me and then starve me… I’ll go crazy if I don’t taste you again.” He pleads, lower lip jutting out and letting his face get closer to yours. He’s so pretty like this that you can’t help but concede.

With a giggle you nod, “Very well then.” You tell him, kissing his cheek. The sweet act is gone when he lowers you down on his hard cock. You had seen it moments prior but hadn’t registered that the stretch would sting like this. It’s not bad, matter of fact it feels so fucking good… and it doesn’t help that he’s long enough that you feel him in your stomach.

“Ji…” You moan out in parts, eyelids fluttering as he bottoms out. Jisung sucks in air through his teeth when he feels your ass on his balls, squishing them and begging them to please you. That is something that he will hear out anytime.

Your voice sends him a whirlwind, “Give me your hand.” You request from him. If it wasn’t for the sheer fact that you wanted him to see and feel what he was doing to you, you’d spend more time admiring his large hands. Seeing them this way, you can understand how he made you come perfectly.

Leaning back causes you to squish his testicles further. A moan leaves his lips hungrily as he admires you through hooded lids, his head thrown over the backrest. When he feels where you placed his hand, he snaps it up, admiring the prominent budge on your stomach and how warm it felt to be in you.

“See?” You ask in the sweetest tone, smiling at him. He returns it with a nod, caressing what he’s caused. Instinctively, he bucks his hips upward, a moan erupting from both your lips due to the friction and the image. It’s like a live painting being made before him.

“So pretty…” he coos, his fingers dancing around the imprint. His thrusts increase in pace, your head rolling back in pleasure. It’s not fair that he has to do all the work; holding onto your thighs, you begin moving up and down on his shaft.

His moans get louder and his hands roam your body like undiscovered land. Landing on your breast and squeezing them. Your own hands leave your thighs to help him in kneading, yelping when his fingers take a hold of your nipples to squeeze them. “You’re doing so good, Jisungie.” You praise, each word received with a hard thrust from him and a whine, thanking you.

“My Jisungie is so big now…” you moan, leaning down to capture his lips in a kiss, he holds your hips while increasing his pace. “Such big hands,” reaching for one, you kiss his palm before letting it fall to its initial spot.

“Such big pretty lips…” Your teeth nip his lower lip, reopening the cut from your earlier‘s cannibalistic game. “The most beautiful big eyes.” And with a drop of his blood on your lip, you kiss his eyelid. Eyelashes flutter upon feeling your warm moist flesh.

You attempt to sound just as tempting and sultry, but his thrusts along your hips hopping on his dick— your words leave out in broken moans and cries.

“And such a fucking big dick that will make my guts yearn for it again.”

Jisung’s eyes blow out, lips parting and licking off the blood from them. He allows himself to be vocal now. There’s no holding back when his hands grasp your ass and hold you in place. His hips move up rapidly, reaching deeper than he had previously. Your lower body stings from his handling, it doesn’t help that his testicles are slapping against you that creates an echo to play all over your living room.

You’re being fucked stupid that no coherent words attempt to leave you anymore. Anything that does are moans and cries which he swallows entirely when he grasps your jaw harshly to kiss you as messy and wettly as he did at the bar. There’s some teeth and so much tongue but neither care when the feeling of your walls molding around his cock, that they’ll forget how good his fingers initially made you feel.

He’s so swollen, you feel it with every thrust the same way he feels you grip him with no intention of letting go until you both get what you want. It’s such a perfect fit that makes his abdomen ache. He’s so ready and so are you.

“Finish… please, finish.” He begs, hips move messily and mindlessly. He’s so ready to be done but he needs you to come first. It’s not until he shifts and brings you closer that his mouth wraps around your tit. Hungrily kissing it like a starved animal. His teeth take no mercy in biting the skin around and your nipple, leaving indentations of his pretty teeth. At least you’ll have his smile engraved on you.

He continues on the second one, your nipples so hard that they ache from his sucking and biting. And when he feels the needs to insert two fingers in you while he fucks desperately with squelches imploring you both to finish, you can’t help but clamp around him with a loud moan erupting from your lips and coming around him. Fingers and cock.

Your cries don’t seize, they only increase when he himself spills within you. It’s so warm, almost hot and there’s so much that you can feel it run down the sides as he remains in you. Poor Jisung, he had been holding it for so long. Your poor little, Jisungie.

You squirm on top of him, shaking from the great orgasm. Something you hadn’t had since that one time you masturbated at nineteen. Thank you Jisung for being such a great sport.

“You know,” Jisung is the first to talk, swallowing. He was parched. “I’m so glad I waited for this.” He smiles tiredly, you giggle with a sigh but ultimately nod. “I’m sure other girls were satisfying enough.” You say, to which he shakes his head.

“No, I meant sex.” He confesses confidently until he coils in when he realizes what he’s said. Your surprised look only makes the feeling grow. “No way.”

He nods

“No way! There’s no way you fucked me this good with it being your first time!” You attempt to lean back to look at him but your body aches and it also decrees that it wants to cling to Jisung’s as much as it can so the most you muster is looking up at him.

It’s such a pretty image when you notice the bashful look on his face, crimson blush consuming his entire body. How he, out of custom, smiles and throws his head back with his index finger extended under his nose to cover his mouth. There’s your sweet Jisung.

You laugh quietly, hand going up to caress his hair. “So cute… you’ll always be my cute Jisungie.” The statement is received with a groan but ultimately, Jisung relents. Kissing you once more, refined and sweetly. He understand what you mean and he also understands that you mean it differently now. Therefore, he won’t dwell on it. Sure, you’ll always look at him in such a sweet image but now with the addition that he has proven to you how much he’s grown… as a man.

#kwritersworldnet #kvanity #park jisung smut #nct dream smut #nct smut #park jisung x you #park jisung x reader #nct #nct fic #park jisung

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endearng · 6 months ago

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Special Guest

Pairing: Spencer Reid x single mom!reader Summary: Olivia's birthday is coming up. She has a special guest in mind. WC: 1.7k Warnings: mentions of absent fathers (sorry); reader is borderline paranoid about letting her kid down; they are pining hard - Spencer looks at reader not so respectfully. Please, let me know if I missed anything. A/N: I try my best to not describe the reader so that everyone feels included, but I feel like I should work better on that. If you have any advice on it, I'd be very thankful to hear it! Second fic in less than 24h, ohmy. This is a second part to 'Stranger danger' Feedbacks are highly welcomed and appreciated. <3 neighbor!au masterlist | main masterlist

A few weeks had passed after the incident with the power in your building. Since then, you saw Spencer sometimes and he always greeted you politely. Olivia once told you that she liked him so much because he was a nice ghost — he told her stories about the books he read and she absolutely loved them, going to the point of asking if she could borrow them once he had finished reading.

Little did she know, she would never have to wait long.

Their interactions always made you speechless. How was your 5-year-old daughter better than you at starting conversations? You could barely look him in the eye, despite the fact that he always made sure to flash you the brightest smiles. You reciprocated, but then Olivia always had something to say: about his funny clothes, about the book she was reading for school, about your moments together — you had a scheduled commitment every Friday, to take Olivia to wherever she wanted to go. She was very observant, and, just like you, had the habit of taking mental notes of the beautiful places you saw during your walks. That's how she knew where the public library was and knew the best coffee in town — she demanded having the same beverage as you, but you told the barista secretly to make it decaf.

As you both put on your shoes in the morning to leave the apartment, you said, "Oli, your birthday is coming up. Do you want to do anything with mommy?"

"I want a birthday party."

That made you freeze in your tracks for a moment. You've been avoiding throwing birthday parties for two years now, because Olivia's day always ended with a tinge of heartbreak by the absence of her father, who had decided to leave the both of you and move overseas to, maybe, start over. It hurt you to try to comfort her with something you didn't have control of, but you did it anyway because you'd rather hurt yourself than let your baby go through that kind of disappointment alone. You didn't really know what he was up to, and honestly, you didn't want to, either. You were doing just fine without him, but she was his daughter and still a child, so you knew she still missed him.

Your hands were shaking slightly as you tied her shoelaces. "Bunny ears, remember?" You asked softly, showing her how to do it: you always did it in the mornings, but you made sure to teach her in case they undid during her day at school. She nodded at you, flashing a little toothless smile. "Okay, baby, we'll do that," you smiled, trying to ease off the tension.

"I want invitation cards. Like the ones you had!" She said, excitedly. You huffed out a laugh, endeared by the fact that she remembered all the papers you showed her with photos and other memories of your childhood.

"No problem, baby," you said, getting up, smoothing your pencil skirt and opening the door. She went to the hall to press the elevator button, "we can do it." You said, more to yourself than to her.

Two weeks passed and you had everything ready for Olivia's birthday with the help of your closests friends, Victoria and Jude. You were planning on throwing her party at your parents' house, which had a big, beautiful yard with space enough for the kids to play all they wanted. You had ordered Olivia's favorite cake, red velvet, and a lot of other treats that you knew she loved.

"You know she'll be drunk on sugar, right?" Victoria asked, laughing. She remembered the last time she took Olivia to the movies and she was electric during the way back.

"It's her birthday, once a year won't kill her. Maybe it'll kill me, but eh, what's the matter?" You joked lightly and your friends laughed.

Jude had a checklist in her hands. "Okay, let's go over this so we can go back to our yearly drinking like there's no tomorrow date. We have the place, the food, the decoration... oh, no. Where are the invitations?"

"Oh, I got it. They're in my room. I had to put it away because Oli wanted to read them over and over again."

They nodded as you left your living room, walking down the hall so you could get said invitations. You felt dread creeping up on you when you couldn't find them in the top drawer of your bedside table. "I can't find them!" You yelled loud enough for the women to hear you.

"Are you sure you placed them here?"

"Yes, I'm sure. Not sure what happened, though." You murmured, already feeling a little disappointed. "I gotta look for it now. She drew it herself and I took a lot of copies. I can't possibly tell her I lost them, she would be heartbroken." You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose.

Victoria approached you to rub your arm, trying to comfort you. "Hey, we can look for it. We still have time." Jude said, smiling reassuringly.

"I know, I just don't wanna be too late." You said, giving them a tight-lipped smile.

So, you started looking for it in every corner of your apartment. You stayed in your bedroom, while Jude and Victoria went to Olivia's. You had cleaned the apartment today, a Saturday, when your daughter somsgimdz went to your parents', so that you'd have free time to spend and catch up with your friends. It was almost sundown, daylight fading softly and the lighting in your room was becoming darker as time went by. Suddenly, you heard your bell. Weird. You weren't expecting anybody.

"I'll get that!" You let your friends know.

Opening the door, you weren't expecting your neighbor. Rephrasing: the neighbor who Olivia adored so much. Spencer. That works, too. He has a name, after all. "Hey, hi!" He greeted you with a grin, looking shy.

"Hey, you!" You greeted him back. "Is everything okay?" You asked, a little unsure.

You took in his appearance. He looked tired, that's for sure, but it didn't stop him from looking like the most gorgeous man in existence. He wore his usual attire, carrying his caramel satchel leather bag. You didn't have an immediate answer, so you gulped when you noticed that you were looking a little longer than what's socially acceptable.

"Yeah, it's fine," he chuckled, unable to hold your stare for a moment longer. He considered, for a moment, that your daughter was the element needed for him to have a little confidence to speak when you were around. Well, shit. "I — um. I think these belong to you. I found it when I opened the door to my apartment." He handed you a bunch of papers. You blushed. You busied yourself so much with admiring him that you failed to notice that he had something in his hands.

He studied you for a moment. You looked beautiful that day. Not that you didn't look beautiful all the times you've seen him, but oh, well. Like the first time you met, you were wearing a dress. It was blue and it stopped mid-thigh. He had to stop himself from gulping at the sight of your bare, plush legs. It was different from what he was used to seeing you wear on working days, during the eventual elevator meetings. The dress hugged your curves beautifully, there was no question, like it had been made just for you. Your hair was loose and it fell over your shoulders. When you first answered the door, you had a worried frown on your face, but it quickly disappeared with his words. He felt relieved to see you get rid of your distress.

"Oh, goodness! Sorry about that. I was just looking for these." You gladly took them from his hand and your fingers accidentally brushed his. His hands were warm. "Olivia must have slided them under your door gap," you laughed nervously. You could feel two pairs of eyes looking at the interaction before them. You needed to brace yourself for their questions and very much possible teasing.

"Yeah, yeah. I supposed she did that, too." He laughed, quietly.

You thought for a moment. "You know, you should go. She really likes you. Talks about your conversations all the time and says she misses you when we don't run into you at some point." You revealed. It made Spencer's heart soar in his chest.

"Really?" He couldn't help but smile, even if he couldn't believe it. Not that you were a liar, but that it meant so much to your daughter to talk to him now and then. He felt alive at that moment, felt wanted. “I don’t want to impose.”

"Yeah, I mean, no! No problem, you wouldn’t be. We’d like to have you." You said, smile adorning your face. You took a card from your hands, offering it to him. "With us, I mean. It's going to be at my parents' house, we'll have a bunch of kids running around and cake." You surely looked like an idiot.

We’d like to have you, was all that he could hear.

Did you want him there for him or just because he was kind to your daughter?

Either way, "Thanks. I'll do my best to be there." He said, utterly happy. Saying your name lowly, followed by a 'goodbye', made your heart jump in your chest. You replied with a wave and a small grin. Your cheeks were sore from all the smiling. It was inevitable.

You turned around and had barely closed the door when Jude said, a little louder than her usual tone, "So, I see you found the invitation cards. I hope you gave one for Olivia's birthday party, not for a hot date." She playfully scolded you.

With wide eyes, you banged the door closed and turned around to yell, "Jude! What???"

Little did you know, Spencer heard it all. You know, thin walls, small distance and all. He grinned to himself, face flushed a deep red.

He was definitely looking forward to seeing you. And Olivia, too, of course. It was her birthday, after all.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x yn #spencer reid x you #matthew gray gubler #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #cm #mgg #spencer reid series

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batchilla · 3 months ago

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In Any Kinder Universe - Prologue

There's a boy on your front doorstep. He looks about ten, and you would not be at all concerned, where it not for the league of assassins garb he wore. You were still fairly sure you could take him, but if you could, you would prefer to avoid beating up a child. You allow the curtain to float back down into place, and move out of the living room to the entryway. Had you known the league would come, perhaps you would have let him slip something a little more heavy duty into your bag … but then why would Ra's send a little boy? and why does he have a suitcase half his size? You open the door, looking down at him. "You lost, buddy?" "No," the boy replies, staring at you as if you've disappointed him. Wait. That stare.

"Your address was on father's computer as a safe house for code red or black scenarios." He moves into your house, leaving the case behind as if he expects someone else to collect it.

"Father's?" you echo, blinking. Oh. "My father; perhaps you are a lesser detective then I was lead to believe. It seems the trend. The Batman." Maybe it would have been preferable if Ra's Al Ghul sent him to kill you. "A son of the bat in leagues robes?" "My Mother is Thalia Al Ghul. I believe you have met. I am Damian Al Ghul, heir to the demon's head and the bat." You had indeed met Thalia. Ten years ago when you were a scrap of a girl, still learning to flip and jump and fly, yet to be given the mantle, she had come to Gotham. You saw why now, or at least the consequences. The boy's heritage was obvious. You roll your neck, flexing your hands to fight the urge to reach for something in a belt you no longer have. "fascinating as that may be, it doesn't explain why you came here." The boy levels another look you know well at you, as if he sees all you are and finds you lacking. "I understand you trained alongside Gordon and Grayson, and then Todd, later training Drake and Brown." discomfort wells in your chest as you feel the ghost of a too tight cowl suppressing your face. "I don't know that I trained alongside Babs and Dick… I came in right before the … before she was attacked and he left." "But you did in fact train with and later train every previous Robin. It is also true that you yourself were once slated to replace Grayson." You nod. "But I didn't, and then I left." "Then you quit. Soon, I will take my rightful place by my father's side, and I will not be the first denied your tutoring." Your head aches, and vision blurs slightly. "Tim isn't Robin anymore? what- what happened?" "He was replaced by the Batman's true heir. He is not dead, if that's where you went. Grayson said you were sensitive now. weak. I see why my father had you go. Still, he speaks highly of you. When I asked about you - do you know what he said?" "I'm sure you're about to tell me." you mutter, but the boy pays no heed to the bitter tone. "He named you his greatest protege. Claimed Drake and Brown flourished under your guidance. Then demanded I stay away. Leave well enough alone and let you rot here in central city suburbia." you scoff. "Healing, not rotting. I hate to burst whatever weird bubble you're in, but I am out of the game. Scram." Damian shakes his head. "No. If you are what father claims, I will study under you." "And if I refuse?" "Batgirl, turning away a Robin asking for help? Unlikely." It happens before you can think, you grab his shoulder and slam him against the door frame. "That is not my name anymore!" He grabs your wrist and tries to twist out of your grasp, but you lock in and stand as stone. It takes you a minute to realise what's happening. Thalia's boy or not, goading little shit or not, Damian was a child. You let go and take a step back. It's not your name anymore. The mantle no longer yours. Technically if he wanted Batgirl, he ought go to Stephanie Brown. But he was a child, and name or no, if you turned him away and something happened to the kid… Sick laughter rings in your ears. Jason, so broken down, sat in that chair. The shot. Your partner… your best friend and first love dead so quickly after so much pain. "Take your stuff upstairs, third door off the landing. I- I need to have a diazepam and make a goddamn call."

You stare at the contact, as if that will fix the scenario. As if you can inflict your ire on the man who lent you his last name through manifestation alone. You cannot. He answers immediately, his tone completely blank, as if he's not even registered that this is the first time you've spoken in over a year. Your first name and nothing more, clipped and short. "Bruce, hi. Lose a brat, lately?" You are proud of how level you keep your voice. "Might've appreciated knowing I had another brother before he showed up. I'd have stocked the fridge with goldfish or something." Except you didn't, you didn't have a new brother, not really. Bruce didn't truly see you as a daughter, just a toy soldier. A truth that had slapped you in the face after you'd had a breakdown and needed to step out of the cowl, and your use to him was over. He hadn't even said goodbye. Just slipped an emergency alert into your bag at some point. The one trinket you kept from 'home'. "Damian arrived safely then." Your eyebrows raise "You sent him?" "I told him to stay away. To grant you space. Someone will be around shortly to collect him." "…" you feel pathetic to ask it. "You told him I was a good teacher?" "Something like that." is the unreadable reply. "Think he has anything to learn from me?" Your voice is thick and you fight the need to let it rasp as you swallow back the panic and the fear and the hope he brings. Even now, after so much time, and anger, and therapy, some part of you is that little girl desperate for the love of the only father you have ever known. "I do." "Then… maybe he can stay, just for a little while."

INCIDENT REPORT Concerned Parties: Batman. Batgirl Metahuman - Civilian {SEE FILE}. Incident nature: Phone call. Duration: 3 minutes 34 seconds. Notable information: Damian to reside temporarily with civilian to receive training. First contact with Civilian in 13 months, 2 weeks and 3 days post incident {SEE FILE} Personal notes: Damian has broken prototypical regarding his sister. She is to be left alone, per her request. To be reprimanded on return. She sounded initially calm and making snarky commentary but swiftly became distressed. Confirms suspicion that her leaving this life is for her best health. Distance to be maintained. Greatly relieving to hear from her again. She is missed. Incident marked closed at 1900 by Batman.

Hi! Batchilla here! Repeat after me team: if I vote on the poll and don't reblog, I am a piece of shit and need to learn basic tumblr etiquette!

Files MAY become available if they do not win the poll they first appear in... but I make no promises.

You can find the file here: Batgirls resignation

Thank you to @k1ssyoursister for making the divider. Thank you to @sunnie-angel for giving this a beta read. and the biggest thank you possible to @heavysighing-dreamyeyes for letting me yap at you so much about this series, you have been unreal.

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x y/n #dc x reader #dc fic #arkham knight x reader #batchilla squeaks #batchilla polls #long series that will update fairly slowly with no set schedule but I have been planning it for 6 months #friends to foes to its complicated

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milkbobatyun · 3 months ago

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memories of the past

pairing: jingyuan x reader

genre: angst

summary: longevity is a blessing and a curse. if only he could spend a second more with you, he would be content.

word count: 1.4k

a/n: a sequel to fireworks and red packets that no one asked for but i wanted to do cus i saw a tiktok that gave me an idea i couldn't get out of my head heheheheh hope you enjoy this ദ്ദി(｡•̀ ,<)~✩‧₊.

they were not blood related, but they were family. Jingyuan, the dozing general of the xianzhou. yanqing, his trusted little aid, saved from the barren and bloodied battlefields. [name], the reliable and skilled secretary, who meant much more than that to the general and his foster son. mimi, the comforting murder machine who killed with her deceptive feline charm. together, they were the symbol of love, of relationship ideals and found family.

the xiaozhou mourned the loss of their beloved feline mascot when she passed. memorabilia was sold in her memory and honour. keychains, plushies and figurines adorned every xianzhou child's bed, bag and desk. though many thousands of years had passed, countless long life species were still not accustomed to the sight of a jingyuan without his dutiful lion.

new year festivals and other grand events were highly anticipated, but the locals always felt a piece of the familial image was mission when they didn’t see mimi being carried like a baby, back to their abode by her servant jingyuan.

the family of four has now become three.

as many arduous years dragged on, the curse of immortality and its burdens eroded away at the mind of the great dozing general. many sought to acquire and tame immortality, but alas they do not know the burden that weighs down on the shoulders of long-life beings.

when the curse of mara was beginning to take its toll on you, you stepped down from your role, instead appointing fu xuan as your protege.

jingyuan spent many sleepless nights holed up in the archives of the xianzhou. he had helplessly watched his master succumb to the fate, he would not stand idly and be a bystander to his beloved’s suffering.

night after night, shelf after shelf, remedy after remedy, jingyuan scoured the notes left by his predecessors, fuelled by the flame of hope burning in his heart.

with every book tossed aside, every failed recipe poured down the sink, guilt lay heavy on his chest. he didn’t have the heart to see you, lest you were disappointed by his incompetence. thus, yanqing was tasked with cooking your medicine, helping you drink it to lessen the pain and alleviate your suffering.

in the late evenings, jingyuan would tread lightly into your room, drawing a seat by your side. every night, he was accompanied by the ghost of his failures and past friends. shadows lined the underside of his eyes, hair tousled and messy, no longer in its pristine up-do. he picked up the damp cloth, left on the edge of the tub, a permanent feature to your bedside table. with gentle hands, he dabs away at the sheen of cold sweat upon your forehead. nowadays, your angelic face was often creased in a frown of discomfort and pain.

as day faded into night, weeks faded into months, jingyuan’s old friends, hopelessness and helplessness, tightened their harsh fingers around his throat and heart, rendering him breathless. he couldn’t lose you too.

jingyuan rarely sleeps now. when he closes his eyes, he is haunted by phantoms of his past. jingliu, his master. she blames him for not helping to heal her of her ailments. dan feng, his old friend, cursing him for his betrayal.

worst of all, he sees you. jingyuan can only watch with wide eyes and a still body as you fade into nothing but skin and bone, while you lay in your bed, skin ashen and dull. sometimes, you are merciful, merely a silent ghost standing at the foot of his bed. other nights, you scream and curse him for being unable to save you. every night, jingyuan wakes in a cold sweat, his heart hammering in his throat, the distinct taste of tears on his tongue.

one morning, jingyuan is awoken from his night vigil by the gentle rustle of silken sheets, slender, bony fingers intertwining his. you are awake, life filling your eyes. your cheeks blush with the gentle rouge of natural colour and skin glowing with joy.

jingyuan breathed your name gently, as though he can barely believe you are awake. the beautiful melodic laugh that he missed so much filled his ears. like a thirsty man who discovered an oasis in the desert, jingyuan drank in the music. a miracle, this was. immediately, jingyuan sent for both the doctor and yanqing.

a flash of blue and yellow shot through the door, as swift and lithe as a sparrow. with a pounce and a creak of the bed, yanqing had snuggled his way into your warm embrace.

“you’re awake,” he laughed, cheeks pink with delight.

“i’m awake.” you affirmed with a gentle smile, voice slightly hoarse from disuse.

jingyuan watched with a soft smile as you and yanqing discussed animatedly. you promised with linked pinkies that you would watch the next wardance and have the honours of being his coach. leaning close to his ear, you promised two beautifully handcrafted precious swords for his birthday, and a generous sum of red packet money next year.

with shifty eyes and a sly smile, the two of you whispered close to each others ears, feigning innocence when jingyuan raises a suspicious eyebrow at the two of you. he doesn’t need to know that the two of you are plotting to steal his wallet again. jingyuan inwardly sighs at all these promises. it seems his budge will be tight for the next lunar new year.

with a bright smile and cheery wave, you bid farewell to jingyuan and yanqing. they wanted to stay for longer, but the sun was high in the sky and they both had their respective duties to tend to. neither of them noticed the grim shadow cast over the doctor’s face.

the setting sun dyed the blue, cloudless sky a crimson red as jingyuan finalised his duties for the day. as he organised his final few documents, the door is flung open and one of the servants who attend to you burst into his room.

“relax,” jingyuan chuckled, his mood bolster by the thought of seeing you healthy when he returned home. “someone would’ve thought that someone had died, with the amount of drama you caused just then.”

the servant paled. “my lord,” they stuttered, skin clammy with cold sweat, tongue and heart leadened with the dread of his next words “secretary [name] has passed.”

grief and shock pour over jingyuan like an icy bucket.

“no,” he laughs bitterly, staggering against the table, “that’s not possible.”

regaining his footing, jingyuan shakes the messenger by the shoulders.

“this is just a cruel prank, a tasteless joke, right?” he cries. solemnly the servant shakes his head.

the family of three has reduced to two lonely souls, relying on each other for comfort.

the wardance comes and goes. without his honoured coach by his side, yanqing finds it hard to muster up the cheerful energy to meet the audience. however, he must play the role of the ‘youngest lieutenant on the xianzhou’ and showcase the xianzhou’s skill to the visitors from the other planets.

despite his win, when yanqing stands shoulder to shoulder with luka, tears prickle his eyeline. how he wishes you could be by his side, witnessing this rare scene. closing his eyes, yanqing raises his face to the sky, praying on every star watching over him that you could see him, from wherever you are. imagining your proud smile and comforting embrace, yanqing’s heart is warm, yet a bittersweet smile adorns his face.

it is the lunar new year once again. the streets are sombre with sorrow. locals dip their heads in sympathy when they see the general and his aide, wandering down the street.

within a short period of time (by xianzhou long-life specie standards), the general’s family lost two important members. the once lively family was quiet, their cheer dampened by their loss.

the streets were no longer filled with the joyous teasing of their beloved secretary and the exasperated groans from jingyuan, as he watched with a broken heart as you spoiled yanqing with his hard-earned money.

instead, the chiming laughter of locals and the general’s family mingling as they witnessed the scene of jingyuan babying a ferociously large kitten lion faded into distant memories, immortalised through stories, told by locals to curious tourists and rowdy children, in hopes that those precious memories of the ones they lost could live on.

∧,,,∧ ( ̳• · • ̳) © curated with love by milkbobatyun 2025 / づ ♡

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badgalsasuke · 3 months ago

Note

https://www.tumblr.com/weepingnightmarenaruto/775649233787387904/the-way-kishimoto-handles-narutos-trauma-is-so

What are your thoughts on this?

Hello anon!

Ngl this is one of my favorite ask I've ever received because it allows me to discuss something I've been meaning to for quite some time now.

Before I get into the topic that interests me the most, I'll give my observations on this:

Honestly Narutos childhood before the start of the manga needed to be explored more and Kishimoto should’ve given a bigger focus to how Naruto is because of it.

It was explored. Since chapter 1 and throughout flashbacks over the next chapters of the series, Kishimoto efficiently established and explored Naruto's childhood which explained why Naruto behaves the way he does. Kishimoto does not need to grab the readers hand and explain exhaustively so people understand Naruto's character. This manga is not hard to get to need all that.

But the way Kishimoto constantly shows how okay Naruto is with being mistreated as long as he feels they acknowledged him, is so sad. And I wish Kishimoto awknowledged how unhealthy this is.

This is where it gets interesting. It is true that Naruto isn't allowed to get angry at Konoha and is quickly resolved in the manga (although that particular paragraph was in reference to Sasuke). However, this has more to do w/ the fact that Naruto is a shonen and the power of friendship and loyalty overcomes everything, even Kishimoto himself expressed frustration at how naive the resolution of problems in shonen manga is, maybe if the series was a seinen he would've written with more nuanced about Konoha as a political and military entity that also happens to be the home of the child soldiers.

This is also part of the reason why the Kage summit arc pisses me off so much. Naruto lets himself be beat up by Karui over Sasuke, has a panick attack, rejects Gaara, gets on his knees to beg the raikage to pardon Sasuke etc. Like he should be able to emphatize with the Kumo ninjas over what happened to Killer Bee and he should value his friendship with Gaara more. Honestly Sasuke joining the akatsuki and trying to capture Killer Bee should have been a deal breaker to Naruto. And to top that off Naruto witnessing Sasuke trying to Murder Sakura should at least be one. Naruto forgiving people who mistreats him makes sense, but people mistreating the people he cares for should not be. The way Naruto treats so many of his friends over his obsession with Sasuke is so disappointing.

And this is what I wanted to tackle the most. Naruto fans do not understand Kishimoto's writing AT ALL. Idk if the op of that post is Asian or not, but it's become clear to me that Naruto fans don't know and have shown zero interest in getting to know Kishimoto's writing influences. And no, I'm not talking about Dragon Ball.

Kishimoto has shared with fans his interest in Samurai and the Edo period Japan several times, to the point the first manga he wanted to write when he was a highschooler, before he even won an award at Shonen Jump, was about Samurai but scrapped the idea because at the time mangas like Rurouni Kenshin and Blade of the Immortal came out and he felt there was no longer space for him in the highly popular sub-genre and also that he's own writing wasn't as good compared to the aforementioned works.

But that does not mean that we don't see Kishimoto's nerdy side come out in Naruto about Samurai even if it's a manga about ninjas. There's the obvious, we see during the 4th war arc an actual battle between two samurai warriors, we also know Naruto is established in a fantasy universe of feudal Japan with damyos (feudal lords) and all. The themes of honor and loyalty, quests for revenge, the overall kinship is present as well.

But for those who have read Japanese literature works from the 17th century, you would have noticed that Kishimoto borrows A LOT from them when he's writing his manga, especially for Naruto and Sasuke.

It's funny because SS and NH shippers, as well as Naruto stans who hate Sasuke and Sasuke stans who hate Naruto and even fujoshis who are used to cookie-cutter stories where seme and uke do nothing but fuck after a couple of meetings in a corporate setting or high school or whatever boring shit they like to read, use the following examples to show how toxic and unhealthy Naruto and Sasuke's relationship is, not caring about Kishimoto's literary references as usual.

Kishimoto writes a love story the way they used to be written centuries ago. He draws a lot of inspiration from at least two writers from this period Ihara Saikaku and Chikamatsu Monzaemon.

The first example is Haku and Zabuza's relationship, I'll speak about them before moving to Naruto and Sasuke to give more context on how homosexual love stories were written around the time. Although Zabuza is not a samurai but rather a ninja on the run, the relationship is clearly inspired on the wakashudo practices where an older man would take a child from ages 11-16 as his protégé to train him, feed him, give him shelter and take him as his lover until the child came of age and became a warrior at the service of the lord of the land himself. Those young boys must be of great beauty, Saikaku is constantly writing about how their beauty is what grants them the better masters over the ugly boys.

This is what Zabuza and Haku do. Zabuza takes Haku as an apprentice and they swear loyalty to each other till the death, because that's the other thing, if the circumstance presented, both master and apprentice would fight alongside each other, kill for each other and if necessary die for each other.

Many Naruto fans feel uncomfortable about the real nature of Zabuza and Haku's relationship and delude themselves into believing their relationship is actually one of father and son, lol how stupid.

Because Naruto is a shonen, we never see sexual acts being performed so Kishimoto instead shows us the attraction these characters feel for one another through suggestive dialogue and flushed faces.

Even Haku's sacrifice and Zabuza's final words are totally inspired in the works of Saikaku, where both lovers hope to meet each other in another world. Foer exambple, in one of Saikaku's stories The Boy who Sacrificed his Life in the Robes of his lover, the boy, Senjuro, who had pledged to love Sazen in this world and the next and knowing his lover was at risk of being ambushed and killed, disguises himself as Sazen sacrificing his life for him getting slashed from the back, after learning about Senjuro's death Sazen kills himself as well.

Very dramatic right? This other post also discusses briefly Haku and Zabuza and Kishimoto drawing inspiration from literary works from the Edo period [LINK]

Let's move onto Naruto and Sasuke. Is their relationship toxic and unhealthy? By today's standards it sure is. But by the standards of the 17th century is one of the greatest stories of male love ever told, I'm certain if Saikaku could read Naruto he would commend Kishimoto on his work. But this is something Naruto fans don't know and quite frankly most don't care about.

In the post you linked, OP expresses the arc that pisses them off the most (and most Naruto fans hate as well) is the Kage Summit arc where Naruto states his fierce loyalty to Sasuke no matter what, and I must laugh because if there's any arc that resembles the male love stories of the Edo period the most, it's that one.

It bothers most fans Naruto wanted to commit double suicide so he and Sasuke escape the burdens of their world and be free of them in the next one. This is a common theme in literature of 17th century Japan. Two lovers making up for their Confucian failings in this world seeking redemption in a Buddhist paradise (at the time Buddhism had made its way into Japan and it was very different from China and India's Buddhism, you can read more about it here).

Kishimoto has referenced Chikamatsu in Naruto, so he is familiar with his plays where lovers commit double suicide as the ultimate showcase of love. I believe Kishimoto felt more comfortable and had more freedom to reference Chikamatsu and not Saikaku because the former wrote heterosexual romances whereas the latter focused more in homosexual romances and Kishimoto was already walking on a fine line by this point.

These other blogs have written great posts on how Kishimoto incorporated the double suicide trope for Naruto and Sasuke [LINK], [LINK], [LINK]. So I don't think I need to delve any deeper into it, they did a great job themselves.

But this is what OP doesn't understand. Kishimoto is writing an epic, a love story for the ancient times. Sasuke doing all that and all this is kind of like a test, Naruto's devotion is being put through highs and lows and they must overcome them. It'd be good fanservice to some if Naruto would give up on Sasuke but that'd be pretty boring and writers of the Edo period would be rolling over their graves if Kishimoto did that, HA!

Another element Kishimoto borrowed from Saikaku's literary works is the willingness to commit seppuku for your loved one. We see this with Madara and Hashirama.

In Saikaku's story Nightingale in the Snow two young boys, Naiki and Dannosuke, seek to become the lovers of the samurai Tonai. When Tonai demands proof of their love for him the boys show themselves willing to commit seppuku in front of him, Tonai shocked by their devotion accepts them as lovers.

The scene is similar to Hashirama also being willing to kill himself in front of Madara per his request, hoping Madara would accept him and trust him and his clan. Madara just like Tonai, is shocked by Hashirama's actions and stops him just in time, accepting him and joining his clan with Hashirama's, just like Tonai accepted the boys.

Which leads me to Kishimoto's *actual* finale for the Naruto series, the chapter he had planned and envisioned for 15 years, chapter 698. It's also been discussed by another blog how the theme of the battle Love vs. Power and the panels are a homage to Devilman's own final battle [LINK]. But what interests me in particular about chapter 698 in relation to Saikaku's work is how mutilation of your own body has also been a common trope in Japanese male love literature as proof your devotion.

In the story He never performed in the capital, Saikaku writes how Kabuki actor Heihachi would cut his tighs and slash his arms to prove the sincerity of his love for his patrons.

Or in An Onnagata's Tosa Diary where a devoted fan of kabuki actor Han'ya cut his own finger and gave it as a gift to the actor as proof of his sincerity. In response, Han'ya washed the finger thoroughly, wrapped it carefully and placed it in the breast of his robe.

Kinda like Naruto willing to lose his arm to Sasuke hoping to finally reach his heart (and did!). Sasuke would also go on to refuse a new arm, keeping himself mutilated as a reminder of Naruto's devotion for him.

Something that surprised me at first but then it made total sense to me is the brotherly troth found in Saikaku's works. Usually when a Samurai took a young apprentice, the samurai was old as shit (40-60 years old) and the young boy would be anything between 11-17 years. But there were times when a younger man would engage in a relationship with another man close in age, (although for us in modern times a lot of them would still be considerable age-gaps).

Saikaku for example, wrote the love story between Sazen, a 28 year old and Senjuro, a 17 year old, because of their not so big age-gap, these two lovers considered each other "brothers". They formalize their relationship by having sex, considering it the consummation of their brotherly troth.

When Sazen believes Senjuro had betrayed him for another man he's heartbroken Senjuro might had broken his vows of brotherly love.

So in Edo Japan homosexual relationships between two men close in age were considered similar to that of brothers, or at least brought the men so close they would consider one another brothers. Something very important to keep in mind is that none of these men are actually blood related.

In another of Saikaku's stories They Waited Three Years to Die, Kikui the younger man, considers his lover, Uhei to be his elder brother.

It seems that in this period of time there wasn't a clear divide in the type of love a man might profess another man with whom he is in love and has sex with, and the type of love two blood-related brothers felt for each other. Again, this is not condoning incest, it's more so how they saw male-male romantic relationships as deeply intimate they rivaled the bonds of blood-related people.

I had already made a post on what I believed Kishimoto meant with his whole "more brothers than blood-brothers" deal he has going on with Naruto and Sasuke [LINK]. But now I understand where it comes from. It really has nothing to do with actual incest (or pseudo-incest or spiritual-incest or whatever the fuck antis come up with) but him drawing inspiration from centuries old literary works on homosexual relationships. After all Naruto being set in what's clearly fantasy Edo feudal Japan, it makes sense Naruto the character would have a similar view on his feelings for Sasuke.

Finally, another thing I found very interesting is how in Saikaku's works he always makes sure to let the readers know how beautiful a man (usually the bottom of the relationship) is by comparing his looks to those of a girl. For example, in his story Implicated by his Diamond Crest, Saikaku writes Tannosuke is so beautiful people thought he was a girl when he was seven years old.

In another story, Fireflies also work their asses at night, the boy Handayou is filled with pride when he hears cries of admiration from both women and men alike, it's pointed out he resembles a beautiful woman and is exactly like a courtesan.

So funny how Kishimoto does the same with Haku and Sasuke, such pretty beautiful boys people think they're girls.

Kishimoto is so insane, this old man really thought he could get away with all this, uh? or maybe he was hoping people would notice.

So going back to OP's post linked, what they and most Naruto fans complain about is that Kishimoto writes seeking to emulate the writing of 17th century authors rather than a 21st century one. So a lot of things that for us are toxic and unhealthy, were symbols of passion and loyalty back then and that's how Kishimoto sees them and seeks to express them in his own work. This is why it's so important to keep in mind author's intentionality when engaging with some art or media work. What is Kishimoto trying to say with his manga? what are his references, influences and inspiration? which works parallel his own? There's a reason why every creative is always telling us the media they consume and their favorite art, because we are seeing pieces of them reimagined in their own new work.

I'm really proud that I managed to make this post only considering Japanese works and not adding Western ones for direct parallels between Naruto and other pieces of literature. But this sentiment of wanting to fight alongside your loved one, killing for them and dying by their side is pretty much universal in homosexual literature, especially from the ancient times. You can also find this celebration of homosexual love in Ancient Greek and Roman literature too, Achilles and Patroclus being the most famous example.

The lyrics of Taylor Swift's song You Are In Love, fit pretty well this same sentiment those men centuries ago were trying to describe as well.

Like yeah, imagine you've been sent off war, women stayed in the city and you're left with nothing but the company of the men you're gonna fight alongside and quite possibly die alongside too. Of course you'd love them, in every way a person could possibly love another one, because those men are your brothers.

The screenshots I used for this post are from Ihara Saikaku's book The Great Mirror of Male Love.

#ask reply #narusasu #sasunaru #hashimada #zabuza and haku #sns literary parallels #I'm so proud of this post omg #sns meta #Kishimoto was reheating Saikaku’s nachos a bit too much 🤨

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ixiot-ghostrebel · 1 year ago

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Hi! Finally able to request. I really enjoy your work!

Can you try a creator who use their power through music (like singing or playing instrument) in an Imposter-AU with the Archons? (The voice of the Creator is heard as the sound of nature like wind or water, though. No one knows their true voice)

Thank you so much.

🎄Merry Christmas🎄

Welcome @peaceindreams ! I'll see what I can do with Your Request :D

Also VERY LATE Merry Christmas—I'm writing this a few days after Christmas.

Archons Realize Reader is a MUSICIAN WOAHHH

To be honest, you were kinda just minding your business when the Archons found you and your ever-singing glory.

They SHOOKETH so good job! Let's nitpick at their reactions! >:)

(Warning: Might be OOC!)

Venti

Wisp boi HELLA SHOOKETH. But he also happi boi so good job!

Wants to hear your voice sing and not the wind just continues to gently smack his face. Don't get him wrong, he's probably the only one who can actually listen and understand and compute with what you're singing, but like he really wants to hear your actual voice. He thinks it'll be such a treat!

"Your Graceee...Is there a way to let these humble gods hear your voice? Pleaseee? This bard will make a ballad about it and the world shall start spewing about it right after!~ Hehe, it'll be a big hit, one as grand as your visage!"

He really wants to hear you sing now. Good luck explaining that you got no control over dis :)

Zhongli

GRANDPA ABSOLUTELY SHOOKETH. But he finds it pleasant to see that you're having fun and enjoying your time in Teyvat.

Unlike the airhead beside him, he cannot understand what you are singing, and he feels kinda disappointed that he can't enjoy it too. He would share the memory—

Ahem, anyways. Loves it, 100%. Bro's a huge supporter even though he legit has, like, zero comprehension of the situation. He's also giving Venti some bombasic side-eyes.

"Your Grace, please do not be pressured by this wind god. While it would be a stunning blessing, do NOT feel like you owe us anything." You know those memes where like, one person is forcing someone's head to bow while they bow to apologize to whoever got offended? Yeah, it's that one meme except it's Zhongli making Venti bow for his idiocy.

Grandpa wants to hear your voice fr this time, but bro's not gonna force it upon you. Grandpa will, nevertheless, share the memory over osmanthus wine, because "Osmanthus wine tastes the same as I—"

Raiden Ei, Raiden Ei...I honestly think she feels like she doesn't DESERVE to hear you sing. Like, she feels like she just intruded on your personal space and she crossed some sort of line.

But the wind's pleasant and all of the surrounding area is practically glowing as you sing. Your voice practically carries throughout the place, becoming the nature, the water, the wind, everything.

"Your Grace, you need not heed to the request at all. We are more blessed to be in your presence enough." As much as she's getting more and more used to the present times of Teyvat, she's still kinda stuck in her ways a little. She still thinks of you highly and does not let her beliefs falter.

She really doesn't think she deserves to hear your voice, but she is also very curious. Never wants to push though because she's old-school.

Puppet Shogun looking at this and going "This will be forever engraved in eternity" as Ei is shaking the Puppet Shogun by the shoulders like "NO, WE SHOULD NOT BE HEARING THIS WHAT KIND OF PROGRAM ARE YOU ON I DID NOT PROGRAM YOU LIKE THIS—"

All in all? Mental crisis! :D

Nahida

Cute god loves you! She loves how the flowers bloom, how the wind flows, how the water speaks—not even analogies can describe the amazingness of it all!

She's grinning so wide with such wholesome-wide eyes, like an actual child discovering music for the first time or smth ykwim? IT'S ADORABLE IS WHAT I'M TRYING TO SAY.

"Your Grace...is it possible if we could see this more? You don't have to, of course, but this is really amazing!" She's practically GLOWING with excitement and nervousness. While Nahida wants to hear you sing and see you enjoying your time, she doesn't want to push boundaries!

Safe to say, she'll support whatever your answer will be!

Furina

Girl's flabbergasted. She thinks she might have been sent to both celestia and hell because it was hard to compute whether she was trespassing or if she was being blessed.

Furina is utterly speechless to how your voice alone commands presence and power without even needing to try so hard. Anyone, absolutely anyone, can tell you are truly the Almighty Creator.

Though she's retired from being the Hydro Archon, she still has the slight dramatic flare she has had for 500 years. And she's got to say, she absolutely loved your performance!

"Your Grace, if I could humbly suggest a request on the behest of the follow archons beside me." Furina dramatically bows a little. "May we be humbled by your presence, and continue to gaze upon our unfathomed eyes of what a real god can truly do in the likes of the world? I'm sure this will bring many beautiful pieces of art—be it music, visual arts, dramatic arts, and so on!" Girlie doesn't realize she made a beautiful monologue about your singing on the spot, but one thing's for sure—she loves you and you singing, even if her ears can't understand it. It was still a beautiful piece.

After all, she was the All-Powerful Hydro Archon before she retired. She knows power and art when she sees it, and you bypass all forms of mortal concepts. You're practically her favorite musician!

Please grace her—I mean them—with your singing! It's too beautiful to miss!

Ghost Rebel Side Notes: I am SAD I couldn't finish this when it was still AROUND CHRISTMAS SOBBING, but I hope y'all like this post, though! Hopefully my next post won't take too long—but I'm not gonna say anything because rn I'm EATING those words up like it's for breakfast lol—I'll see you all next time :)

✦ Check out The Ghost Rebel’s Blog Description & Info Page to See if Their Mailbox is Open! ✦

#genshin impact sagau #genshin sagau #self aware genshin #genshin self aware #sagau x reader #sagau #sagau genshin #yandere sagau #genshin cult au #sagau brainrot #sagau cult au #yandere genshin x reader #sagau furina #sagau nahida #sagau ei #sagau zhongli #sagau venti #genshin x reader

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oswildin · 7 months ago

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heyy I'm not sure if you still do headcanons or anything like this and if not that's totally okay!! I was just wondering how loki might react if he was invited to spend the holidays with the reader(or if the readers family came to the compound for the holidays, up to you!) thanks!!ᥫ᭡.

Hey!!! I’m happy to do headcannons! Thank you for requesting! 💚

I kept it all very neutral and vague with using ‘festivities’ instead of ‘Christmas’ terminology because I know not everyone celebrates it. I also kept the family terminology vague and just used ‘your parents’ and not ‘mum and dad’ or whatever because I know not everyone has a nuclear family (me being one of them!) No mentions of pronouns for reader.

Avenger!Loki x Partner!You ‘Meeting The Fam’ Headcannons

Loki knew he shouldn’t have been surprised when you had mentioned him tagging along with you for the holidays to your hometown, to spend the festivities with your family, but he still had that moment of shock at the invitation

At first, he didn’t quite know what to say. Him meeting your family? He, the God of Mischief, the war criminal turned Avenger, the morally grey trickster… Meeting… your very human, and highly likely, definitely ‘normal’ family?

It wasn’t quite self-consciousness he felt, but nerves for sure. If his younger self had seen him now, he would’ve berated him for worrying about what mere mortals would think about him, but these weren’t just any mere mortals, they were your mere mortals, your family

When he didn’t answer straight away, you had insisted he could take a few days to think about it and you wouldn’t be offended if he said no, but Loki quickly shook his head, cutting you off

“No, it isn’t that I don’t want to, it’s just-“ “It’s just…?” “Well… I’m… me.” “Yes… you are you.” “You know what I mean.”

You gave him a small understanding smile at that

But after you had convinced him it would be fine, he agreed, wanting to be there for you, to be with you for the holidays - something that seemed very important to mortals, being with family during such a time

Loki could feel his palms get clammy from apprehension and nerves as you both stood outside your childhood home, bags of gifts in your arms

“Loki, trust me, they’re going to love you.”

When the door opened, Loki swore he felt his heart stop, awaiting the look of disappointment at the fact their child had brought along the God of Mischief

But when he was greeted with smiles and warmth, he blinked in confusion, but before he could even begin to process the warm welcome, he was being ushered inside, your parents fretting about him catching a cold

“Can Gods even get a cold?” One of your parents had asked, making you roll your eyes and shake your head in amusement as you glanced up at Loki

You could see the bewildered look on the God’s face as your parents began to fuss, taking the bags from him and not batting an eyelid at the fact he was in their home, and it made your heart soften with a slight ache

“We were told you don’t like anything too sweet, so I made sure we had enough nuts and fruits and such for you to feast on,” one of your parents had told Loki with a smile and nod, making him raise his brows, glancing at you

“Oh, that’s…” Loki cleared his throat. “Lovely. Thank you.” It sounded a little awkward, but your parents didn’t pay much mind

As the evening went on, Loki had began to relax slightly, quietly watching the new dynamics unfold with a keen eye. He watched the way you interacted with everyone, seeing how at ease and comforted you were at being home. He had to admit, it was infectious

When someone suggested playing a game, Loki’s eyes lit up. Now this was an area he was good at

It was then he began to come out of his shell, although, he wasn’t exactly shy, you could tell he was unsure how to navigate this new realm - the realm of ‘meeting the parents’

Spending time with your family reminded him of past moments with his own, the lighter times, the fonder memories

“See, it’s not so scary is it?” You had teased him later on, Loki giving you a playful glare. “I never said it was ‘scary’.” “No?” “No, I don’t believe those words came from my lips.” “Ah, my mistake. It’s just… when I mentioned it you look like I’d just told you I’d murdered someone and that we had to hide the body…” “Shh, I’m enjoying my nuts.” Of course, you laughed at that

And as he spent the next few days with your family, Loki began to feel a sense of warmth and gratitude for being invited, for being involved and treated as though he wasn’t a God, a Prince, an Avenger with a dark past and morally grey tendencies…

He was just treated as Loki, just as you treated him as such

He even received a gift to open from your parent, which he hadn’t at all expect and felt a little guilty that all he had brought was a bottle of wine (expensive but not particularly thoughtful because he had no clue what to gift them)

It was a simple gift, an cotton scarf in his signature colour, but the thoughtfulness behind it warmed him - a feeling that he was experiencing rather a lot in you and your families company. Of course, he knew you would’ve given your parents some tips on what to get for him, and his heart swelled at that thought

Loki had never really understood the festive season, finding it a commodity and just another way for mortals to send money needlessly… but…

It was safe to say he was beginning to understand now. And he found that he was becoming fond of it

“Maybe… Next year we can do this again?” He had asked you when you were alone, a soft look in his eyes, a glimmer of hope. And of course, you smiled, nodding, happy that Loki seemed happy. “Of course we can. Although, i think they may actually be considering swapping me out so you be their child instead.” You had joked, making Loki chuckle. “Well, who am I to deny such attempts?” You gasped playfully, lightly hitting him on the arm. “Hey!” “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure they leave a place for you at the table.”

Loki playfully smirked before wrapping his arms around you, embracing you in a silent thank you for letting him experience it all by your side

#loki x reader #loki headcanons #loki laufeyson x reader #loki imagine #marvel headcanons #Loki mcu #marvel Loki

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coffeeshopdrawings · 8 days ago

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magical girl MXTX au incorrect quotes (also, the name for this au is heavenly maidens since that's their team name so i'll tag it with that :) )

Shen Yuan: there's only one thing worse than a murderer Shen Yuan: *tears off paper* Wei Ying: A child! Shen Yuan: *disappointed* no. . .

Shen Yuan: If you bite it and you die, it’s poisonous. If it bites you and you die, it’s venomous. Wei Ying: What if it bites me and it dies!? Shen Yuan: Then you’re poisonous. Jesus Christ, Wei Ying, learn to listen. Hua Cheng: What if it bites itself and I die? Xie Lian: That’s voodoo. Lou Binghe: What if it bites me and someone else dies? Lan Zhan: That’s correlation, not causation. Hua Cheng: What if we bite each other, and neither of us die? Wei Ying: That’s kinky. Shen Yuan: Oh my God.

Shen Yuan, struggling to keep upright in his 1 inch heels: Yeah, I-I don’t really think heels are for me Wei Ying, pointing at him and walking flawlessly in sparkly golden 6 inch heels: WEAK.

Shen Yuan: Dandelions symbolize everything I want to be in life Xie Lian: Fluffy and dead with a gust of wind? Shen Yuan: Unapologetic. Hard to kill. Feral, filled with sunlight, bright, beautiful in a way that the conventional and controlling hate but cannot ever fully destroy. Stubborn. Happy. Bastardous. Friends with bees. Highly disapproving of lawns. Full of wishes that will be carried far after I die. Lou Binghe: edible

Shen Yuan: If I accidentally sat on a voodoo doll of myself, would I be trapped forever in that position, doomed to starve to death? Wei Ying: How am I supposed to know? Hua Cheng: You say, as if we don’t use you as a source of knowledge of the occult. Wei Ying: *sighs* Wei Ying: You wouldn't be trapped.

okay that's all for now! chapter 1 is almost done guys trust I prommy.

#heavenly maidens au #mxtx #mdzs #svsss #tgcf #shen yuan #Lou binghe #hua cheng #Xie lian #wei wuxian #lan wanji #lan zhan #wei ying #magical girl au

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jaylaxies · 2 years ago

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THE PATH TO A NERD’S HEART

PAIRING: nerd!jay × fem!reader

GENRE/CW: sub!jay, dom!reader, smut, fluff, unprotected sex, public sex, slight biting and marking, mentions of bullying, room sharing, kissing, handjob, mentions of sunghoon

WC: 8.1k (8169) words

SYNOPSIS: the annual debate competition was just around the corner and you were thrilled to meet your partner, who turned out to be park jongseong. from you studying together to him asking you how it feels to kiss someone, how would your relationship progress? especially when you offer to give him a demonstration, even more so when he asks if he could get a bit more.

WARNING: 18+ content, minors dni

A/N: hihi, angels! I'm back with another fic! i've re-edited this fic and i’m reposting as per the request of my anonnie! i hope y'all will enjoy this! :3 all likes, comments, reblogs and feedbacks are highly appreciated! it keeps me motivated! iloveyou all <3

“What have you done to her?” The principal sighed in distress, slightly turning his head, glancing at the girl who sat next to you with an expression filled with misery, a girl with a broken nose to be more precise.

“With all due respect, sir, she was bullying a student, which clearly goes against our school policies, and further, she tried to punch me when I asked her to stop. She had it coming,” you calmly explained the whole situation, fake politeness dripping off your tone.

The girl next to you screamed like a maniac after hearing your statement, flailing her arms and legs, claiming that you were the one who attacked her first. She never failed to show her spoiled-child behaviour in public.

“I request you to please check the surveillance camera of the corridor, it'll make it more clear to you, sir,” you faked your smile as Hana Lee, the bully, started crying, knowing that nothing could save her from the upcoming punishment now.

She was soon dismissed to go to the medical room, her wound bleeding, yet she didn’t show a sign to stop protesting.

“Miss Y/N, I understand that what Miss Lee did was wrong, but that does not give you any right to punch her.” He looked at you with an expression that clearly displayed disappointment.

“It was just self defense from my side, sir,” you said with wide eyes, plastering your most innocent face in front of him, wanting to leave his office as soon as possible.

He sighed, “you’re one of our top students, miss Y/N, and I appreciate you caring for the other students, but please refrain from using punches next time. You can leave now.”

You finally smiled in victory, muttering a ‘thank you’ before grabbing your bag and rushing out of the office.

As you got out of the office, a hand immediately grabbed your wrist, causing you to widen your eyes at the sudden gesture, your own hand curling its fingers to punch until you saw who it was.

He softly pulled you to the empty staircase area.

“I’m sorry,” he slowly whispered, he had a busted lip and red eyes, the sight made your heart hurt, a frown settling on your face.

“Jay! Oh my god! Does it hurt?” You asked, hand extending towards his face.

You barely knew the boy, in fact, your first ever proper interaction with him took place this morning.

“You shouldn’t have stepped up for me,” he sighed, eyes not meeting yours as he looked at his shoes, confused as to why you would help him.

“I don’t care what you say, I cannot stand bullying, Jay,” you simply told him, getting closer to see his wound, the wound caused by Hana.

Now, the question is: How did you reach here in the first place?

Let’s start by replaying the morning events.

The yearly Inter-school English debate was two months away from now. Meaning, that you’ll soon know who your assigned partner is for this year’s competition would be.

Your English teacher had asked you to meet her, so you made your way towards the staff room. You greeted her as soon as you saw her, eyes soon moving to observe a guy with specs standing next to her.

“Y/N, c’mere! Meet Park Jay, he’ll be your partner for this year’s debate competition,” your teacher explained.

You smiled, extending your hand which he shyly took into his bigger ones, “nice to meet you, Jay.”

Your radiant smile caused Jay to crack a small smile of his own, “it’s really nice to meet you too,” he said.

Further, the teacher explained how your school won’t be the host for the debate this year, instead, the Busan branch will be the one to do so.

Conclusively, she informed you that all your expenses will be paid by the school, except for the extra souvenirs you would purchase there for yourself.

You listened to it all, giving small nods at the end of her sentences, your eyes also shifting to look at the guy standing next to you, his gaze focused on what your teacher was telling.

A hotel will be arranged and she will accompany you both for your two day trip to the competition.

“The topic will be provided to you both soon, I hope both of you will get along well, please don’t hesitate to ask for any sort of help from me,”Ms. Hwang smiled at you both and ensured that you were okay with this setting.

Park Jay. You knew him, of course you did. He’s always been exceptionally smart in studies, him being the only one in school who matched your own pace.

The only difference between you was his shy nature. Your nature screamed enthusiasm and boldness, hence, making friends came easily to you. You were one of the popular students, not to mention how you were good at academics too, which was also paired with your kind nature.

However, you didn’t know much about Jay, except for the fact that he was good at studies and closed off, with little to no friends at your school.

This piqued your curiosity.

After Ms. Hwang left, you turned to look at the shy boy, asking him if he’d be up to eat lunch with you, to get to know each other better.

His eyes slightly widened at your suggestion and you theorized it must be because he never eats with anyone else, which worried you as you thought you had crossed a line.

His small smile just after, ensured that it was not the case, “I’d love to,” he said, and you noted how sharp yet cute his smile was.

The whole student body was shocked to see Jay interacting with the popular girl herself, their eyes fixated on your table.

It wasn’t your concern though, you were enjoying having a simple conversation with him, asking him about his hobbies. He got excited that you were willing to talk to him, not forcing yourself like the other students did. And he tried his best not to show how excited he was.

He told you about his love for fashion, his smile growing at each word he spoke, you found his deep voice pretty as you paid attention to everything he had to tell and offer.

He stopped his sentence midway, looking at you as you stared at him with shiny eyes.

“I talk a lot, don’t I?” His shyness came back to him all of a sudden.

“No! I think that it’s really beautiful that you’re so passionate about something, I could hear you speak about it for hours,” you reassured him, reaching forward to hold his hand which was kept on the table.

He breathed out softly, gulping at the sight of your joined hands and your reassuring smile, his cheeks heating up and a sudden warmth spreading through his chest.

Just one conversation and he already wanted to trust you, to spend more time with you, to get to know you better.

He looked forward to it all.

You wanted the same, to get to know him better. Jay was cute effortlessly, and you were quick to notice that even slight proximity made him nervous to the point his ears got red.

You found it adorable, promising yourself to keep a check on him to make sure he doesn’t feel lonely at school anymore.

So, when you saw Hana cornering and punching him for not completing her homework, you knew you had to step in.

He watched how you pushed her away from him, standing as a barrier between them both. He noticed how you raised your voice at her, the demeanour completely changed from the sweet one which you had in the morning.

He noticed how you didn’t hesitate to block her punch, your own hand swiming to counter punch her instead with no regrets whatsoever.

He stood there in awe, he knew was thankful to you, however, he was too shocked to even form words.

You turned back to look at him, his lip bleeding and his bloodshot eyes made you worried and angry at the same time.

Before you could say anything to him, you were dragged to the principal's office.

Which brings you back here.

Jay silently cried in front of you, “you don’t deserve this,” you softly said with a sad frown before hugging him

His hands grabbed your waist as he softly weeped into your shoulder, your hand rubbing soothing circles on his back.

You weren’t sure how long Hana had been bullying him into doing his homework, but now, you had this sudden urge of wanting to protect him, your hands tightening around him.

He calmed down after a few minutes, body still holding on to you.

“Thank you,” he softly whispered, taking a step back, his eyes meeting yours for a second before he turned away, rushing to leave.

He did not stop when you called out his name, thrice.

You sighed, stuffing your hands in the jacket pocket before leaving for the next class.

The boy never left your mind no matter how hard you tried to concentrate on the lecture.

The news had spread all around the school as the newest gossip. Some said that Jay was your new boyfriend, while some assumed you to be his bully. Nevertheless, no one bullied him after Hana got suspended for using violence in school.

Soon after, the theme for the debate was announced and Ms. Hwang had called you both to inform you about the same.

You observed his face, seeing him for the first time after that incident and you were glad to see that all his wounds were healed and didn’t leave any scars.

When he felt you looking at him, he turned to look at you, smiling softly to say hello.

After some minutes of general discussion with your teacher, she left you both alone as she had to grade other test papers.

You never brought up the topic of Hana again, only paying attention to the debate. Jay kept on glancing at you from time to time.

“Thank you,” he whispered shyly, passing you a bottle of your favourite drink, which made you tilt your head to look up at him, “I wasn’t sure what you liked so I asked Sora,” he rushed to speak, mentioning how he asked your best friend about it.

“You didn’t have to.” A smile graced your face at his sweet gesture.

He felt more confident talking to you now, and he even attempted to make silly jokes just to see you laugh, which you did, heartily at that.

Your hand grabbed his arm as you tried to support yourself while laughing. He found it beautiful and he wished to hear your laugh more often. Your hand felt soft on his arm, sending tingles to his stomach.

You hugged him softly before leaving, your sweet scent sending Jay into a state of frenzy, his ears turning red while his heartbeat felt faster than usual.

Being teased was like a routine for you now, your friends did everything in their will to constantly remind you how 'soft' you have gone for that nerd kid.

“Your jealousy is showing,” you smirked at Sunghoon, who repeatedly mentioned Jay in each of your conversations.

“Of fucking course! You haven’t kissed me in weeks,” he retorted.

It had been a while since you ended your friends with benefits relationship with him, you just couldn’t do it anymore, it felt wrong to you, seeing how attached he was getting with your setting.

Yet still, you decided to humor him this time.

Laughing at his pouty face, you grabbed his chin as you kissed him, trapping him against the lockers and he eagerly kissed back, not caring if anyone saw you both.

The makeout session was short lived as the bell was quick to indicate the time for your next class, a groan leaving his mouth as he punched the locker, muttering how nothing works in his favour.

You left him there, a boyish smirk spreading on his face when you winked at him.

You were breathless, but then you realized why you had left this in the first place, the guilt seeping deep inside you, knowing that it would lead him on if your suspicions were right.

You’ll say no the next time, that’s what you decided, not paying attention to the lesson the entire class.

You didn’t like him, you just needed a distraction from a certain someone who invaded your mind at the most random times.

You weren’t going to use Sunghoon as a distraction anymore.

You couldn't.

Jay met you at the library after school, for research purposes and collecting further information on your topic to be prepared as much as possible.

“Hey,” you smiled, hugging him, which had now become a usual thing for you two.

You noticed how he was a bit hesitant somehow, his arms not pulling you closer like they always used to.

Not paying much attention to it, you both got inside and searched for your respective books and topics, noting down all the information you needed. No words were exchanged for a long time, your focus solely on the text in front of you.

“How does it feel?” A whisper was heard from beside you.

“Excuse me?” You asked, looking up at Jay, confused at his unusual antics and sudden silence. “H–how does it feel to kiss someone?” He completed his sentence, not looking up at you while he kept fiddling with the hem of his uniform sleeve.

“Wait, you saw?” You asked him, eyes widening as you thought that he might have gotten the wrong impression.

You realized that he might have seen you kiss hoon earlier today, hence his question.

“Have you ever kissed anyone before, Jay?” You enquired slowly, not missing the way his eyes turned big for a second.

“N—no,” he whispered.

“Have you ever wanted to try it?” You softly asked.

Jay was probably the purest person you had ever met, the thought of corrupting him kept on swimming in your mind, the fact that he might want to try something with you made you smile.

“Will it be fine?” he hesitated again, “isn’t he your boyfriend?” He asked, referring to Sunghoon.

“What?” you almost shouted, apologizing once you got looks from the nearby students.

Maybe the library isn’t the best place for such conversations.

“He’s not my boyfriend, Jay. We’ve had something but it was not a relationship,” you revealed.

He listened to you with all his attention, a small smile on his face when you told him that you were single, which you didn’t fail to notice.

And he nodded, saying that he wants to try. His ears were red, which you found adorable.

“Of course, we’ll stop the moment you feel uncomfortable, yeah?” You assured him.

“But, here?” he kept on asking like a kid, his heartbeat beyond control as he tried not to seem too flustered.

You laughed, “we’re meeting at my place tomorrow, right? We can try it out then, if you’d be comfortable with that,” you suggested and he agreed shyly, nodding and looking down at his fingers.

You only looked at the pretty boy next to you, wondering how far he would want to go with you.

Jay was overwhelmed by the fact that you agreed to kiss him, he had been staring at your lips ever since he saw you kiss sunghoon in the morning, deeply wishing that it was him instead.

It was pretty strange of him to think this way, but he couldn’t stop, especially when he saw how you took control of the kiss, tilting Sunghoon’s head to the side and kissed him deeply.

You saw him looking dazed as you were about to leave, his actions being so cute, which left you wanting to fluster him more.

A cute yelp left his mouth as you softly pecked his cheek, tiptoeing to do so, before bidding him goodbye.

He blushed a lot in general, but you being around him took it to another level, you found it adorable to say the least, excited to see how he would behave tomorrow.

The next day, Jay woke up early. He wanted to look perfect, to smell perfect, to be perfect for you. Not that he needed to do anything, yet he did some extra research for the debate and printed them out for you, to make up for the time you’d invest to kiss him today.

He paid more attention to his clothes, for this would be the first time you would see him without his usual uniform. He even devoted his time to do his hair, finally reaching your place at the exact time you had given him.

Releasing his breath and cussing once, he rang the doorbell.

You were quick to rush down to open the door, not wanting him to wait for long, chuckling when you saw how he rang the bell at the exact time you had given him.

His breathing hitched as he laid his eyes on you.

It was the first time he saw you looking this comfortable as you wore a soft and loose top along with sweatpants.

“Jay! Come in,” your enthusiastic voice dragged him out of his daydream as he nodded.

He followed you like a lost puppy, “are you home alone?” He couldn’t help but ask.

“Oh, yeah! My parents come home late,” you explained with a wink, “don’t worry, baby,” you said and he almost passed out with the nickname you had used.

You smirked at his state, making him sit on your bed.

“You look good,” you complimented seeing his attire and he muttered a small thank you, a shy smile spreading on his face.

He likes to be praised, you noticed.

Without much delay, you started scripting your research papers. Jay noted how you were always serious when it came to studies and the competition, he paid attention to the way you bit your lower lip while concentrating.

Some part of him wanted you to do the same to his lips, he waited patiently for you to remember your promise to kiss him but you never once brought it up, his mood turning sad.

Taking the matter into his own hands, he spoke up.

“Can we—” he took a deep breath as you stared at him with big doe eyes, urging him to continue.

“I—it’s nothing actually.” He backed away.

You laughed, “I didn’t peg you to be the impatient type,” you smirked, well knowing what he wanted.

Closing your laptop, you urged him to come near you, patting the space next to you.

“We’ll start off with a simple peck, yeah? Pinch me if you feel uncomfortable and I'll stop,” you told him and he shivered as you got closer to his face, gulping his anxiety down.

“May I?” You finally asked, searching his eyes.

“Y—yes,” he whispered, nodding.

Softly placing your hand on his cheek, your lips touched his lips in a short peck. They merely touched, yet it was enough for Jay to get butterflies, heart beating out of his chest at the sensation.

You leaned back to observe his reaction, he still had his eyes closed, a soft rosy glow spread on his cheeks.

Getting closer again, you grabbed his chin, tilting his head as you dived in to kiss him, longer this time, your lips moving in sync once he got the hang of it, low whine leaving his mouth, making you smile.

You wanted to play with him even more.

So, you gently bit on his lower lip, causing him to gasp, giving you enough opportunity to taste him.

It felt so right yet, forbidden somehow.

You had invaded all his senses, you pushed him down on the bed, his eyes looking at your every move as you made him lean against the head frame, you sat down on his lap and he cussed.

“Does it feel good?” You asked with a small, teasing smile.

“Fuck, y—yes it feels so good,” he whispered out.

“Yeah? So good that my good boy is using bad words now?” You teased.

“Please,” he whined, “sorry, I’ve never done this before and it just, it felt so good I couldn’t help it,” he rambled and you shut him up with a peck.

“Lord, you’re so adorable. It makes me want to ruin you,” you breathed out, brushing his hair away from his forehead, gripping his chin and running your thumb on his swollen lower lip.

His heartbeat sped up at your words again, head dizzy as he said, “please,” and you pulled him into a deep kiss for the second time.

Your fingers softly tugged on his hair, finally causing him to moan out loud, his pretty voice resounding all over the room.

You both pulled back from the kiss after a few minutes, breathing hard and deep to come back to your senses.

“How was it?” you asked him in a gentle voice, sitting down next to him, slightly worried if you had gone too far for his first time.

His stare on your face and silence only made it worse.

“Can we do that again?” He asked after a few seconds, trying not to sound too shameless, but he couldn’t help it, not when you had offered to kiss him so nicely.

He slowly pulled the hem of your top, and you understood, coming back to kiss him, your hand on his jaw, as he shifted his position for you to take full control.

He laid underneath you as his heart pounded harder than ever, he could only focus on how soft your lips felt against his mildly chapped ones, his eyes closed as he took in everything you were willing to offer.

The said practice of your debate ended with you making out with Jay, he didn’t wish to stop, not even after his lips were swollen, his eyes shining as he looked at you as if you were a goddess.

He had to excuse himself when his cock felt painfully hard, he was beyond embarrassed and you looked at him with hooded eyes, holding yourself back before it gets too much for him.

“Here’s the washroom,” you guided him, “let me know if you need help,” you said with a smirk.

“I—thank you,” he rushed to go inside.

You knew what he was going to do, and you wished it was you who’d be the one to please him instead, his voice wasn’t silent when he took your name, as he reached his orgasm inside the washroom.

You chuckled, wondering how he’d look while doing so into your hand. He left soon after, face red and hot.

It left him wanting more.

The debate was a week away from now, and you both were well prepared for it yet, you kept on studying from your notes. That wasn’t your concern right now though, a certain nerd had occupied your mind from the past few days.

You found it adorable how he would request you to kiss him in the empty classroom, his room, or any place where you both were alone, he wanted you guys to be alone together.

You were corrupting him, and truth being told, you wanted to corrupt him even more.

Jay had always been attractive, his knowledge was a plus point to it all. You absolutely loved his shy demeanor, no matter how comfortable you both got with each other, he could not help but blush around you.

Meanwhile, Jay was confused. He had never had girl problems before, so why did it feel so different when it came to you? Even more so when you were so good to him.

He loved how you took care of him in the most minimum way possible, you made him feel like he mattered, giving him motivational speeches (and your kisses were a cherry on top).

He knew it really well that the other students wanted to date you, or they wanted to be closer to you. Why wouldn’t they? You were perfect in their eyes, but this did not stop Jay from wanting more. He wanted you to claim him yours. You were beyond perfect in his eyes.

But he wondered if you’d ever be willing to like him back, to be with someone like him. Kissing was one thing, maybe you did it just to make him happy, but more?

He could only wish.

“All participants from the same school will be given one room to share, will it be okay for you both?” Ms. Hwang informed you both, also asking for your comfort.

Jay stiffened, he was sure to lose control if left alone with you at night.

“It’s alright for me ma’am,” you smiled.

“Yeah, for me too,” Jay shakily let out.

He wanted this, he finally decided, he’d even go as far as confessing his feelings for you.

“Alright then, I’ll see you tomorrow morning, right?” Ms. Hwang confirmed as you both nodded, you had to leave early tomorrow for the competition.

As you walked back home with Jay, saying that you’d drop him off, you spoke, “are you sure that you’ll be comfortable?” you asked as your fingers were interlocked with his, giving him butterflies.

“You’ll take care of me right?” He asked in a low whisper, suddenly stopping and looking at you.

He definitely meant more than the normal care but you were willing to give him anything.

“I will,” you promised with a smile, “I’ll take care of my pretty boy,” you said before pecking his lips and leaving him blushing on the sidewalk.

The next morning, he didn’t have to wake up, for, he didn’t get to sleep. That’s how excited he had been, the fact that you were going to be in the same room as him at night made him blush.

His excitement only grew when he saw you at the station wearing a skirt, it was short lived as Sunghoon came into view, holding your hand, holding your luggage with his other hand.

Jay frowned at the sight.

Sunghoon looked like your boyfriend with this setting, he did not like it a bit.

You spotted Jay in a second, smiling and hugging him without thinking much, it was not returned though.

You bit down your smile, making him jealous seemed like a great idea to you, knowing well how adorable and needy he is.

Naturally, Hoon got a cheek kiss as a goodbye while Jay had a frown plastered on his face, almost like a pout.

Your teacher came to the station soon, informing you that her seat is not near you both and telling you her seat number so you can approach her for anything you’d need.

You nodded and thanked her before getting into the train, which arrived right on time.

You sat down next to him on the express train, which gave you two hours to spend with him.

“What’s wrong?” You innocently asked him, your hand resting on his thick thigh.

“N—nothing.” His breath hitched as your hand neared his upper thighs.

You softly massaged that region, “you’ll be a good boy and tell me, won’t you?”

He shivered with the tone you had used, your hands making him feel weak in the knees.

He rushed to keep his backpack on his lap to hide his private area in case something went wrong.

He whined your name as quietly as possible, “tell me what's wrong, baby?” you asked again.

He grabbed your hand, staring at you with doe eyes as he placed it high up on his thigh, near to his hardening cock.

“Not so fast,” you said as you moved your hand away, “you’re not getting anything until you tell me what’s bothering you,” you urged him.

“I was jealous,” he whispered, red adorning his face.

“Yeah? Go on,” you hummed, softly brushing your fingers in his hardened and clothed member.

The thrill of you touching him in public only made his cock hard.

“You kissed Sunghoon,” he whined, placing his head on your shoulder, trying to calm himself from the pleasure he was receiving.

“Yes I did, and what about it?” You sped up, placing your hand on his cock, thankful that he had covered himself using the bag, so that others won’t be able to see you both.

It caused him to squirm in his seat.

“I—I wanted it too,” he struggled to form words.

“Being needy, are we now?” you chuckled as he softly moaned into your neck.

“What more do you want, pretty boy?” You asked, pleasuring him.

“Your kisses, y—your touch and—ah! You,” he barely spoke.

“That’s my good boy.”

You continued your actions for a few minutes, allowing him to release his mess without you having to touch him directly.

You looked at him in awe, you wanted him to be yours. Your baby boy.

“You did so well, baby,” you cooed at his teary face, kissing him swiftly.

“Go and clean up in the washroom, yeah?” You said and he nodded, somehow making his way towards the room.

He was clingy the entire ride, and it made you smile as you gave him all your attention.

“Did you like it?” you questioned.

He bit his lip, “yes, I did,” his answer was short as he was shying away again.

“How cute,” you said, “get me a list of things you like, yeah?” you requested him just before getting off at your destination.

The whole ride to the hotel was silent as your teacher was with you both, Jay still couldn’t think straight, his mind going back to when you touched him and how devastatingly good it felt.

“Here’s your room key, you are both free till tomorrow, so you can roam around a bit but be careful! Don’t forget to meet me at the same place at 11 am sharp with your proper attire on tomorrow,” Ms. Hwang commanded and you both nodded, leaving her to settle in her room.

After washing up and changing into comfortable clothes, you both sat down side by side at 9 pm. You noticed him writing something, but didn’t ask what it was, only looking at his face which had a cute pout, an expression he held whenever he was focused.

You settled down and scrolled through your messages on the phone to pass your time, even though deep inside, you wanted to spend time with Jay.

He soon came up to you, calling your name softly as you looked up at him.

He gently placed a note in your palm.

“I made the list,” he said, referring to the time you asked him to make a list of the things he liked back on the train.

You raised your brows, “come here,” you patted the place next to you before you grabbed his chin, making his heartbeat rise again.

“Let’s see now.” Holding the note in your other hand, you started reading, “degradation and praise kink? Oh, so you want to be called a dumb slut now?” you saw him nod and shiver, enjoying the way you called him a slut.

You wanted to ruin him.

“Choking? Who would have thought that our president ‘good boy’ would be into such filthy stuff,” your hand traveled from his chin to his neck, putting in a bit of pressure just enough for it to feel pleasurable.

Jay whined at the constricted feeling yet his eyes never left your face.

“You wanna be tied up? Cuffed even? And used as I wish?” Your eyes widened after reading his fantasies, the list amusing you beyond words.

You knew that Jay was willing to try stuff but you never expected it to be this wild, you loved it and you bit your lips as you looked his way.

“Please?” He requested you, eyes innocent.

“What do you want me to do, baby boy?” you finally asked as he gulped, coming closer to whisper something in your ear.

“Want you to touch me, please.”

“Like this?” You pulled him closer by the neck, your hand traveling down from his torso to his lower abdomen, and you noticed how he shivered with your touch.

“I—yes,” he let out desperately.

Switching to a better position, you got close to him, almost sitting on his lap as your fingers further trailed up to his mouth.

He was quick to part his lips, taking them in and sucking on your two digits, your head tilting as you noticed how devoted his look was, tongue swirling around your fingers.

“How cute,” you commented, amused with the boy, the same boy who you thought was innocent, however, that wasn’t the case.

All he wanted to do was to please you, and he wanted you to call him yours.

Your other hand rested on his thigh, soon going up and resting on his hard on, causing him to moan around your fingers.

“My needy pup, do you want me to take care of you?” You asked, loving how he reacted to your touch.

As you softly touched him through his sweatpants, he unconsciously jerked his hips forward, suppressing a moan.

“Let me hear it, I need your answer,” you slowed down your actions, causing him to whine.

“Yes! I w—want that so much,” he said out loud, as you took your fingers out of his mouth, wrapping them around his throat.

“Good, now, don’t move, and don’t you dare suppress your pretty noises, am I clear?” you asked for confirmation.

He nodded swiftly as you removed his pants.

His hard member came into view, thick and veiny, begging to be touched. Jay bit back his moans as you teased his tip with your thumb, your fingers wrapping around his length before you bent down to softly swirl your tongue on it, your eyes never leaving his.

“Fuck,” he cursed out loud as you took him in your mouth.

“Good boys don’t use bad language, do they?” You said slapping his dick. Your slender fingers gripped his neck again, this time capturing him in a passionate kiss.

“Y—yes,” he whispered against your lips.

“Open your mouth,” you ordered and he complied, you spat in his mouth, observing how it traveled down his tongue, “swallow it.”

And he did, opening his mouth again to show you the same, causing you to smirk.

“Such a good slut for me.” You kissed him as he whimpered at the degradation coming out of your sweet mouth.

He also whined at the lack of your attention to his cock.

He was needy, and you loved it. You had wanted to take care of him from the very start, seeing the boy in front of you, all naked, you wondered how he’d look full of your lipstick marks, which you’ll leave on his sweet hickeys.

You slowly started stroking his cock again, taking him in your mouth whilst massaging his balls. His breathing got heavier by each second, face red and voice shaky as he took your name sweetly.

Tears stained his rosy cheeks due to the immense pleasure he received, it was unlike ever before, his hands never felt this good, this perfect.

What made it better was the fact that it was you who was touching him, who was making him go crazy.

He liked you so much.

You felt him twitching and you got down to take him in your mouth before saying, “cum in my mouth baby boy,” and he did, moaning your name in the process as you hungrily gulped everything he had to offer.

You got up with a small smile on your face, seeing how he had closed his eyes, lip bitten and his chest heaving up and down.

You softly cupped his face, his eyes opening with your gentle touch.

“How are you feeling?” You asked him with a small smile, thumb caressing his cheek.

“Euphoric,” your laughter bloomed at his answer, a shy smile on his face, “can we do more?” He asked.

Your eyes softened at how vulnerable he looked at the given moment, and you knew if you’d do more, then you’ll probably won’t ever let go of him.

You kissed his forehead, “win that debate with me tomorrow and I’ll give you your victory gift, alright?”

He whined, not wanting to wait till tomorrow, but agreed nevertheless.

“C’mere, let’s get you cleaned up.” You took him to the bathroom, asking him to stay still as you cleaned him up, ensuring that he felt okay and you laughed whenever he felt ticklish at your touch.

“Can we cuddle at least?” He asked before sleeping, he loved being close to you. He had given you most of his firsts without any hesitation, and he was willing to give you even more. You grinned and took him in your arms, you both drifting off to dreamland soon.

Jay’s heartbeat clearly out of control as he only got closer to you, taking in your scent and watching you sleep, softly saying.

“I wanna be yours.”

The next morning was in a frenzy as you both tried to cramp up last minute information before your awaited debate.

Jay kept shying around after last night, and you had to pull him back and ask him to look into your eyes, making him laugh.

You couldn't help but notice how hot Jay looked in a black blazer, wondering if it was the same guy who begged you to touch him last night.

More importantly, you were also aware of that one girl who kept staring at Jay as you waited for your turn at the big auditorium where the competition was being held.

She was just behind you in the line, meaning, she might be your rival team for the final round, where you had reached with ease, courtesy of Jay.

Not being able to handle her constant stares and shy whispering about Jay, you rolled your eyes as you turned to him, calling out his name.

He turned to look at you, his face looked so innocent it made you want to smile, that’s the exact second you decided to peck him, tips of his ears turning red instantly

“W—what was that for?” He asked wide eyed, checking if someone saw you both.

“Just a good luck kiss for my baby,” you spoke loud enough for the girl to hear. A satisfactory smirk rested on your face as you saw her frown from the corner of your eyes.

Your turn came by soon, you listed out all the cons about the given subtopic with Jay smoothly.

However, you got stuck at the doubt round where the judges had to ask you questions, it was smooth until that one last question came up, which you had no idea how to answer.

You looked at Jay with worried eyes, but he kept his composure, remembering that particular piece of information from that one morning he made extra notes before going to your place, which he answered with full confidence, earning applause from the seated judges, and also you, a proud smile adorned your face.

You were sent back to the waiting area where you gushed about how cool Jay looked while answering with such confidence.

“It’s nothing,” he said, trying to act as if his ears weren’t turning red at your compliment.

“You’ll always be my shy baby,” you gently laughed.

He adorably rested his head on your shoulder as you praised him for being so intelligent while waiting for the result declaration.

“Now, for the most awaited first position, congratulations to ms. L/N and Mr. Park, from the Decelis Academy, Seoul!” The announcer declared.

You hugged him with joy, taking his hands in yours as you went on stage to accept the trophy, your teacher cheering and clicking pictures of you both from the audience seat.

Jay was overjoyed, somewhat because of winning the competition, but mostly for the reward that awaited him tonight. You both hugged again and got your trophy, Ms. Hwang treated you to dinner afterwards, being proud of you both and informing your principal at once.

Now that you were alone in your hotel room, without any distractions, you could easily see through Jay and how he was trying his best not to mention the reward you had promised you’d give him.

You smirked.

“My baby is so smart, shouldn’t he be rewarded now?” You asked, getting closer to him as he gulped down his nervousness.

“Please,” he breathed out.

“Please what, baby? Use your big words to tell me how you wish to be rewarded?” you encouraged him.

“Please, I want you,” he whimpered.

Your hands wandered around his torso, unbuttoning him one by one just to test his patience. He started helping you unbutton him, but you stopped him grabbing his cheeks.

“Did I give you permission to do anything?” You asked sharply while he shook his head, saying no.

“Be a good boy for me, yeah?” He nodded as your lips captured him into a deep kiss, your fingers gripped his hair while he held on to your waist, low hums and grunts were heard as you started grinding on him.

“Fuck me, please!” He cried out loud,

“Undress me,” you ordered.

He shakily took off your white blouse, leaving you in your lace bra, his eyes fixated on your body, and how pretty you looked in lace.

“Can I touch you?” He asked for your permission, you nodded.

He removed the remaining of your clothes and softly trailed his fingers down your body, as if trying to memorize you. Holding his hand, you guided him towards your wet pussy.

“Prep me, baby,” you instructed him as he hesitantly touched your core, spreading your juices in a circular motion.

He observed how you bit down on your lips and closed your eyes. Getting further validation from you, he pushed in a finger, slowly pumping it, he soon added another digit, his fingers curling inside of you sending you into bliss.

You felt your high nearing, “fuck, Jay I want to cum on your cock,” you said switching your positions so that you were straddling him, he cried out loud as your wet cunt came in contact with his throbbing dick.

“Moan louder, babyboy, tell everyone who the winner is tonight,” you said against his lips.

That let him loose, lewd sounds filled up the room.

“Louder,” you encouraged him, finally letting him enter inside you.

Your walls clenched around his thick member, adjusting to his size. You looked at him for permission.

“Please, you can move,” he allowed you.

Without wasting much of a second, you started riding him, your tits bouncing up and down in the process.

Jay couldn’t think straight anymore, his mind was corrupted by you, small dumb mumbles leaving his mouth and he loved how you were being equally soft and rough with him, considering it was his first time.

“Moan louder before I stop,” you threatened him, finally causing him extra stimulation when you clenched around him.

The pleasure was enough for his tears to run free, his cheeks blotchy with red speckles all over, and he moaned, just like you had wanted him to.

“Good boy,” you kept muttering, loving his sweet and needy voice.

“Let me cum, please?” He asked for your permission.

That is when you got off him.

“Not so fast, baby,” you replied with a peck on his lips.

Harsh whimpers left his mouth as you slowly stroked his leaking dick for the next few minutes.

“Please,” he begged after he couldn’t take it anymore, his dick twitching with how close he was.

“Impatient slut,” you slid into him again, your walls contracting around him, it was too much for him to take in.

You fastened your pace, “I’m about to—” he cried.

“Hold it in,” you warned, loved how he closed his eyes shut.

It was so fun teasing him.

You decided to be a bit gentle with him now that he was close, just like you.

“Cum inside me, love,” you encouraged

With a few more bounces, and his thrusts from below, he muttered a string of curses, emptying inside of you as you reached your high just a moment later.

You cupped his cheeks, not getting up but looking deep into his eyes.

“You did so well, I’ll arrange a nice hot bath for you to relax, yeah?” you softly caressed his cheeks.

He weakly nodded, still high from the activities done minutes back. Soon, you helped him into the tub, sitting on his lap as you softly washed his hair for him while he stared at you with stars in his eyes.

“What’s it?” you quietly asked, a small smile on your face.

“Thank you,” he pecked you, this time with adoration, catching you off guard as your heartbeat rose.

“I did nothing,” you smiled at him as he returned it.

You traced his red bruises, applying lotion to them and giving him a massage as well. Jay was thankful to say the least, eyes on your face.

“You’re staring,” you noted.

“You’re pretty,” he said, lowering his eyes as he did so.

“God, you’re so cute.” You kissed him softly, a shy smile gracing his face as you wrapped him in a towel.

“Come on, let’s sleep,” you patted the space near you.

“Can we cuddle?” he excitedly asked and you brightly nodded, taking him into your arms.

The room was silent, however, it felt comfortable, especially when you could feel Jay’s warmth in your arms.

“Y/N?” He called out your name.

You hummed, “yeah?”

“What are we?” he asked as he sat up to look at you.

“What do you mean?” you asked, also sitting up.

“I—what’s our relationship?” he gulped as he asked that, not sounding too confident, wondering if he’d be rejected.

“What do you want us to be?” you questioned, raising your brows.

Being with Jay was like a rollercoaster, you had grown a liking to him, more than you would like to admit.

His demure ways made you adore him, but he never hesitated to put a brave front for you and those cute efforts of his made you fall for him even more.

“I want us to be more than just friends,” he admitted.

You had bewitched Jay since the day you first talked to him, and the feeling only grew. He looked forward to spending time with you and soon it turned into yearning. He wanted to hold you in his arms and call you his, not wanting to share you with anyone else (ahem, Sunghoon), the phase might have been of only two months, but that was enough for him to fall for you.

“What’s more than friends?” you teased.

He pouted without even trying to, wondering if you were trying to ignore the topic because you didn’t want him, but seeing his expression, you frowned.

“Be my boyfriend,” you suddenly blurted out, not regretting it after.

Jay’s eyes widened comically, “w—what?”

You took a deep breath and laughed lightly, “Jay, baby, you’re so precious to me. Fuck! I like you so much, please be mine?” you expectantly stared at him.

His lips turned upwards and into the biggest smile you had ever seen on his face as he leaned forward and kissed you wordlessly, conveying his answer through it.

The kiss was deep and meaningful, “yes! yes, yes!” he squealed as you kissed him again.

“Hey, boyfriend,” you smiled.

“Hey, girlfriend,” he spoke with confidence, melting your heart as you pulled him down and into a hug which soon turned into a cuddling session.

Both of you fell asleep with smiles on your faces, your arms holding him tight.

Even after the competition, he couldn’t help but miss you every second of his day, texting you constantly, calling you at night just to stare at you during the two day holidays you had gotten.

The next time you met was after the competition was three days later at the school.

Jay saw Sunghoon approaching you, but he was faster as he stood in front of you, causing your eyes to widen at his sudden entry.

“Hi, baby,” he cooly said before placing a kiss on your lips.

You laughed at his childish behaviour as you see Sunghoon fuming from a distance.

“Getting protective, are we now?” you raised your eyebrow.

“You’re mine,” he tried to sound authoritative, but his voice came out in a whine.

“I’m yours,” you laughed, kissing him softly.

Safe to say, Sunghoon left after the little show Jay had put up and soon, the whole school knew about you two dating, half of them crying about how wrong the pairing is, you couldn’t care less though.

Jay was everything you needed and more, and you were going to cherish him for the rest of your life.

THANK YOU FOR READING!

TAGLIST: @ddeonuism @macaroonff @ajayke-reads @en-myworld @lunalovesstories @jayzdaze @deobitifull @silenth1lls @celeste-hoon @mari-oclock @kpoprhia @bolliwon @woniebae @lalalalawon @blessedcursd @skzenhalove

permanent taglist open! comment or send an ask to be added <3

#fic : the path to a nerd’s heart #enhypen hard hours #enhypen smut #jay smut #enha smut #jay x reader #kpop smut #enhypen imagines #park jay smut #sub!jay

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lightlycareless · 13 days ago

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warnings: another domestic fluff piece. u.u does it reflect my solace? lmao. you're pregnant and happy but insecure and naoya tries his best but maybe that's not enough? we'll see.

Once Naoya miraculously manages to get some time off from his work, he doesn’t hesitate to spend it with you—his 8-month pregnant wife.

He promised to do so, after all. Wanting to complete all pending preparations for the arrival of his baby, as well as make up for the lost time he should’ve been spending with you instead of his boring, dull job. Sure, they pay the bill and he enjoys it…

But he’d rather be with you and his unborn child! A much pleasant company.

And of course, you’re ecstatic to have your husband all for yourself for the following weeks (hopefully months). There was so much you wanted to do, so much to talk about. Now that he’s here, the sky’s the limit!

However, just because you had an endless check list to go through, and his disposition to please you in every way possible, didn’t mean he’d actually let you do whatever you wanted.

Simply because…

“—You can’t do that. Do I have to remind you you’re pregnant?”

You frown.

“I’m pregnant, not useless.” You respond. “Other mothers do it, why can’t I?”

“Because it’s toxic, for you and the baby. As a matter of fact, you should be stressing even less now that you’re just a few weeks away from giving birth.”

“I doubt painting a nursery will do much damage!” you respond, looking away with a pout. “It’s not fair, I’ve been waiting for you to do this together and now you’re saying I can’t?!”

“Yes, because I didn’t see the contents of the painting beforehand; either way we can just hire someone to do it, and move on—”

But you don’t want that. It was never in your vision to have some random person come into your home to paint your baby’s room.

It was something meant for the parents to complete. A symbolic way of pouring out their endless love for their upcoming bundle of joy; through small affirmations scattered across the walls, decorated with cute animals that would comfort her or him through the stillness of the night, just enough before they’re scooped up into their parents’ warmth.

Things that no stranger will be able to achieve, no matter how determined their good intentions are…

Which is why you’re disappointed to see that Naoya didn’t understand such details; that much was clear when you simply turned around and walked away.

“Hey, wait, Y/N—!” Naoya gasps, attempting to take ahold of you; but even in your fragile state, you prove much quicker. Not for much when he eventually corners you just around the corner. “Seriously? Are you really planning to ignore me for the rest of the day now that I finally got time to spend with you??”

“…Maybe.” You say, barely managing to control the embarrassment his words provided you. Quite unfair, isn’t it? Not as much as his unreasonable solution. “What does it matter anyway…”

“A lot. It matters a lot to me!” He insists. “I don’t see any reason to get all heated about a simple mural, our child won’t even acknowledge it!”

Call it a consequence of your always fluctuating hormones, or maybe your discontent at his response of what you thought highly important in this part of both your lives, and your unborn child’s… alongside a secret burden you’ve been carrying along for quite a while now…

You can’t help but weep.

And weep, and weep—letting out everything that you’ve been unconsciously bottling up these past few weeks; things that you furtively hoped would disappear now that Naoya was around.

But it only seemed to worsen, as if his presence was silently judging you for being a failure of a mother. A failure of a wife. If you can’t complete such feeble thing, what hope is there for you to raise a child? His successor, ultimately?

Was all this a mistake?

Your reaction is not one that Naoya allows to continue much longer.

“Wa—wait, Y/N—! What—What’s wrong?!” He gasps, attempting to get a better look of your face (though it greatly hurt him to do so) and discern if you were in pain and proceed accordingly. “Y/N… why are you crying? Do I need to call the doctor??”

“What? No!”

“Then why are you crying?”

“I—I don’t know—because I’m—I’m—angry!” you reply, but after all these years together, Naoya knows well it’s more than that. Far more.

“With me?” He murmurs.

…

“No, with myself.”

“Why? Why would you ever feel that way about yourself?” Naoya frets. “You’re—”

Perfect.

“No, I’m not. I’m a failure.”

“Huh?? What?????” It’s utter nonsense for you to exclaim such things when you’ve been nothing but attentive, dedicated, and selfless at everything relating to the baby and him—Naoya has even felt undeserving of it! Did you forget how much of a prick he was at the beginning of this relationship? And yet, you stayed! Changed him for the better!

If anything, this label was far more fitting on him thanks to his stupidly prolonged absence.

…Not you, whom he knew would be perfect as a mother already.

No one is more deserving of all the happiness in the world than you, it’s simply a miracle that he was able to share these blessings with you.

“What are you even talking about…?” Naoya murmurs, his voice denoting pain. Can he even offer you reassurance at this point?

“I just—I just feel like… I’m—I’m supposed to do certain things, right? Now that we’re going to be parents—there’s… there’s expectations I have to fulfill! But I can’t even paint a goddamn nursery, what makes me think I can be a good mother?!”

“If those are the metrics for comparison, I am delighted to say you’ve passed with flying colors.” Naoya says, hoping to lighten part of the weight on your heart… to no avail. “…A nursery shouldn’t be something to stress about, my love. We can always hire someone to—”

“It’s supposed to be us! Don’t you get it?!” you cry. “We have to be there for our baby, because no one else will if we don’t!”

Naoya already knew that. From the moment he got with you, to when he finally began to daydream about the family he’d like to have with you, simply an extension of his unconditional devotion towards you.

And yet, as obvious as they were… when you pronounced these facts, it’s as if he heard them for the first time.

Or perhaps truly understood the depths of his new responsibilities. Just how much both your and his life were to change the moment his baby is born.

Most of his life, he always depended on others to do the things he didn’t want to, or didn’t know how to. It was just as easy as flaunting his name, and whatever perturbed him was no longer an issue.

And it seemed to work with you too, though you weren’t too optimistic about it in the beginning, even tried reasoning with him, explain that it was a bit too dramatic.

But Naoya simply didn’t want you to struggle, if you were to be his woman, then you couldn’t entertain such trivialities when you could be focusing on him (or so he tries to justify, he simply enjoys spoiling you). So, eventually, you agreed.

But when it comes to his child, it’s a whole different world. One that still as him giving her all that she wants… while getting recognition for it.

To be admired by his starry-eyed baby, known in her mind as the greatest papa ever.

Not an ounce of her attention would be relayed to others, outside of you, of course. Naturally. Why did he even consider bringing in a stranger to finish something so significative to the three?

Only you and Naoya know just how long both have been waiting to finally have her in your arms. To see if they’d look like him, you… or even a combination of the two. Though he hoped she’d take after you.

Much was expected from someone as devoted, and possessive protective like Naoya, it’s only a shame it took your tears for him to realize.

“You’ve been undeservingly patient with me, my love.” He says, slowly wiping away the tears sliding down your cheeks. “I didn’t mean to appear insensitive to your… our concerns.”

You don’t respond, unable to go beyond a few sobs and whimpers, still trying to process your emotions. Not that you needed to say much, Naoya already got your message loud and clear.

“I… I guess it’s time I put my other talents to use.” He adds, sheepishly scratching the back of his neck. “It’s been a while since I’ve done anything, but I’d like to think I still know how to hold a pencil. Or a brush for that matter.”

“…But what—what about…? You said—” you breathe.

“This is the reason why I got time off, princess. To be with you, and our baby. If not, why did I even bother?” He reassures, gently placing his hand over your stomach. His little princess must be asleep, for she always responds to his touch with a kick. “I’ve done worse, after all. Surely a few drawings on a bunch of walls can’t be too intimidating.”

You let out a breathy chuckle in between sniffles, before moping once again.

“But I won’t be able to do much…”

“You’re right. You’d be crazy to think I’d let you anywhere near toxic paint. But, you can still help me sketch… or at least decide what’s going on the nursery, I don’t know much about what kids like these days.”

“A Gengar would be nice.” You murmur. “It’d be a way to pass on my legacy!”

“I’ve never judged your tastes, because clearly I’m one of them.” He smirks, you roll your eyes. “But don’t you think that might be a bit… much for our child? Scary, I mean?”

“…I guess so.” You frown, going back into deep thought. “Something generic might do it, then. Like Snoopy! Everyone likes Snoopy, right?”

“Perhaps. What’s that other one? That really popular cat we’ve seen everywhere it’s almost nauseating?”

“Oh, Hello Kitty?” Naoya nods. “That one’s cute too! Waybe we can go with My Melody instead? Or Pochacco! We still don’t know if they’re going to be a boy or a girl, but I doubt it’d matter much early on.”

“Let’s just start with that one for now. When our baby grows and her preferences become more sophisticated, we can adapt. Naturally my daughter won’t settle for anything less than what she deserves.”

“There you go again, how can you be so sure our baby is going to be a girl?” you frown.

“Must be something to do with my impressive lineage.” He shrugs.

“You better not be cheating!”

“Me? Cheating? Impossible.” He laughs, you playfully smack his shoulder.

“…I wonder what character’s our baby will end up liking. Will they like anime like you? Or maybe even videogames, like me!” you swoon, eager to have your child in your arms already. There’s so much you wished to share with them… can’t they hurry?

“Could be both. Or none.” Naoya responds. “Not that it’d matter much, I’ll spoiler her anyways.”

“Even if it’s Hello Kitty? The character you’re sick of seeing everywhere?” you tease, he chuckles.el

“As if that were to happen. I told you, our child will grow to have sophisticated tastes like us.”

“We ought to make a bet.” You say. “If I’m right… you’ll buy me all the sushi I’ve been craving these past few months! No matter where or when, you’ll comply!”

“Alright, and what if I win?” Your husband smirks. “What do I get?”

You blush.

“Seems more like another reward for you, but it’s still an arrangement I can get behind.” He accepts. “Not that I needed much convincing, I know what’s going to happen anyways.”

“Yeah right, what now? You can see the future?” you jest.

Obviously not. But even if he could, it wouldn’t mean much with the lesson he’s learned that day; the importance of doing things yourself. That a simple act made through one’s hands could be far more valuable than the most expensive things in the world.

The importance it’ll have when his child eventually comes along and realizes all that their parents have done for them, simply because they’re so loved.

…

And of course, to not make bets on future variables less he wishes to be reminded of such mistake every time he ends up seeing that damned character popping up in her daughter’s newest belongings.

… Not that he ever genuinely disliked such famed white cat. How could he? For whenever he sees it, it only reminds him of the little bundle of joy he has waiting at home.

you and naoya were like: ah well, we can always change the nursery later on, right? it's not like naomi is going to obsess about hello kitty.

right????

also for the first time in his life naoya wanted to learn how to do things instead of having someone else do it for him because he wants his baby to admire him is so aghhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! now, don't get me wrong, he still skips certain things but he's trying TT_TT fatherhood scared him until naomi came along 🥺

#naoya zenin #naoya zen'in #naoya x reader #naoya zenin x reader #naoya zenin x you #jjk naoya #naoya zen'in x reader #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jjk x you #prompt series: jujutsu kaisen

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thelostgirl21 · 3 months ago

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Julian Alfred Pankratz (a.k.a. Jaskier) going directly for the jugular since the early 1230s.

- How can you think my feelings for you are a lie? - Because that is who you are, Radovid, at your core.

I kind of loved that, when Jaskier finally decided that he'd had enough and fought back against his bully in "Sirens of the Deep", he knew exactly what to say to hit Zelest where it would hurt him the most.

It showed that, even as a child, Jaskier was highly aware of the power of words, perceptive of other people's deepest fears and unresolved issues, and vicious enough to target those directly for threatening things and/or people he holds dear.

I also found it interesting that Zelest is the bastard son of a king that spent his whole life trying to prove himself to him in the hopes of finally being worthy of his father's love and recognition.

And that, the very moment King Usveldt finally gave Zelest what he thought he'd been after all along - the very moment that he finally said "watch yourself, son" - in a last-ditch attempt to maintain his power and control over him - was the moment where Zelest realized that he no longer wanted it!

Jaskier left Bremervoord to become who he wanted to be. Zelest stayed, trying to gain the love, approval and acceptance of someone that simply had none to give.

Zelest, as a child, felt so small and vulnerable, that he kept overcompensating by picking on those that he perceived as being even smaller and more vulnerable than himself to make himself feel bigger and stronger.

And, as an adult, he essentially became a vessel for his father's prejudices and cruelty.

But that isn't who he is. And,the very second King Usveldt realized that he'd lost his hold over Zelest - the very second he no longer had any use for him - he called him nothing but a mistake that he'd always wanted to erase, and ordered his death!

He even implied that the only reason he was willing to put up with how much of a disappointment his legitimate son, Agloval, was to him, was because of his obsession with his own legacy!

And I was truly glad that Jaskier was there to witness Zelest finally having the courage to take a stand against the person that had caused them both so much pain (as Zelest's own issues had caused him to take that pain out on Jaskier), and to reveal himself to be someone fundamentally honorable, that would rather fight to protect others than push for senseless war.

I was glad that Jaskier got to fully witness just how bad things had been for Zelest, and where all that hurt, pain and violence had come from.

Not because that justified any of what Jaskier himself (and others) had been through at the hands of Zelest nor made everything okay again.

But it opened the door for the two of them to really start healing from their respective traumas, better understand it, and move on.

For Jaskier, more specifically, it gave him the chance to understand that he'd never deserved any of this, and to gain some recognition and respect from the person (Zelest) that used to redirect his own suffering on him.

And the saddest part, perhaps, was that no one appeared to mourn Zelest's loss, or truly be affected by it, in the end, besides Jaskier.

When Geralt mentioned that Usveldt used to have two sons, and now he had none, it was clear that the king still only cared about how Zelest's loss affected him.

As for Agloval, I suppose that he wouldn't have been too inclined to discuss his half-brother's death with his heartless father - so maybe he did mourn him off screen, at the very least, but the movie never showed it.

Zelest's violent death, however, caused Jaskier enough emotional distress for him to pick up Zelest's sword in the aftermath, and launch himself at a group of vodyanoys that hadn't even appeared to have been paying any attention to him until then (even that first one that Jaskier attacked had to turn around a bit to better face him... So, it really looks like the first blow came from Jaskier, not the other way around!)!

Jaskier went from having fantacized about Zelest dying of syphilis in a debtor prison half blind, crazed and salivating...

To being so upset about his death, that he stupidly grabbed the man's sword and tried taking on four freaking vodyanoys at once on his own (I'm sorry, but more than ever, I'm 100% convinced that this bard has a solid case of ADHD!)!

Because, shortly before reaching that point, Jaskier had heard Zelest openly acknowledge that he had been right to leave, and then he'd seen him pull the same "plank trick" that he'd used to torment him back in the days, but to save his and Geralt's lives with it this time around instead.

Zelest took a painful memory that they both shared, and used it to protect Jaskier and someone he loves.

And, from the way we could see Jaskier smile in that scene, it seemed that Zelest had just successfully managed to go from a personal tormentor to a personal hero in Jaskier's heart.

The moment Zelest finally allowed himself to stop trying to please others and embrace who he is instead - the moment he stopped being a potential threat to Jaskier to instead adopt a protective role towards him - I think Jaskier genuinely fell in love and connected with him in the puppy-like way he often does with people.

All the unconditional love, acceptance, understanding, and admiration that Zelest had spent his whole life searching in his father's eyes, he finally received from Jaskier - the boy he used to have fun tormenting - instead.

And then, the sea witch took him, Jaskier lost him, and the grief really hit him!

Zelest was both loved and mourned by a person that had every reason to hate him, while the one person he'd devoted his whole life to only wished him dead.

A part of me really wishes that Zelest would have been given a happier ending - one where he'd have had the chance to experience a life free from his father's toxic influence, and free to fully figure out who he is - but life is often unfair, sadly, and rarely about what one deserves.

So while, in the presence of someone that he perceives as a (potential) threat, Jaskier has been known to be very effective when it comes to the art of throwing salt on the biggest exposed, bleeding wound he can find...

(Ex:

Zelest: Not being "good enough" to be worthy of his father's love and recognition.

Radovid: Yearning for a sincere connection with someone that can see and love him for who he is, rather than who he needs to pretend to be to keep himself safe at court.)

...it seems that, when that person ceases to be an immediate (potential) threat to him, and Jaskier's given the chance to take a good glimpse at the reasons that pushed them to say and do those stupid things, then Jaskier's ability to forgive, love, and care for them is incredibly huge.

But confusing...

So, so confusing...

Poor Radovid...

Although I do admire how fast he can recover!

#Jaskier #Radovid #Radskier #Zelest #Sirens of the Deep #Spoilers #My Posts #My Stuff #My Thoughts

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tata-is-the-name · 2 months ago

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Stinky B*tch (G.S Oneshot)

Characters: Gojo Satoru x Fem! reader

Summary: It was dinner time with your husband when your son has suddenly spouted such a derogatory word that has earned your disappointment for him. Hence, as Satoru had his man to man prattles with his child, turns out he was experiencing such upsetting situations no matter how you both try to let him live a normal youth unlike his father did.

Warnings: Fluff and giggles. Domesticated Gojo but still has the aspects of Jujutsu in it, your son has a potty mouth. Your son is spoiled because Gojo loves spoiling the heck out of his 'first' born, the son also has his abilities and skills, Gojo being a sucker for you and his son. He's also entirely whipped for you too.

A/N: This was a oneshot I have created 1-2 years ago. Enjoy this lovely, domesticated fluffy oneshot for Satoru Gojo. I'm missing him so bad, I think it's time I start writing again.

REBLOGS AND COMMENTS ARE SUPER-DUPER HIGHLY APPRECIATED! IT GIVES ME SUCH MOTIVATION!

Words: 3.3k+

Disclaimer: Please do not repost any of my works on another website. (ALSO I AM CURRENTLY DRUNK SO I APOLOGIZE FOR NOT RECHECKING THE WHOLE THING HEHEHE)

"What was that?"

The strongest had felt his son take an obscure pebble that was trying to fuck up with his limitless and haphazardly threw it right at him, hitting him on the forehead without even his ability turned on. This disparaging activity being such a tactless occurrence he had experience in the first place.

"What did you just say to your mummy?"

There was nothing you could do but heave a heavy sigh, your temples beginning to ache from being confronted at such a rough time especially when you were handling two---no, scratch that---three children at once within your household.

One was an inevitable, intensive man-child, two was a budding reciprocation---the entirety or simply to say, a carbon-copy of Satoru Gojo in the flesh whilst the other...

...was an expected, budding princess ought to be born on earth on the succeeding month ahead.

Hence, which is why your son's fresh, thriving rebellious junctures weren't really helping a lot in your part when you were halfway through your pregnancy.

"Let me hear that again," Inchmeal, Satoru had announced like he was walking on a thread. His attempts to hoodwink on his son's caustic comment while the three of you were having supper. The disbelief heavy and lingering on his tongue, "...just one more time for daddy's in denial sake,"

With patent emphasis, Satoru had leaned back against his dining chair, crossed his taut arms and uncrossed his long legs, drooped before your son to raise the glass on preparing him for another reality check which has been happening back and forth. Gojo alsohad intentionally---well, dramatically dropped his metal chopsticks by hearing such malapert words coming out of his son's mouth during dinner. Hooked by the bolshie attitude that the child was giving towards you---the both of you---with him included since he felt like this also rebounded towards Satoru, also taking the verbose hits your son has declared.

"She's a she-devil." your son had repeated, paraphrasing his words because he had a gut feeling that it was a reckless mistake to have said it out loud. Though, your son still kept his tones utmost crude to the core and never backing down just like how Satoru would within the young, adolescence period and even during the present climate period when he was talking with the higher ups.

"No-no, not that. I think it started with a letter 'B'. Regardless, that's still a grotty thing to say to your momma'. But, thatwasn't what I really heard. That's not really it, I tell ya'." it felt like Satoru Gojo was confronting himself on this one. The churlish, audacious meeting him up through an imperishable wall made for him to break. "Don't go changing your words and put on your big boy pants right at this moment. If you're going to keep up with your presumptuous mouth with us---especially, with me around---at least, brag to me about it."

"---Momma's a bitchy stinker."your son stated point-blank, his bright, celestial blue eyes clashing with your husbands'. "...A bitchy...stinker." he repeated again, tone all flimsy now but persistent nevertheless.

You've weighed up the tremendous resemblance of your son and Satoru together and If he weren't yours---if you hadn't mothered this one; if you hadn't delivered this white haired boy with goodly, blest blue eyes, you would have been intimidated and felt otherworldly recognition by this child alone.

"Alright! Knew you were going to say it again and never surrender. That never runs in my blood. Our blood, lil 'bud. You're my son, a Gojo. What do I even expect?" Satoru pulled his wooden chair closer to the dining table, pulling between his manspreaded legs. The movement creating a loud squeak from how he heavily dragged it, making you and your son wince. His son's attitude towards you setting him off, "I really heard it loud and clear. First of all..." Your husband forewarn, taking quite a slow pace at it.

You've calmly laid your chopsticks down, sighing another. Your fisted knuckles supporting the weight of your face over the table as you silently watched the reprimanding scene unfold right before your very own eyes, pliable to witness your husband's admonishments for your son's disobedience which has been mushrooming in dreadful times and conditions.

"That was exceptionally rude of you." pause. "Very...very ill-bred, young man!"

"Like father, like son. I told you, Toru." you've droned, utmost feeling another nauseous headache coming in, "He's got all of your personality and behavior. Like when you were just a kid and even in this life time period. He's growing up in such an identical state and it's stressing me out. Were you really this toffee-nosed?"

Gojo seemed to be taken aback, his large palm dreading to be placed right above his chest as he dramatically reacted, "Toffee-nosed? How the hell would you know that, Sweets?! We haven't even met yet when I was a child!"

"Your face was really...kickable when you were around this age."

"Oi, oi, oi! I was extremely cute, adorable, handsome, cherubic and---!" he was immediately cut off from his own gasconading roisters before getting driven to distraction.

"You basically shown me your 'life stage' pictures. I've seen it and kept copies of it." you've languidly blinked back, turning your head away to take a glimpse upon your son again who was looking awfully familiar just like his father. Even with the way he was simply surveying both of your harmless banters, he was a hundred percent mirror image of Satoru.

He'd even had that off-putting, winsome grimace when your son was undeniably irked by what he witnesses around him.

No wonder your son's existence alone screams that he's Gojo Satoru's offspring.

"And?" your man-child husband quipped, nudging a lenient elbow alongside before leaning in, limbs embracing you with his warmth; his palm sailing across the peaked hill of your gravid tummy. Satoru had instigated a peck along your temple, sensing that you were coming close towards your grouchy, pregnancy state. "I was definitely cute, was I? you basically kept those birth pictures of mine! you just admitted it!"

"Pretty cute." you've wholeheartedly agreed, shrugging your shoulders and playing along. Sardonic verbal attacks bounded to be catapulted as you've taken your husband's chin, angling his mouth towards yours. All of a sudden, those hormones you're bearing through this pregnancy, desiring to receive kisses as you went on from giving him audible, sweet busses on his moisturized lips.

That he had gladly welcomed to take, expressing his ninny or simping zeals with audible giggles that buzzed when your lips collided for a short moment. Your husband's twitterpatted behavior terribly being seen as a cloying moment for your son to belch because he was in the midst of throwing a shit fit. If he was not caught in between his father's chiding situation, he would've reacted just like your husband would with things he did not like or agreed to.

Yet, given the circumstance, your son chose the latter because Satoru will---and most definitely would raise his feet upwards, head down over a skyscraping tower because Satoru eventually learned and vulnerably accepted not to be ashamed of experiencing this sort of emotions---true love that any other human deserved to have and he would not like his son to grow up being detached towards the idea of it all.

Hence, your husband was bound and devoted to show him that he was suitable to experience that too in the future.

You've stifled your grins, Satoru trying to with hold the mushy pecks through and through, yet you've halted him midway, making him press a bedewed kiss on your palm. Your mouth spitting sarcasm, "You were cute, but still, with a kickable, pretty, adorable rude face to begin with."

Satoru couldn't help but grouch at that.

His nose wincing. White brows furrowed together as his upper lip pursed to express his scowl, the appearance literally a dead ringer for what his son was appearing to be during present time.

You've shook your head at them, disdained by how the events switched by Satoru's tantivy, distracted opportunity. Your mere sweet kisses able to make him forget what he was ought to do in the first place, "Whatever, don't you BOTH go pouting at me tonight. I'm too stressed to handle this. Go deal with your son---,"

Gojo pursed his lip further, even competing with his son's brooding mood, "Ours. Our son. We made him both together." your husband sent an exaggerated huff, not even bothering to watch his mouth for the succeeding thought he wanted to make clear.

"---we made him both together when you were begging for me to breed you on December 17---my birthday---at exactly 12:24 AM when you roused me off our sleep cuddles with whiny shakes on my shoulders, planting needy kisses on my---!"

"Not---!" your husband's rebarbative rambles and PG 18+ recalls had you unprepared. You've given him the stink eye before continuing your train of thought, shushing him mid-sentence,"---until he learns to apologize for saying rude stuff right at my face while we're eating dinner." you've laid it down, settling it once and for all as you stood up with a hand over your round stomach, supporting the growing bun in the oven.

"Calling me a bitchy stinker for taking his toys and unlinking your bank account on Roblox."

"Roblox? Oh, that game. Was he just trying to buy something for himself? We're rich-y-rich. You could've let him have everything he wants, baby. It's fine."Satoru have droned, rodomontading the prosperous side he always had since birth.

You've stood your ground this time, the bad mood swings taken a thorough toll on you. Finally addressing the elephant in the room as to why your son began reacting that way when Satoru came home during dinner. As much as he could, Gojo was trying to at least cease the double duties because you were close to due date. But, also mainly keeping it not so surreptitious that he was being slothful at the same time.

"He was having multiple accounts, Toru. Cashing millions---come to think of it--- Millions of Robux that has been linked in your bank account just to make more accounts further. I asked him what he was going to do about it and he answered, 'nothing, Leave it be. Why are you even looking at my stuff anyway?' besides, what's he gonna do with millions of Robux? buy the game and be the developer instead?"

Your husband was quick to send his son a look, wiggling his frosty white brows like he had forgotten his entire reason upon why he began to admonish him from the very beginning, "What'cha say, bud? wanna be a stockholder of the game? or better yet..." Satoru playfully lingered his spiels, sounding like he was carrying on a top-secret information that only the both of them could hear.

"---wanna buy the Roblox Corporation for your well-being?"

Your son's eyes widened, all big and atrociously gleamering specks of blues with pinpricks of the firmament as well. Hedidn't even think twice upon nodding his head; his pouts quickly disappearing at that as he grinned just like his father was reciprocating him for.

"Can we poppa'?! Can we?!"

"Of course, we can. I can and I will. Always, for you. So, d'ya wanna?"

Knowing Satoru's spontaneity and adoration he has for his first born son---not even having the princess that was bound to be birthed out yet---your husband would do everything for the sake of his boy's delights and unnecessary requests.

"Don't go spoiling his crude mouth tonight, SA-TO-RU. I'm not in the mood." you've raised both of your hands, halfway as a gesture of surrender. Tone all done to avoid their immature behaviors. The emphasis on filling your husband's name per vowel was enough for Gojo to deeply assess that you were on the verge of having him sleep on the couch or beside his son's bed---probably being on the floors again.

Your husband had felt himself release a crooked grin that technically looked like you were bound to hit him with a pan tonight.

"On second thought!" Satoru had took one step on that reckless decision he had and after hearing your tones and recognizing that timbre and emphasis on the call of his birth name, the Gojo Satoru suddenly had his pace walking back two steps behind for that. The strongest sounding like he was being held back with a leash and tugging once or twice upon his own reigns, "...I'll decide on it until mummy' agrees to our secret business proposal, lil' bud. That's for sure! Heh. She comes down in favor for getting the verdict on this one."

"Spoil him when he has done good things. Bum, bad children don't deserve to get their toys back."

"That---that's not fair! I-I'm not a bum! DON'T CWALL ME A BUM. I'm not even a bad child, mummy!" your son have huffed out loud, words altering towards sounding gibberish like he was fighting off a quivering mouth, Though, there came along was a headstrong tantrum coming to pop out loud like fireworks in the sky that was ought to rebound along the four corners of the household as he kicked his foot together under the table, scraping them both in attempts to lever down his childish outbursts.

"Don't call me mummy, Goro. I'm a bitchy stinker, aren't I?"

Goro Gojo. That was what you and Satoru chose and agreed to name him when he was born to the world. The word Goro having to come from the word 'Enlightened son.'

"I'm also not your mummy for tonight. I don't recall having a mean, BAD son calling me a bitch anyway."

You've seen Goro's pouty lips entirely tremble at that, knowing he was bound to burst crying to his father soon. Perhaps, it was not all of Satoru's personality he had. The child partly also has yours with his heart being worn on his sleeves when stuff like this happens; whenever he creates his own mistakes.

Howbeit, you had to quickly turn around your heels and avoid the crestfallen image he was in, so you wouldn't be able to turn this chides into nonsense abiding that you've passed the responsibility onto your husband tonight.

Knowing damn well yourself, you would have grabbed and hugged him so tight just to stop him from wailing because of your serious, tongue-lashing. He was your son, after all. An absolute sweet one either if he was not caught up in his tantrums and for whatever reasons he had for all the purchases he did.

"Satoru," you've given your husband the side-eye, clearly getting the message with one pellucid call of his birth name, over and above that was the vague difference of your expressions and the way your body have started to strain in discomfited mannerisms that only Gojo could have the gumption for. "...I'll be in our room. I don't really feel good. You take charge for this matter. She's been kicking up a fuss inside me earlier this afternoon. You already know this, Pookie."

You were swift enough to leave the dining room. But, not before walking a few strides close to Satoru so you could lean down and give him a peck on the cheek. In which, he had grabbed onto your jaw, wanting more than just cheek kisses as his gaze settled for your lips with utmost deprivation for a succulent smooch, landing one as he audibly could.

"I get it. Go rest, Sweets. Leave him to me. It's nothing I couldn't handle anyway." he reached out for another, his hand rested alongside your jaw, firm but gentle. "...Mmh, love you,"

"I love you too, Toru. I trust you on this. Be serious about it, kay?" there was another pause that had Satoru spit out a flurry, breathy laugh, "...or you're getting your shut-eye in the brisk, solitary guest room tonight and not even beside your son anymore because he's going to be taking your spot on the mattress."

With that, you've left the dining room, leaving all the young, whippersnapper pitches to Satoru's part for tonight.

"Ah, see what you did," your husband started, the echoes of your pit-a-pats fading as you walked away. Your son manifesting a delinquent child before Satoru with his cheerless aura, "...and that was all because of your rude mouth. Now, you gotta' deal with the consequences when you choose to argue with mummy, lil' bud."

It was best to say that getting you riled up was not the best idea despite of Satoru being a teacher. To be honest, he was rather a lenient one in terms of a well-deserved rap on the knuckles towards his students and especially---most importantly, with his child.

Your husband intentionally had to sigh out loud for his uncivil demeanors, never even managing to finish half of his sentence when his own son had cut him off from the white lies he was delusional about, "...This is the time you should listen to me because I rarely gamble with mummy's fiery episodes---,"

"Didn't we slept together in the same room last night, poppa'?" Goro had pondered, blinking out his wide peepers back with a snotty sniff, trying to stifle upon crying out loud when it was finally the time for Satoru to handle his paroxysm of weepings, "I remember your cursed spirit cradle tales last night while you snuggled with me on the floors!"

"That's not the point of all this, it's not about me this time. Let's forget about that for a while. Forget about the darn cursed spirits just this once," your husband had cleared his throat, paving to massage the nape of his neck from being called out by his own son, "Listen to me, Goro---my precious, handsome lil' bud,"

"Isn't this partly also because of you? you've been saying you were cute and all when momma' have been telling that it were all lies..."

"Hey!" Gojo had straightened on his seat, the chair squeaking once again as he crossed his legs, a reprimanding forefinger pointed right back towards your son in attempts to give him an earful that he should've been grateful that he was his father, "You better thank me for your exceptional genes you got there!"

Howbeit, Satoru never expected his honesty---such uprightness for what he felt the past few weeks when he started going to a normal kinder garden school that the both of you decided that he should have during his budding age.

"I should've looked like mummy instead," your son woefully whispered, catching Satoru off-guard that he had to audibly state his confusion out loud with a 'huh?', his hands motioning over his ears as if it has been plugged, Goro's candor turning him impaired to his hearing. The integrity of your son seemed to inherit from your genetics, yet his sheer bluntness for all appeared to be taken from Satoru.

"All the kids have been avoiding me and calling me a pretentious, rich, weirdo for this freaky white hair and glowing eyes and that I excel a whole lot with everything even if I try not to." your son begun swinging his feet under the wooden table, his robicund cheeks aired to the fore as he continued to grump. His head bowed down, avoiding the pondering surveys his father was giving him, "---They don't even try to be friends with me anymore. I only have online friends in my Roblux account, I just wanted to send gifts to my online friends so they won't leave me be because I---I feel very lonely,"

Occurring for the first time, Satoru could not procure himself to utter out a word or two for hearing his own son's school of thought that calls attention to what he was currently experiencing during his second to third week education in a traditional, garden-variety nursery school.

To say that Satoru also had his winded, big, celestial peepers blinking back at his son like he had domain expansion-ed his father was enough to establish that Gojo have been lost in his thoughts, static with his movements and halted to breath as if all the air in his lungs were being taken away by how his precious lil' boy have been coming up against that damned pre-k school.

"I love you and mummy so much. I don't want to be a meanie, bwad, bum child." Goro had frowned, this time it deepened; this time, it was rebuilt to convey his slumped, deep-dejection for a childish belief that is downright, misleading and untrue. "Does this mean that mummy doesn't love me any more? does she hate me now?"

"I-I-I," he hiccupped, fat tears falling as his feet swung faster beneath the wooden chair. His son's cries turning into heart-aching snivels that Satoru could definitely not handle the sight because of how desolated he really is. Goro's precious, ardent weeping making his own father purse his lip, reciprocating a pained pout, "---l-love mummy and daddy', I love you both...I---I didn't even mwean what I said to mummy at all. I---I love mummy so much just like you do.I---I'M SWORRY. I'm never saying it agwain!"

Your son have rubbed all his snot and tears away with his clothed arm, garbed in his favorite jacket that he always loved to wear outside and even around the house. With things being what they are, it was now stained by his guilt and despair for rash, puerile mistakes that his parents are now admonishing him for.

Goro sniffed a lot louder, his upper lip damped with his runny nose that he had done to himself for turning on the waterworks tonight, his own emotional outbursts being on the line and hanging onto the child's heart strings, "That whole entire kindergarden school s-swucks. I-I dwon't wanna study there. Can't I study where uncle Megumi learns instead so we could play all day and I could play with his colorful shadow p-pets?"

I FEEL SO BAD RN. I FEEL LIKE I'M THE VILLAIN HERE---THIS WASN'T SUPPOSED TO TURN THIS WAY---I'M SORRYYYYYYYY T_T I'M IN BETWEEN AWEING AND ALSO SQUINTING MY EYES BECAUSE OUR SON WITH SATORU CALLED US A STINKY BITCH---T_T

Anyways...

If y'all want to chat with me over specific topics, DON'T BE SHY TO SEND AN ASK! I DON'T BITE! HEEHEE.

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