#i have to finish them first unfortunately

[sungstars]

slut me out | njm x fem!reader

i.e you needed to give your situationship the time of his life after seeing his instagram story.

word count: 2.8k (not proof read)

content warning: situationship, open ending, smut lol, oral (m. rec.), fingering (f. rec.), explicit sex, unprotected sex(no!), creampie, lmk if i missed anything thanks!

author's note: two fics in one day! can we believe this LOL. would you guys be surprised if i said that i have a mark one that i'm hoping to finish and it'll be queued up for tomorrow morning/afternoon. i hope you all enjoy this fic and as always, dedicated to my crazy and delusional bffs. likes & reblogs are appreciated as always. requests are open till october 5th! i'm still working on my jay fic, and hoping to have that out by tuesday!!

“you’re fucking crazy,” you said once the phone picked up after the first ring, “you can delete that story, i saw it.”

jaemin let out a hearty laugh, “hmm? but jisungie looks so cute, what if one of my followers wants me to put them on with him?”

you jeer, fingering hovering over the red button on the screen, “you definitely could’ve posted him without making sure your shirt is unbuttoned and they can see the chain that i bought you peeking through. what if they’re crazy like me?”

“don’t worry, nobody has you beat in that department.” jaemin added quickly, “you can come over if you want.”

did you want to? absolutely. you needed to rock his world so hard that it was likely to be rated a category 9.5 earthquake.

“you can come to me,” you quipped back, “and hurry up, i dont have a lot of patience. don’t change either.”

“you’re so demanding,” jaemin whined, a glint of playfulness evident in his voice, “i have to stop at my other hoe’s house first, but i’ll be there.”

“not even funny.” you hung up the phone, rolling your eyes.

focusing back on your room, you jumped up in a panic. you needed to change and also pick up the clothes you had thrown all over the place.

realistically, you didn’t know if jaemin was kidding about seeing somebody else first, but if he wasn’t, you had about twenty minutes including traffic before he got to your place.

you shoved all the loose piece of clothing into whatever drawer or laundry basket they would fit into. doing a once over your room, you were satisfied with what you were able to do.

looking at your floor length mirror, you didn’t care too much about what you had on. a big t-shirt with snoopy playing baseball on the front.

easy access for jaemin, but you should probably change your dingy halloween panties from victoria secret into something cute.

perhaps pink? that seemed on brand for tonight’s theme.

you were digging through your underwear drawer looking for that lacey pink thong you got from the mall a few weeks ago when you heard a knock on your door.

“fuck,” you said, slamming the drawer shut to no avail and rubbing your hands down your hair to smooth out any frizz, “fuck.”

the knocking got louder, causing you to practically trip on air as you ran to grab the door.

“took your sweet time letting me in,” jaemin pouted. leaning against the doorframe when you opened it, “that mad at me?”

rolling your eyes, you pulled him in by his silky pajama shirt and closing the door behind him, “guess she wasn’t that good if you got here within the same hour of calling.”

jaemin smiled, dropping down onto your couch and sliding his shoes off, “i’d say she was pretty damn good if i got done quickly and i’m not here.”

you crossed your arms, scoffing at his comment and began to walk to your bedroom.

“you’re such a dick.”

“i heard that,” he said, jumping off the couch to chase behind you, “i'm just kidding y/n, you know it's just you."

"are you sure? cause you keep making comments about other girls, are you trynna compensate? i don't care if you see other people."

jaemin laughed at you for the nth time this evening, making you want to just slam your bedroom door in his face and lock him out, but unfortunately for you, seeing jaemin in those pink pajamas and gold chain sent you into borderline ovulation.

you grabbed jaemin by the arm, leading him to sit on your bed and standing between his legs.

"it's just you," jaemin reassured, a hand coming up to rub your hip gently, "just like driving you crazy 'cause i know you're really fucking insane."

jaemin got a whiff of your secret cloud perfume as you leaned down and kissed his neck gently.

"i'm going to turn you every way but loose tonight," you whispered into his ear, teeth grazing the shell of his ear, "and i'm gonna show you how insane i am over you."

a shiver went down jaemin's back as you kissed down his neck and to his adam's apple, making sure to suck dark marks into his skin before placing your lips on his.

his arms wrapped your waist, pulling you down into his lap as he deepened the kiss. your hands found their way entangled into his brunette locks, moaning as he slipped his tongue into your mouth.

the two of you fought for dominance over the kiss, though jaemin just wanted to put up a good fight before letting you win.

you then slipped your tongue into his mouth, removing your hands from his hair and moving them down to his shoulders.

you gently pushed him back and onto the mattress, letting your fingers skillfully undo his pajama shirt, enjoying the smooth silk under your fingertips before pulling the shirt open.

jaemin pressed his hips up, hoping to get a small bit of friction on his growing erection and moaning when you rut your own hips down.

pulling away from the kiss, your chest heaved as you did a lookover his body. his plush lips swollen and glossy with spit, dark splots decorating his skin from earlier, his own defined chest moving rapidly as he tried to catch his own breath.

"you look so pretty under me, jaem," you complimented, your fingers dancing across his exposed collarbones and down his gold chain, "a sight only i should be allowed to see."

jaemin exhaled heavily through his nose, "a sight only for you. . please, don't stop. i want you. . i need you so badly, y/n."

how could you deny such a request from a pretty boy completely at your disposal? you weren't a cruel or dumb woman, so of course you'll comply.

you leaned down to attach your lips to his collarbone, biting and sucking gently as you made your way down his chest.

moving the pink fabric away, you let your tongue teasingly flick at his nipple to elicit a whiny moan from his mouth before taking his nipple between your lips.

"fuck y/n," he groaned, "that feels so good."

smirking to yourself, you pull off and stand up. the boy's eyes widened, trying to hold back another whine because why did you pull off? and why are you standing?

"c'mon," jaemin said, voice cracking slightly, "don't be a tease."

"a tease?" you titled your head as he sat up on his elbows, "if you beg, i'll consider."

a bright red hue cascaded over jaemin's face at your request, but he couldn't get any more pathetic than he already looked.

"y/n," he pleaded, "please do something. i am so undeniably hard, and if i don't feel those pretty lips or pretty hands wrapped around my dick that i know you love, i will implode and you'll be out of a bomb dick appointment and home."

a laugh escaped, jaemin really knew what to say to make you give into him. it's why you liked him honestly. he was funny and charming, and did in fact have a great dick that drove you insane. you used to be normal before he stuck his dick in you.

jaemin reached forward, grabbing your hand and placing it over his boner. that action alone could've made you cum in your panties because pathetic jaemin was probably your favorite jaemin.

you instinctively wrapped your fingers around it the best you could while it was restrained in those silky pants, slowly jerking him off and watching a bead of precum stain the fabric.

"see how hard i am?" he asked, breathily, "all for you. all because of you."

stroking your ego was one of the many things jaemin was good at, so you decided to play nicely and give him something to relief this tension you could feel growing in his body.

"take 'em off," you said, releasing his cock from your grip, moving back to give him room, "show me that pretty dick, jaem."

if you weren't standing in front of him, you were sure he would've fell face forward onto your carpet from how fast he was trying to get his pants down and off his hips.

once they were at his thighs, you leaned forward and placed a chaste kiss on his lips before sinking down to your knees.

you were face to face with jaemin's cock, the tip an angry shade of red and precum still leaking from his slit.

spit began to pool inside your mouth the longer you looked at it, and you stuck your tongue out to swipe the precum dribbling from his cock.

jaemin moaned out, hands gripping the sheets beneath him, “stop. . put it in your mouth.”

you furrowed your eyebrows and looked up, “don’t make demands.”

the brunette’s jaw ticked, one hand coming up to your hair and the other grabbing the base of his dick.

he pushed your head back roughly, tapping the head of his cock on your lips and smearing more precum across, “don’t be a fucking tease.”

your eyes widened in surprise at the switch in jaemin's demeanor, but instead of giving him a hard time, you complied by opening your mouth for him.

without hesitation, jaemin shoved his cock into your mouth until it hit the back of your throat which caused you to gag and tears well up in your eyes.

"don't get sensitive now," he mumbled, swiping the tears from your face, "now be good and suck. show me why you're my favorite."

his favorite? you should been his fuckin' only like he said you were earlier. what is up with the inconsistency? he's gonna piss you off.

you used your tongue to lick the under part of his cock, pulling off to leave just the tip in your mouth.

jaemin's grip on your hair tightened, trying his best to let you have control, but wanting nothing more than to just fuck your throat until you're sobbing.

you pulled completely off his cock, bringing your hand to jerk him off while you used your tongue to lick a stripe on his balls and gently suck.

the brunette's eyes rolled back, a string of moans and high pitched whines leaving his throat as you continued to toy with his balls.

whenever your hand reached the tip, you would squeeze every so slightly, causing him to fuck into your hand.

jaemin was close, and you could tell by the way he was whimpering and trying to chase your hand.

you looked up at him, smiling to yourself before pulling off his dick completely, basking in his borderline sob at the loss of contact.

"why did you stop?" tears welled up in his eyes, feeling like he would explode, "you're so fuckin' mean."

cooing, you wiped tears away from his eyes like he did earlier, "cause i knew you were close, jaem."

he sniffled, grabbing you and pinning you down onto the bed in one swift motion.

sometimes, you forget how strong he can be, causing you to get even more wet if that was possible. your panties were sticking almost uncomfortably to your cunt, and you were hoping he would do something to relief that soon.

too lost in your own thoughts of pleasure, you didn't even realize jaemin was pulling your t-shirt up until the cool air hit your nipples.

he used his lithe digits to roll your perked nipples around, causing you to squeal at the contact.

"love the panties," jaemin teased, using one of his hands to snap the waistband against your skin, "so cute and so soaked. god, you really get off from anything as long as it's me, huh?"

"you fuckin' wish," you tried to bite, but it came out as a whimper when he pressed his hand against your core, allowing for some friction of pleasure.

"shhh," he said, "can't even muster an ounce of niceness when i'm about to fuck you?"

jaemin flicked your nipples, smirking at your almost pained moan before moving down to take your underwear off, eyes watching how they were sticking to your sopping cunt, "so wet for me, hm?"

you nodded your head in compliance this time, "all for you."

he swiped a finger up your slit, bringing it to his mouth and licking it clean, "taste so sweet, but act so so mean towards nana, wonder why that is?"

you huffed, hooking a heel behind his thigh and pulling him close so his cock would make some contact with your cunt, a noise escaping your throat when the tip came into rough contact with your clit.

"that needy? what was it you said earlier? beg. beg for it, dumb whore."

degrading was something you and jaemin never tried, but with how effortlessly it slipped out of his mouth, you wish he would've done it sooner.

"jaem," you grinded against his cock, "please fuck me, y'know you want to. please, i need it so badly."

jaemin just looked at you unimpressed, dragging his cock up and down your cunt, looking at how you falter when his tip catches your sensitive bundle of nerves, "beg more."

you wanted to burst into tears, he knows how much you want him, he can feel how wet you are and probably at more slickness slipping out as he teased you, "nana, please put it in. i'll stop being mean, promise. i need your cock--i need you. please fuck me."

his left hand came up to smooth your hair out, smiling all his pearls at you as he slowly pushed the fat tip of his cock into you, finally.

jaemin slowly pushed himself into your cunt, moaning at how easily you took his cock, letting his hand fall from your hair and place pressure on your clit.

"it's like you were made for me, fuck" he gritted his teeth, thrusting shallowly into you, "taking me so well every time, your cunt just fuckin' sucks me in.. ha."

all you could do was moan in response, eyes rolling back when jaemin's gold chain smacked you in the nose, "fuck, too good."

jaemin rubbed your clit roughly as he picked his pace up, hips snapping against yours as your arousal ran down your thighs and his balls, creating a wet sound between the two of you.

you clenched around jaemin's cock, letting out high pitched noises of pleasure as he fucked you harshly, the knot in your stomach tightening and traveling down your pelvis.

"fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck" you cried, placing your hand on his lower abdomen and trying to push him away, but he quickly snatched it and held it above your head, "jaem, fuck, please, it's too much."

jaemin ignored your pleas, "y'know you can take it, stop trying to run from it."

when jaemin snapped his hips harshly once more, you felt that knot in your stomach break and ecstasy overtake your senses.

you couldn't even muster the feeling of embarassment from how good you felt when liquid practically sprayed your thighs and jaemin's abdomen.

the boy tapped the head of his cock on your clit, groaning loudly as you continued to squirt before roughly showing himself back into you.

"jaemin," you squealed, back arching up, "i can't! i can't."

"you can," he said, fucking you harshly, feeling himself getting closer and closer, "and you will take this dick. you wanna whine about other people havin' it so bad, take it, slut."

with jaemin fucking you so soon after an intense orgasm, all you could do was sob and mumble his name. it wasn't going to take you long to cum again, and jaemin could tell about how you were clenching on his dick.

your fingers dug into his shoulders, creating red crescents as his chain smacked you over and over again, his orgasm approaching any second.

"i'm so close, angel." he whined, his thrusts starting to stutter and slow down, "fuck, can i come inside please?"

"o-of course," you nodded your head, your own orgasm approaching once more, "please cum in me."

one more snap of jaemin's hips and he let out a loud moan, stilling himself as white hot ropes of his cum began to fill you and create a creamy ring around his cock, "fuck, you were too good."

he began to thrust slowly to ride out your orgasms, kissing your forehead and whispering sweet praises into your ear.

once you pushed his chest away to let him know he was overstimulating you, he pulled out completely and laid next to you, chest heaving rapidly.

"y/n." he turned on his side, "i really do like you."

you smiled, grabbing his hand and intertwining your fingers, "i really like you too jaemin."

he pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek and pulled you closer to him, "it's always been just you."

end!

[k-nayee]

Mama JJK

wc: 3.9k a/n: Song Inspiration: Mama by Rob49, Skilla Baby, and Tay B; recommend you listen while reading!!

Traveler M.List

ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ

The afternoon air was cool as you make your way across campus, the sun lazily sinking behind the student center.

You're walking to Geto’s shared apartment to finish the last details of your end-of-semester presentation for your public health class.

You weren’t nervous—after weeks of working on the project, things were going smoothly. Especially with Geto, who you'd surprisingly clicked with.

He turned out to be surprisingly down-to-earth for a business major.

As you approach the apartment complex, the brunette's warning from earlier in the week echoes in your mind.

“You’ll probably meet my roommate at some point,” he had said, scratching the back of his neck. “Just... heads up. Gojo’s a bit much. He thinks everyone falls in love with him, so don’t be surprised if he—”

You waved him off, laughing it off at the time. A guy with a reputation for being cocky wasn’t exactly news.

You’d dealt with enough overconfident people before, and you weren’t about to let someone like Gojo get under your skin.

The door swings open before you can even knock, revealing Geto standing there dressed casually in a hoodie and joggers.

His dark hair pulled back in its usual neat bun as he gave you a small smile, stepping aside to let you in.

"Hey, come on in," he said, his voice smooth as usual. The apartment smelled faintly clean and expensive—probably whatever brand of cologne they both wore.

It was neat and minimal, with modern furniture and just enough personality to show that two guys lived here but weren’t obsessed with keeping it pristine.

As you dropped your backpack onto the table and prepared to dive into your notes, footsteps stomp down the hall.

You glance at Geto who released as if he knew what was coming.

“Yo, Suguru!” A voice loudly rang before the person even appeared. “You got any more—”

The moment he stepped into the room, his sentence stops once his gaze locks on you.

Tall and broad-shouldered, dressed in sweatpants that slung low on his hips and a t-shirt clinging to his lean frame—Gojo Satoru had a presence of someone who was used to being noticed.

His white hair was an unruly mess, and his blue eyes gleamed with immediate interest as he took you in.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” his voice had a teasing tone as he casually leaned against the doorframe with crossed arms.

There it was—the swagger, the cocky smirk, the way he took his sweet time taking you in. You could hear Geto’s silent groan beside you.

Gojo didn’t stop there.

"So..." He stepped forward, sliding his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants as he made his way around the couch. “You’re the one making Suguru's grades look good, huh? Damn, he didn’t tell me you'd be this cute tho."

His voice is smooth—almost too smooth. You couldn’t help the slight snort that escaped before you caught yourself. 

Clearly this isn't the first time he's tried to charm someone within five seconds of meeting them.

It’s like he’s on autopilot, throwing out compliments without a second thought as if he's sure they'll land. Maybe they did.

"Cute huh?" you replied, voice flat but not unfriendly. “Unfortunately for him, I’m just here for the project. Not to boost anyone’s grades.”

Gojo’s grin didn’t falter—if anything it widened, like he had just been given a new challenge.

He stepped closer, leaning against the back of the couch now, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Oh, I get it,” his tone dips slightly, lowering his voice he as if letting you in on a secret. “You’ve heard about me, haven’t you? That’s why you’re playing hard to get.”

You glanced at Geto, who was already flipping through his textbook as if to distance himself from the unfolding situation. Gee, thanks.

Rolling your eyes, you turn back at Gojo with an unimpressed look. 

“I’ve heard of you,” you admit, your tone dry. “But it’s nothing I haven’t seen before. You can save the charm for someone else.”

His smirk falters for just a second, you see a flicker within his eyes—surprise maybe? Amusement? Whatever it was, it vanishes as quick as it had appeared.

There’s a spark of challenge in his gaze now. He straightens up tilting his head playfully.

“Cold, huh?” Gojo chuckled softly. “I like that about you.”

You scoff, more amused than annoyed.

Geto, sensing the moment had stretched on long enough, finally spoke up.  “She’s not interested man,” he says, tone casual with a hint of warning. “And we’ve got work to do, so...”

Gojo wasn’t fazed. He just laughed again, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. I’m just being friendly. Don’t mind me.”

But of course he doesn’t leave.

Instead he moves around to the opposite side of the table, grabbing a snack from the counter as he watches the two of you work.

Every now and then, you could feel his gaze flicker in your direction—lingering just long enough for you to notice.

You sighed. This guy was going to be a problem.

After a few minutes of him loitering in the kitchen, Gojo finally tossed the empty snack wrapper into the trash and pushed off from the counter.

“Think Imma leave you two nerds at it. But hey,—” he pauses his trek down the hall, voice lowering just slightly as he gives you one last look. “Don’t be a stranger, kay?”

You didn’t respond, just waving him off to focusing back on your laptop. Only once you heard his bedroom door click shut did you let out the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

Geto glanced up at you, the barest hint of a smile on his face. “Told you he was a bit much.”

You snort with a shake of your head. “A bit?”

As much as you tried to shrug it off, you had a feeling this wouldn’t be the last time you crossed paths with him.

Though you didn't worry too much, you had no time for guys like Gojo—no matter how much money he had or how attractive he might be.

'He can try all he wants' , you think as your fingers fly over the keyboard. 'But I’m not interested.'

════════════════*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═════════════════

The days after your first encounter with Gojo Satoru felt like a game of cat-and-mouse.

No matter where you went on campus, it seemed like Gojo wasn’t far behind—sliding into your space with a smug grin like he belonged there.

You hadn’t expected him to be so relentless, especially after you shut him down at their apartment. If anything, it seemed to motivate him more.

He seemed to thrive on the challenge of someone not immediately falling for his charm. And Gojo wasn’t subtle about it.

Not at all.

You had left lecture hall and went to the courtyard to review your notes when a familiar presence loomed next to you.

You didn’t even need to look up to know who it was—there was an energy about Gojo that was impossible to ignore.

“Hey, stranger,” he greeted smoothly in that teasing voice that had (unfortunately) started to become annoyingly familiar.

He dropped into the seat next to you, long legs stretched out as if he owned the place.

Without sparing a glance you sighed. “Pretty sure I told you I’m not interested,” you replied, tone flat as your eyes remained glued to your notes.

You didn’t have to see his face to know he was smiling. He chuckled, leaning back in his chair like he had all the time in the world. “Interested in what? I’m just sitting here. Coulda sworn it’s a free campus...”

You shot him a sideways look. He was grinning—of course he was—and that lazy confidence radiated off him like heat.

His nonchalance was infuriating, but at the same time there was something undeniably charming about it.

You'd heard (and even witnessed) a few stories about Gojo Satoru—the endless flings, the parties, the girls who lined up for a shot with him

And yet here he was, fixated on you.

It didn’t make sense. You weren’t falling for his charm but he still kept coming back for more.

“I’m not buying it,” you muttered, finally turning to face him. “I know your type. You’re used to getting whatever you want.”

His grin widened as he leaned in, his eyes dropping to your lips. “Not everything, apparently.”

Your heart did a little flip at that, but you pushed the feeling down with a roll of your eyes.

There was no way you were going to let him get to you, no matter how persistent he was.

*.·:·.☽✧✧☾.·:·.*

It didn’t stop there.

That same evening as you walked from the library, your phone buzzed, a notification lighting up your screen.

Snapchat: Gojo Satoru has added you.

Of course he did.

With a resigned sigh you unlock the phone with half a mind to leave him on read. But curiosity got the better of you, and you tapped the notification.

A message popped up almost instantly.

Gojo: Saw you at the library today. Looking cute, as usual.

You couldn’t help the soft scoff that escaped you. Another message followed quickly after:

Gojo: We should hang sometime. I know a place that does the best sushi. My treat.

He really wasn’t going to give up, was he? Your fingers hover over the keyboard before you shot back a quick response:

You: Not interested.

But as soon as you sent it, another message from him appeared—almost like he had been waiting for it.

Gojo: Lol, sure. You keep saying that, but I know you’ll come around ;)

You locked your phone with a huff, shoving it back into your bag as you continued your walk to the dorms.

It was irritating how effortlessly confident he was, like he already knew the outcome before you did. 

And the worst part? There was a tiny part of you—the smallest flicker—that couldn’t help but anticipate the next encounter.

════════════════*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═════════════════

And yet it wasn’t just over text. No matter where you went, Gojo found a way to insert himself into your day.

Whether it was him casually appearing in the food court while you grabbed lunch or running into him on the way to class, he was everywhere.

Like today for example: you were sitting just outside the university center, enjoying a rare quiet moment between classes as you listened to music.

The peace didn’t last long.

Gojo dropped down into the seat beside you without a word, plucking one of your earbuds out of your ear before you had a chance to stop him.

“What’re we listening to today?” he asked, popping the earbud into his ear without waiting for permission. He nodded along to the song, grinning in that infuriatingly charming way. “Not bad. You’ve got taste.”

You snatched the earbud back with a glare. “Ever heard of boundaries?”

“Sure,” Gojo replied, leaning back casually, completely unfazed. “But where’s the fun in that?”

He was close—too close—and you could feel the heat radiating off him as he shifted in his seat, his knee brushing lightly against yours.

It sent a shiver up your spine, and you hated how he seemed to sense it.

“I’ve been meaning to ask...” His voice dropped slightly, almost conspiratorial. “I know you like Chanel right? I saw you eyeing that bag at the mall last week.”

You froze for a second, caught off guard. How the hell did he know that? You hadn’t even noticed him there, must’ve seen you there by coincidence

You try to brush it off, muttering, “Just looking. Don’t have money for stuff like that.”

Gojo flashed you a softer grin, one that almost looked genuine—if it wasn’t for the cocky undertone beneath it.

“Good thing you’ve got me then,” he said, voice smooth and tempting. “I could get it for you. Whatever you want, it’s yours.”

You stared at him for a moment, the offer hanging in the air between you. You eyes hardened.

You weren’t some girl who could be bought off with expensive gifts. You weren’t like the girls who chased him at parties or slid into his DMs, hoping for a piece of his attention.

“No thanks,” you said sharply.. “I’m not one of those girls you can buy off, Gojo.”

For a brief moment his expression faltered. But just as quickly the mask of confidence slipped back into place.

“Didn’t say you were. Just offering.,” he replied, that playful edge returning to his tone. “Doesn’t hurt to spoil someone every now and then, right?”

You turn away refusing to engage any further. Though you couldn't stop the flutter in your chest, heart beating a little too fast for your liking.

There was a small part of you—the part that liked nice things and had never really been able to afford them—that was tempted.

But you knew better. You weren’t going to fall for it.

You had worked too hard for everything in your life to let someone like Gojo sweep in and make you forget who you were.

════════════════*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═════════════════

You were in the library one afternoon, hunched over your notes trying to finish an assignment when you felt a familiar presence looming over you.

Without even looking up you sighed. “I already told you, I’m not interested.”

Gojo chuckled as he slid into the chair across from you, completely ignoring your dismissal. “You keep saying that, but you’re still talking to me.”

You sent a glare. He wasn’t wrong—you hadn’t exactly cut him off.

Despite your best efforts, Gojo managed to worm his way into your life. And the worst part?

A tiny part of you was starting to enjoy it.

“Maybe I’m just waiting for you to get bored and move on,” you shot back lacking the conviction you wanted.

Gojo’s eyes glinted with amusement. “You’re different,” he said after a moment, his voice quieter. “I like that about you.”

For a second you were caught off guard. But you didn’t have time to dwell on it.

Because just as quickly, he was back to his usual self, winking as he leaned back.

“Don’t worry,” he added, his voice laced with playful confidence. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You weren’t sure if you wanted him to.

════════════════*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═════════════════

The party was in full swing by the time you arrived; music pounded through the packed house as people danced, drank, and shouted over the blaring bass.

You had been invited by Geto, the calm and collected male becoming more of a close friend than just a project partner.

Despite the promise you made to yourself to avoid parties like this, you figured it would be a nice way to let loose for once. Finals were near and honestly, you needed the distraction.

You had been doing a pretty good job of avoiding Gojo for the past few days. His persistent flirting, his smug confidence—it was all too much.

But tonight wasn’t about him. Tonight you were determined to just have a good time.

It didn’t take long for you to fall into the rhythm of the party.

You found yourself chatting with a guy you vaguely recognized from one of your classes away from the chaos of the dance floor.

He was cute—nice smile, easygoing—and for once, you let yourself enjoy the conversation.

Just as you started relax you caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of your eye. It was subtle at first, but enough to make you pause.

And then, there he was—Gojo Satoru.

He spotted you almost immediately, those familiar blue eyes locking onto you through the crowd.

His expression was unreadable for a moment, but as soon as he saw the guy standing next to you, his jaw tightened just slightly.

He didn’t bother hiding his irritation, but the way he handled it threw you off. Instead of marching over, Gojo leaned against the wall across the room, watching.

The beat of Skilla Baby's Mama thumped through the speakers, the lyrics booming across the house. As the chorus hit, Gojo’s eyes never left yours.

He didn’t approach yet, but his gaze was electric.

And when the lyrics came—“Yeah, I heard you got a man, but it's alright, mama (alright),”—he gave a nod, almost as if confirming what you already knew.

He tilted his head back slightly, mouthing the words to the chorus: “Bae, you know you the coldest.”

You felt heat creep up your neck in response. Gojo didn’t have to say anything—his meaning was clear. He wasn’t just here to win you over anymore.

He was here to make sure you understood no one else could compete with him. No one else could treat you like he could.

And that’s when he started moving.

Without missing a beat, Gojo strolled through the crowd like he owned the place (in a way he kind of did), making a beeline for you. 

The guy you’d been talking to didn’t even notice, but you sure did. The closer Gojo got, the more the tension thickened until it felt like you were holding your breath.

You hated how your body reacted to his presence, the way your pulse quickened the second he was close.

“Hey,” he greeted, smooth as ever  with an edge to it that wasn’t there before. He didn’t even spare the other guy a glance, all his focus on you. “Enjoying the party?”

Your grip tightened around your drink in attempt to steady yourself. “Yeah, I was.” 

Gojo’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes as he glanced at the guy again, finally acknowledging him.

“Sure, but...” He leaned in. “C’mon, you really gonna waste time with him when you know I could treat you right?”

You didn’t look at him right away, hoping the guy next to you would step back in and restart the conversation. But it was too late.

Gojo’s presence had already made him uncomfortable. And before you knew it, the guy mumbled about getting another drink before disappearing into the crowd.

You shot him a look. “Really?”

Gojo just shrugged, the faintest smirk pulling at the corners of his lips. “What? You seemed bored. Figured I’d help you out.”

“You mean chase him off?”

He stepped closer, and this time, there was no one between you.

“C’mon,” Gojo murmured. “You know he wasn’t your type.” His voice was low, but not in that typical teasing tone.

This time, there was something else—something more serious.

Your heart thudded as his words lingered in the air. The bass-heavy song continued to pulse through the room, but it felt like the rest of the party had melted away.

It was just you and Gojo now, the tension building with every passing second. And he knew it.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to prove,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest, though it was more to stop yourself from reaching out than anything else. “I’m not interested in being some kind of prize for you to win.”

Gojo’s expression softened, though his eyes still held that playful glint.

He stepped even closer, his voice dropping just above a whisper. “I’m not trying to win a prize. I’m trying to get to know you.”

You blinked at the sudden shift in his tone. It wasn’t like him to be this direct.

“I don’t believe you,” you said, though your voice lacked the bite you wanted it to have.

Gojo’s gaze softened even more, and he reached out, fingers brushing against your arm.

“I get it. You think I’m just here flirting. But you’re different, and I...” He hesitated, searching for the right words. “I like that you make me work for it.”

Your breath caught, the sincerity in his voice catching you completely off guard.

Gojo Satoru, the guy who never had to try for anything, was standing here before you, confessing he was willing to put in the effort.

The weight of it settled over you as you began to see him differently—not just as the arrogant flirt, but as someone who was starting to care.

He must’ve seen the hesitation in your eyes because he smiled softly, the cockiness from earlier melting into something warmer.

“Look, I know I can be... a lot.” He chuckled with a nervous scratch at the back of his neck. “But I’m not going anywhere, okay? I’m serious about you.”

The music continued to thump around you, but it felt distant now. You weren’t sure what to say.

Part of you wanted to believe him. But the other part—the one that had built walls around itself—was still afraid to let him in.

“Look...you wanna get out of here?” he didn’t sound as flippant as usual. “I can walk you home.”

Though you were unsure, the way he was looking at you right now that told you this wasn’t about a quick fling or proving a point.

For once, Gojo wasn’t trying to win. He was just trying.

You nodded before you could stop yourself. “Okay.”

*.·:·.☽✧✧☾.·:·.*

The walk back to your place was quiet, the night air cool against your skin as the sounds of the party faded into the distance.

Gojo stayed close, but not too close, his usual bravado tempered.

Every now and then his shoulder would brush against yours, and the touch was grounding, almost reassuring.

For once he wasn’t trying to impress you with flashy words or grand gestures. He was just there, walking next to you in comfortable silence.

When you finally reached your door you expected some kind of last-minute line, flirty and smooth to cap off the night. But Gojo surprised you.

“I meant what I said earlier,” he began, leaning against the doorframe as he looked down at you. “You’re different. You’re not like the others.”

You gave him a skeptical look, but he shook his head before you could say anything.

“I’m serious. I’ve never had to work this hard for anyone,” Gojo admitted. “And... I like that. You don’t care about any of the stuff most people do.”

There was a sincerity that made your heart skip a beat. He was letting his guard down, just a little, but it was enough to make you pause.

You didn’t know what to say at first, the usual walls you’d built around yourself trembling.

“A-and I know you think I'm saying this just to get in your pants or whatever,” Gojo interrupts before you can say anything, “but... it’s more than that. I like you. For real.”

You looked at him, really looked at him.

There was something real beneath it all and it scared you a little, because part of you had already started to fall for him—no matter how much you tried to fight it.

So instead of pulling away, you stepped closer.

“I’m still not convinced,” you say with a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “But...maybe I’m willing to see where this goes.”

Gojo’s grin returned in full force, eyes lighting up with hope as he nodded. “That’s all I ask.”

He turned to leave, but before he did, he glanced back over his shoulder, playful grin returning. “I’ll see you tomorrow, right?”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the warmth spreading through your chest. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll see you.”

The next morning, as you left class, you weren’t surprised to see Gojo standing outside with a smile.

Without a word, he fell in step beside you and handed over a cup of [beverage].

It wasn’t extravagant or flashy, just a simple cup of [beverage]—was exactly how you liked it.

You raised an eyebrow at him, taking a sip. “This is new.”

Gojo shrugged, his smile easy and warm. “Told you I’d convince you.”

You shook your head. Maybe, just maybe, Gojo Satoru wasn’t so bad after all.

And for the first time, you let yourself smile back.

[lazycats-stuff]

Hiiii! I was wondering if u could so a batfam x deaf male reader? Where everyone in the family knows sign language and all that. But during one of Bruce's galas the reader gets kidnapped and no one's knows until Damian notices that his younger brothers not there anymore? U can decide how u wanna finish it and its completely if Ur not comfortable writing it. Also I love Ur writing 😙

Oh hell yeah. Thank you for loving my questionable writing though.

Summary: (Y/N) is deaf. That doesn't help him when he gets kidnapped.

Warnings: kidnapping, protective family, fluff I guess...

Bruce was protective of all of his children. But he was more protective of (Y/N), his youngest child. Why? The reason is very simple. (Y/N) has been deaf since birth and that made Bruce beyond protective. (Y/N)'s brothers were no better than Bruce. Of course, they knew that deaf people could function normally in society. They knew that very well.

However, problem lies in two points.

First one being that they live in Gotham City. Crime is rampant, criminals are absolutely everywhere and the fact is that you get mugged at any point during the day or night. Although most of criminal life in Gotham operates during the night, no one wants to take any chances.

And even though (Y/N) doesn't go on patrol, Bruce still worried about his youngest son. Always has and always been.

The four birds shared the same sentiment. Everyone made sure to learn sign language and how to live with a deaf person. Rules were determined, such as, if entering (Y/N)'s room, just push your hand in and then flicker the lights on and off to signalize that you are entering. Don't approach (Y/N) from behind because he would often get spooked.

(Y/N)'s own words.

The second problem lies in the last name Wayne. Bruce Wayne is a well known businessman in the world. And the world of business is like a sea full of sharks. Bruce knew that very well. One drop of blood and they would be out for you and your weaknesses. And one of those is your public image.

Bruce was a proud father, attending anything that his children might have. Anything there is. He wants to be there for his kids, sue him. He would never allow work to take him away from his children. And the way he presents himself in the public is the way he is. More often than not, he hates how many people can be ignorant about deafness.

Sure, some may be genuinely curious about it and the questions come from a genuine place of interest. Unfortunately, such people are far few in between. Bruce can sniff them out rather quickly. More often then not, they often look condescending. Which is a rather judgmental way of looking at people, yes, but it's obvious.

Whenever they had a gall, one of the boys would be with (Y/N) to translate. And despite the fact that (Y/N) can read lips, he's not a fan of that. If someone turns their head and he can't see their lips, it gets more complicated.

Even now, as they are at the gala full of people, (Y/N) stuck close to his brothers, needing a translator. Bruce and others often rotated, to make sure that (Y/N) knows what's going on and that he's in the loop. (Y/N) was happy with that he wasn't out of the loop. It's not a good feeling to be out of the loop. Hearing or not.

He signed to Jason that he was going to go to the bathroom, who nodded, sipping his drink.

Jason signed back. " Sure, go ahead. I'll be moving around so don't expect to find me here. "

(Y/N) nodded and started walking to the bathroom. Jason glanced at him for the last time before moving to the table with food, ready for a snack. He was hungry and the catering at galas is just great since rich people pay for it. AKA Bruce Wayne pays for it and he also loves good food.

As Jason went to the food table, (Y/N) was on his way to the bathroom. He was about to enter when someone grabbed him from behind, putting a cloth over his mouth. (Y/N) panicked and tried to remember the self defense that he was taught. He tried to break free from the person, but the smell of the cloth made him go out cold.

Something was off. Damian glanced around the room, trying to spot what that something could have been bothering him so much. His eyes moved around the room, trained to find anything out of the normal. Then it hit him.

Where is (Y/N)?

Damian moved around the room discreetly, trying to figure out where he went. He talked to Jason about it and Jason told him about (Y/N) going to the bathroom. But that was far too long ago... Damian now became more suspicious and worried. He was on edge. He could feel himself getting more and more restless, his mind screaming at him that something is wrong.

He quickly walked over to his family as they all took a chance to breathe on the balcony. Damian made sure that they had some sort of privacy.

" Are you alright Damian? " Bruce asked, glancing over Damian. He could feel that something is wrong with Damian.

" I'm not alright father. I can't seem to find (Y/N) anywhere. " He crossed his arms as he leaned on the railing of the balcony. Everyone tensed up at that.

" Hold on, he went to the bathroom the last time I talked to him, " Jason declared and Damian nodded.

" But it's been far too long though, " Damian countered the point.

" Did he come to anyone, at all? " Bruce asked and everyone shook their heads.

" Okay, maybe he went to his room, " Tim said, trying to provide a logical explanation. " But he would have told one of us where he would go. He would find one of us and he would tell us... " Tim muttered, now worried himself.

" Should we check the security cameras? " Dick asked, worried, but trying not to show it.

" I'll check the cameras near the bathroom. " Bruce took his phone out of his pocket and going into his security feed.

Jason remained silent, feeling guilty that he didn't notice sooner. Bruce noticed and put his hand on his shoulder. " Do not blame yourself Jason. Please. You couldn't have known. This is our home and none of us should be on guard in our own home, " Bruce murmured and Jason sighed.

Bruce brought Jason into a hug. " (Y/N)'s going to be fine. We are going to find him quickly. "

Dick and Tim furrowed their brows. " What do you mean? " Dick asked.

" You 4 have to swear to me that you won't tell (Y/N), " Bruce stepped away from Jason and everyone muttered that they won't tell.

" I put a tracker on his suit. It's a small one, " Bruce admitted and everyone was shocked by it. They knew that their suits that they wear for their vigilante activities have trackers on them, but a normal suit, for galas and other events...

" It's only when we are at galas and such. There's no tracker on him 24/7, " Bruce elaborated before his sons could accuse him of something.

" Well, we can't tell (Y/N). But lets go get (Y/N) please, " Tim said and everyone nodded.

" I'll have Alfred make something up and we'll make a story so it doesn't seem suspicious about why we didn't know (Y/N) was taken. "

And that's what happened. They concocted a story about it and once Batman dropped him off at GCPD, Bruce came in as a worried father. Media had a field day with the story, a father and son reuniting after a such traumatic event. Bruce couldn't care less about them, his sons are his priority. Screw the media.

Understandably, (Y/N) was shaken up by the entire ordeal. Anyone would be shaken up after being kidnapped in their own home, but with (Y/N) being deaf, he couldn't hear anyone walking up to him. Not to mention, they put a bag over his head. Being in the dark, not being able to hear...

It tugged at Bruce's heartstrings. The other 4 weren't immune either. Damian, the normally stoic one, was affected by that aspect. Even he saw how scary it was. Not being able to see due to the bag over your head and not being able to hear because you are deaf sounds like hell. Damian saw it as a form of torture. And in a way it is. Sensory depravation. Only being able to feel with your touch or feel vibrations, but still...

Damian still shuddered as he tried to envision it.

The other 3 shared the very same sentiment.

And even now, as (Y/N) was with them, on the couch, bundled up in blankets, sipping some herbal tea that Alfred made to calm him down. Both Bruce and Alfred were trying to calm him down too. Bruce was going to find a therapist for (Y/N), that much is sure. It would have to be someone who can sign though...

Well, he'll make sure to find one. For now, he'll focus on making sure that (Y/N) is calm enough to try and sleep. Buce knew that adrenaline was still pumping, but that it will stop soon and (Y/N) would essentially crash.

Everyone sat around (Y/N), trying to calm him and make him feel safe again. Bruce and Tim were going to see how in God's name they managed to get into the manor. This place is more safer than Pentagon, designed to keep any intruder out. And he was going to find out why they wanted to kidnap him.

The best bet was probably money, but then again, you never know. And Bruce was going to make sure that he knew why. You have to nip the problem in the bud.

[hanibalistic]

#946C47 | SUN WUKONG.

genre | fluff & angst

word count | 9192

warning | violence, blood, death / potential ooc + not accurate to jttw​

note | thank you for reading!!!

part |one, two, three

Opening your eyes from death was like coming to the surface after being underwater for too long. 

Contrary to popular belief, or at least the way different forms of media presented it, death didn’t feel like anything. 

There was no black space with your floating body or a separate plane of existence where you could walk on shallow water toward an afterlife. There was simply nothing, and that 'nothing' lacked nothingness. It was blank. It was a time skip.

The last thing you remember was closing your eyes on the ground, and the first thing you remember was that you died. Nothing happened in between the two memory spots. Your mind and body were dormant, like a computer shut off. 

The first sign of life from death was obnoxious and demanding.

Your ears cleared, but every sound around you fought to be noticed by your newly awakened brain that hearing immediately became an overwhelming action. 

Your eyes regained sight, but they hurt to use, like the permanent feeling of the sun in your eyes or an invisible eyelash falling inside. 

Your limbs moved regularly when you didn't think about it and stopped when you did, which you figured made sense. You never thought long and hard about moving your body parts before you died. When you walk, you walk.

Your breathing—the worst was retaking your first breath. Your body has been rid of everything human during your death. The motion to return those characteristics, such as blood flow and the traveling of air, was as uncomfortable as breaking out of a life-threateningly bad habit, as claustrophobic as suffocating yourself with a pillow.

But mostly, it was painful. It reminded you of being impaled by Wukong's staff; the jolt of pain and the sharp gasps were familiar. 

“Woah! Easy there, mortal!” 

Bajie stood up, his rake supporting his weight as he grabbed the gourd by his hooves.

Your eyes rolled up and down, opened and closed without a recognizable pattern. Your mouth remained open since your mind was forcing you to suck in big gulps of oxygen as if it was trying to nail into your body that it was alive and functioning again.

Drool dripped down the corner of your lips as a result, and you whined through each agonizing inhale, which lasted much shorter than your exhales because you were desperate to leave the pain where it resided in your lungs.

Resurrection gripped you by the neck and took you for a fly. Bajie didn't need to see the repercussions to know your mortal soul rejected being brought back from the dead. He figured it would happen before you even woke up. It was punishing you, and your body couldn't fight back. Unfortunately, he has no spell powerful enough to elevate your humanity to the point of enduring celestial phenomena. 

“Here, drink some water,” Bajie urged by shoving the gourd at your chin. “It’ll clear your senses.” 

He stepped closer to you and tipped the gourd up, letting the water pour inside your mouth. You angled your head upward to swallow the fresh liquid better, relishing the much-needed hydration. Peering at Bajie's familiar face, relieved tears welled in your eyes before you closed them to focus on chugging the fresh river water. 

He noticed them and chose to remain silent. Dying was never a trivial matter, and neither was resurrection. It was a destined matter, but nonetheless significant and, to some, traumatic.

Although he would have never cried, whined, or writhed, he understood why you did, and that was no insult to your humanity. It was a deduction made based on the experience of a mortal. 

Not a mere mortal, just a mortal. 

"Thank you," you managed after you finished panting from the massive water intake. 

“You’re welcome.” Bajie sat down with a sigh. “I have to say, it is nice to hear your voice again after so long.”

You looked at him, confused. “What do you mean?”

"You have been dead for more than five weeks. We tried to keep your body within the incense veil of the Keeper's Shrine to accelerate the process, but that was proven unsuccessful. We thought you were gone for good, kid!" he explained. 

Brows slightly raised with intrigue, you nodded. You haven't the faintest idea how these things work in their reality, so you've got nothing worthwhile to say. "How long does it usually take someone to return from the dead?"

"Resurrection usually doesn't take this long. Not even for the mortals of this world," he said. 

“As I suspected,” you muttered before letting a groan escape. “I need the immortality to get out of my body now!”

Bajie snickered. “That’s a wish I don’t hear often!”

“Yeah, well, I am not fond of living for a long time,” you said. “Life is hard enough as it is. There is no point in extending the suffering.” 

You looked down at your hands. A flicker of your home sped before your eyes, and you sighed gently, squeezing and releasing the tension in your fingers. You wondered how much time you’ve lost over there, if you’ve missed any holidays, or important notices from your professors or employers. Were your friends worried? You hoped they didn’t think you’d ghosted them.

“I just want to live a good life. A normal one,” you said. “I don’t want anything grand. Food on the table, a roof over my head, enough clothes…” You leisurely looked up at the trees. “I can learn how to find the tiny things in life enjoyable. That’s not a problem for me.”

Bajie’s smile was arched downward, almost as if he thought you were disagreeable. But there was one thing he knew for sure: he was right. You were no mere mortal. There was nothing mere about you.

“I’m curious,” you started suddenly. “How fast is resurrection for someone who’s not a human?”

"If Wukong were to lose one of his seventy-two lives, he'd return in the blink of an eye,” he explained. “That's the only reason why I haven't tried to kill him to cease his chatterbox of a mouth!"

“Are you sure it’s not because you can’t kill him?” you chuckled airily, pulling your knees to your chest and resting your arms on top. “He is stronger than you.”

"Facts do not equal the truth," he said. "He is stronger than me, but that does not make my inability to defeat him the truth." 

“I just woke up, Bajie.” You pressed a hand to your eyes and rubbed them. “Must you speak so strangely?”

“You should learn how to speak more eloquently.”

"If I talked like that in my world, people would make fun of me." 

"Gah! Your world is full of dimwits," he scoffed. "I care not for their opinion."

You stared at him with a smirk, then nodded in agreement. You thought the same at some point, so you've decided not to argue with him. 

"Where is everyone?" You looked around. The Keeper's Shrine was full of incense, and the forest remained as you last saw it. 

“Wukong went on a walk if he’s who you’re looking for.”

You pursed your lips, feeling heat rush to the bottom of your neck at his assumption. He wasn’t entirely wrong, though. You wanted to know where Wukong was—you wanted to see him, especially after the incident that caused your death. It was his weapon that killed you, but you wanted him to know you didn’t blame him for it. 

“I was asking about everybody.” 

“There is no need to deceive me,” Bajie snorted. “He told us what happened the night you died.”

“I was right, wasn’t I?” you muttered, dipping your chin into your forearm. You remembered what happened, so you could still recall when Wukong fell to his knees from the headache Sanzang caused. 

"My Master considers you a hindrance to our journey to retrieve the scriptures. We've had to diverge from the original path to seek hidden temples, and you weren't exactly handling the soul-sucking process well. It was time-consuming, and he thought we had set aside our primary goal of obtaining the scriptures.

Although, make no mistake, my Master is virtuous, especially to humans. But pinning the scriptures against you, he prioritizes the scriptures. 

“He thought when the opportunity presents itself, we should not save you from yaoguais. That isn’t to say we cannot protect you from them, only that we should ease off on trying to keep you from dying.”

You rolled your teeth over your bottom lip, the stinging pain in your eyes conjured by your focused stare on the floor. 

Bajie provided you with the clarity you have been asking for. A question regarding whether Sanzang has changed his mind due to what happened fell silent on your tongue once your mind realized its obvious answer—no, he has not changed his opinion about you. 

As a monk with values, who is true to his religion, he cannot change his opinion about you so long as you continue to hinder their journey. 

You weren't so much angry at Sanzang for what he did than you were conflicted. He wasn't off your hook, obviously. There would be undeniable caution toward him from now on.

However, you understood his choices. He has principles that he stood by, and you respected him for that, even though, at times, you thought he was more of a slave than a follower of those rules.

“I just wish he came clean with how he felt about me instead of avoiding it,” you said. “We could have worked something out. I am willing to make accommodations.”

“I don’t believe he thought you strong enough.”

“Must I be?” 

Bajie was taken aback. His eyes gave him away, as did the clearing of his throat. He never thought about that. "Well, I–"

“It doesn’t matter," you cut off.

“If something has to happen–for the greater good, I suppose–then it shall happen regardless of my ability. I will always be human, and I will always be unlikely to defeat a monster ten times my size. That is it. My weakness is a factual statement. But… people will always suffer under the hands of destiny. What must happen can't not just because I'm too ill to handle it.

"I will continue to not be strong enough, and I will fulfill my goal while so.”

"Hmph," Bajie scoffed after a moment. There was a hint of laughter in it. He realized that you’ve forgotten an important lesson he taught you: fact does not make truth. But, he supposed there was value in your humble ignorance. “That’s the most grown-up thing I've ever heard you say."

“Thanks,” you laughed. “I learn from the best.”

"Flattery doesn't work on me, kid!" he exclaimed dismissively. "Now go find your monkey! He should be with Sanzang, taking a stroll somewhere. He'll be glad to see you!"

“Who? The monk or the monkey?”

“You know who!”

You carefully got up from the ground. Bajie watched your legs wobble briefly as you rekindled your motor functions. Slowly and steadily, you stepped away from the protection of the Keeper's Shrine, and you halfheartedly threw a peace sign in response to Bajie warning you to be aware of yaoguais.

You tried to be more aware of your surroundings as you traveled through the forest, but the sun was warm on your face, and the ground was solid beneath your feet. 

You never thought you would think this, but you were happy to feel alive again. 

It felt like summer. Your bloodied sweater was likely abandoned at the place of your death. You didn’t mind that; it wasn’t expensive, and the weather didn’t call for it. 

Every heavy step involved planning a proper reaction to finding Wukong and Sanzang. You would be glad to see them again, but you weren't sure if they felt the same. Sanzang probably wouldn't, and the last time you checked, Wukong wasn't happy about your confrontations.

It’d be best to eliminate any possible instances of awkwardness. 

After what felt like a half an hour's walk, you stopped moving forward to rest your legs. Bajie said they shouldn't be far, yet you haven't heard a trace of motion anywhere near. 

Brows furrowed, with sweat stuck to your skin, you looked around at the trees and bushes littered everywhere in the forest. None have defining features that help you determine where or how far you've gone. You stepped to the side, the friction between the ground and the bottom of your shoes ridiculously vibrant in your ear. 

Perking your head down at your feet, your gaze hardened as your ears zeroed in on the environment. Nothing. The cicadas have vanished, the leaves were not blowing, the bushes ceased their rustles, and there was no dancing breeze.

This part of the forest has become silent, and you've learned that it means a predator is lurking. 

Pinching the hem of your shirt, you held your breath in your throat as a wavering fear crept around your head like a shadow phasing in and out of sunlight—there was no way. You couldn’t be fooled twice by a yaoguai, could you? The forest housed a variety of creatures and animals. It could just be a grizzly bear! 

“Tang Sanzang!”

You flinched at the piercing holler, your hands flying up to your head to take cover until you recognized it screamed a familiar name. With bated breath, your arms fell to your sides, and you spun toward the voice. It sounded everywhere around you, an echo throughout the forest, but you recalled seeing where the birds flew from where they were hiding in the trees. 

They wouldn't fly toward the sound of danger, so you should go in the opposite direction. 

You jogged, ignoring each stumble at uneven grounds until you eventually came across a spacious field. 

An abandoned building stood destroyed as if a terrible storm had blown a hole through it. It had collapsed into itself, leaving no room to check for its interior. In front of the house was an unkept grass field flattened and charred haphazardly by what you could only assume was a forest fire. 

The sun shone down like a spotlight at the one you’ve been looking for—Sun Wukong, in the flesh, standing with his waist slightly bent and a desperate expression on his face.

You opened your mouth as you walked forward. You stopped when you almost tripped on something soft, your feet flying up and stomping on the ground behind you to catch yourself.

Instinctively glancing at the blockage, you gasped aloud when you saw the one-eyed yaoguai at your feet. Its mouth opened with an unreleased scream, and blood stained like tears down its eye.

The sunlight panned across the grass field at your attention, an example of your mind clearing out spaces for other things besides Wukong. That was when you finally saw them—the dead bodies. Multiple lifeless bodies were lit atop the bladed grass—your eyes widened at the soaking red grass tips, and then you glanced up at Wukong.

"Why can't you just do this one thing for me!" Wukong screamed at his Master. He pressed a hand to his chest, willing his nails to cut through his body into his heart. "I killed all these yaoguais! I'm going rogue again! I'm becoming a hindrance! You have to punish me. It's your responsibility!"

Sanzang stared woefully at Wukong’s desperation. His hand remained under his chin in preparation, but he did not grant Wukong’s masochistic wish. 

Sensing the monk's unwillingness to cast the spell, Wukong bit his lower lip, a frustrated redness doubling across his face. He gritted his teeth and pressed his nails to his head, digging into the flesh enough to draw blood. He hooked his fingers around the gold fillet and didn't try to take it off. He only pretended to because he knew he needed it now more than ever. 

"Master, please!" he begged through a hoarse scream. "You were willing! When [Name] was–"he gasped through an irritated growl– "when they were dying! You were willing to let them suffer! You chose to punish them because you thought them an obstacle! I've become one, too, yet you won't punish me! How dare you!"

“You let me kill them! You left that on my conscience!” Wukong accused, but his finger pointed at himself more times than it did Sanzang. 

This wasn’t the outcome Sanzang desired when he let you die. 

Wukong hadn't been impatient about your resurrection; he was hopeless. If he were told how long it'd take for your body to return, he would have waited earnestly by your side, holding your shell close and keeping it warm. But he wasn't warned about the unpredictable duration, and you never woke up. 

He thought you were gone and spiraled back into his beastly nature.

However, Sanzang knew very quickly that the descension to madness was deliberate. Wukong was still clever and disciplined. He still retained what was taught throughout the journey before your sudden emergence. 

This murderous spree was not a marker of his return to how he used to be—the supremely arrogant and destructive monkey who nobody trusted or liked. It was a cry for condemnation, a plead to be retributed.

Wukong killed you, so someone else should kill him, too. He can suffer no pain but yours.

Sanzang read him like an open book. Unfortunately, giving in to what he wanted would only reinforce the behavior, so he stepped back and refused to spell, no matter how much bloodshed he caused.

"Wukong..."

"No! You're not listening to me!" The monkey groaned into his hands before harshly rubbing his palm down his face. "What more must I destroy? When will you be satisfied, Master?" 

"I am not satisfied by your behavior, Wukong. Understand me," Sanzang said. "I simply will not stand to let you guilt me into hurting you."

"You've already done that," Wukong spat.

"You cannot truly be bothered by this, can you?" Sanzang questioned. "The immortal peach has been consumed. Trust nothing else but the product of the celestial garden. Their death is not definitive."

"They're still dead!"

"Then I suppose they are."

A fiery sensation burned behind Wukong's eyes and painted Sanzang red. The staff appeared in his hand, still uncleaned with the scent of your blood, and he abruptly lunged at the monk, who took the unplanned bait and immediately began to chant the fillet-tightening spell.

Wukong fell to the ground but didn't squirm or writhe as much as usual. Exhausted pants escaped his lips, and he drilled his head against the floor, his eyes squeezed shut as he leaned his senses into the agony. When he looked up at Sanzang again, his body barely able to move at his will, he managed a triumphant smirk.

"Is this what... I must do...?" he gritted out, "I... I have to perform the bottom of the barrel... for you... my Master... to grant me just a little mercy!" 

Sanzang pursed his lips in disdain. "You push the limits of my tolerance, you blasted monkey."

Your gaze hardened at the familiar insult you remembered reading in the book. Their conversation didn't provide any context to the argument, but you could tell Wukong had done something forbidden, and Sanzang was punishing him. 

After Sanzang's voice fell, Wukong finally started to exhibit signs of discomfort as he scratched at his fillet. You never knew if the spell could adjust the tightness of the fillet, but it seemed Wukong couldn't handle the pain quietly anymore. 

His cries filled your ears, making you wince. It wasn’t that the novel didn’t describe it well enough or the actors had lousy acting. The reality of the band-tightening spell was simply much more painstaking.

You quickly stepped over the dead yaoguai to run toward him. Your knees gave out when you were near Wukong, and you fell, your palms scraping the dirt. You ignored the mild pain and scrambled over. You grabbed onto him and pulled him to your chest, a hand over his shoulder and the other at his hand, and then you snapped up at Sanzang, your brows furrowed with anger.

"That's enough! Stop hurting him!" you shouted, tears rolling down your face uncontrollably. You didn't think you were particularly upset, only that Wukong's cries affected you like most people's agony. Or, perhaps you were just afraid you couldn't convince Sanzang to stop.

"He understands. He won't do it again, whatever it is. He gets it, so just stop!"

Sanzang looked at you, his voice trailing off to a pause. You gulped nervously, your hands squeezing Wukong closer to your side as if that was any help. You looked at Sanzang like he's a cautionary tale, eyes cowering but gaze unwavering—confronting him bravely and silently, watching him like he's a demon but cradling Wukong like the opposite. 

"You're back." He glimpsed at Wukong, whose ear pressed against your chest. "Please return to the Keeper's Shrine by sundown. The night is dangerous."

Walking away from your fallen figures, he untied his horse by the tree and left, holding on to the rope, slowly strolling further away from the bloodbath on the floor. 

You gritted your teeth into a frown as a hand clumsily wiped at your wet eye. Confusion tinkered above your head like floating question marks at Sanzang's attitude. Undoubtedly, he wouldn't express much excitement considering his present grudge, but you thought he almost looked relieved. Not because you resurrected but because Wukong has finally calmed down. 

He stared at the grass with his arms around your waist, silently waiting as the world calmed around you. His hands no longer trembled as they did—an initial reaction to your sudden presence. Dry eyes made wet by trapped tears and bare neck made hot from a veiny and sour sensation, he relished even the fabric of your shirt against his skin. 

Your heart palpitated irregularly, and Wukong suffered gentle panic from that. Discarding the logic that your heart was responding to the worrisome event just now unfolded, your racing heartbeat filled his head with unhinged outcomes that served to take you from him again. 

There were no yaoguais around; he's murdered them all. Those who were smart had fled long before the altercation with Sanzang. The bugs whispered in their home, and nature resumed its daily wandering, moving leaves and blowing breezes. 

The longer you embraced on the floor, letting the sun kiss you warm, the more you relaxed. The world felt brighter than before, and your stillness in each other conveyed feelings hidden snuggly within the thousand words your exhausted bodies couldn't express. 

Your heart began to slow down to how a human heart was meant to beat: soft and steady. Alive. He wasn't entirely human, but Wukong thought his heart moved in identical shapes. He measured yours and matched it with his own, his senses isolating and gathering to hear inside your chest and his body, an overdramatic calculation to further prove to himself that you were alive. 

But his relief traversed your aliveness. It was a much-needed release from remorse. It was vindication. You being here was permission for him to stop physically and emotionally tormenting himself. You being here, hugging him so gently, unlike his feared expectations, where you'd flinch away because your memories wrote that he was your killer—your endearing hands spoke: you can stop punishing yourself. You no longer have to pay for a sin you thought you committed. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry it went down like that.”

“It wasn’t your fault.” You shook your head. “I don’t blame you. Honestly, I don’t think I blame Sanzang either.”

Perhaps nobody is the problem. One thing merely led to another. If one backtracks too much, one would end up at the wall of God's home, and it just wasn't possible for him to take the fall for everything. 

“How do you feel?” he asked. 

“Hm?” You glanced at him, the gaps of your fingers decorated with the rough fur atop his head. “What?”

“Are you well?” he rephrased. 

You nodded. “Yeah.”

“That’s good.” It was barely audible.

“What about you?” you asked. “Are you okay?”

Wukong felt the shape of your waist on his palm. Solid, pudgy, human. 

“Yes,” he replied. “I’m okay.”

Wukong joked that you should exercise more, and you reluctantly agreed. 

Instead of using the Nimbus cloud for faster travel, you and Wukong decided to walk back to Keeper’s Shrine together. It was an opportunity to reconcile, and since there wasn’t much to catch up on about you being stuck in a void, you gave him space to discuss the recent downward spiral of his mentality. 

He tip-toed around the notion that he descended into total abandon after your death. A core part of himself that was so carefully nurtured by years of religious practices and those around him was gone just from you closing your eyes. Even someone like him could understand the significance of that, the significance of you. 

You read between the lines and didn't say anything. Instead, you changed the topic. You shifted to talking about trees, specifically about climbing them. 

“I want to say–“ you paused briefly to reach a hand up for the tree branch above your head– “you are part monkey, so climbing a tree is an ability built into you at birth.” 

"It remains that I can climb a tree with ease, and you cannot," he retorted, peering down at you leisurely from above, where he laid cross-armed on the tree branch you were trying (and failing) to get to.

His snarky remark didn't motivate you. It wasn't his intention to anyway, as he flashed you a mischievous grin when you clicked your tongue and glared at him. His tail danced below the branch, taunting you by curling and uncurling, creating the illusion of a support hook and taking it away. You heaved a sigh; you wouldn't have grabbed his tail to pull yourself up anyway.

"You know–"He sat up, his legs dangling over and his waist bent down to lean toward you. "You really need to train the muscles in your arms."

"Tsk. I bet you don't even know the anatomically accurate terms for the muscles," you muttered and then peeked away when you realized neither did you know them. "Shut up if you're not going to help me!"

Wukong laughed, but it sounded like a holler. Slapping a hand to his knee and staring at you with a gaze you shouldn’t trust, he pursed his lips and agreed. He extended his arm out for you to hold.

Brief words of encouragement (to receive his help, not to climb the tree) had to file out of his mouth for a few seconds before you decided he was trustworthy enough.

You sucked in a deep breath in preparation. Gripping the tree branch extra tightly with one hand, you let go of the other hand and pulled yourself up with all your might to grab onto Wukong. But he retracted his arm abruptly, leaving you to scramble the air with your fingertips.

You gasped, your forearm clumsily curling around the branch for your safety, your brows furrowing, and a string of scolding words ready at your opened mouth.

“Sun Wukong!” His shameless laughter drowned out your words. “I could have died!”

He paused immediately. The speed of the emotional shift was eerie. You awkwardly folded your upper lip between your teeth and shrunk your head between your shoulders at his widened, disbelieving eyes. You hadn't meant to say that. It wasn't retaliation. You said it because it made sense—if you fall from the height of this tree, you'll die. 

“How could you joke about that?” Wukong whispered, and then he turned away dramatically, with the back of his palm against his forehead and the other wiping an invisible tear from his eye. “I told you how much I went through when I thought you were dead. You know how much you mean to me!”

It took you a moment. When you realized he was fooling around—still—you rolled your eyes. 

“Haha, very funny.” You blew a large knot of air out of your mouth. “Help me up, damn it! Stop being annoying!”

He jolted at your shrill voice. A sneer crept onto his face, but when he reached for you again, he held your arm and swiftly hoisted you upward into the empty spot beside him. His hand hovered before your body as you adjusted to the seat.

"See? That wasn't so hard," you mused when you were done.

"You're being dramatic."

You chuckled through pursed lips, which made you sound triumphant. Looking over at him, your eyes squinted knowingly, you pointed out, "You remember what happened the last time you told me I was being dramatic, right?"

"Oh dear," he groaned, closing his eyes tightly and facing skyward with his hands on his head as if he were airing out his grievances to Heaven. "I'm never going to live that down, will I?”

"Not until I leave this place."

Wukong opened his eyes slowly. 

Sky blue is a blinding color, or perhaps the Sun. He never cared to know. He didn't look up too much because of all the enemies who lived there. But he became curious recently. You made him curious. He wondered if your sky was as difficult to observe as his.

“What do you plan to do when you go back?” he asked.

It wasn’t something you thought about until he asked. Everyone was working to find a way to bring you home. Erlang Shen has, surprisingly, sent you a few update letters on his progress, occasionally requesting a written reply to gather more information.

You never thought it was an impossible feat; if there’s a way for you to arrive here, there’s a way for you to leave. But the operation completely slipped your mind these days. 

"Eat an actual meal?" you slurred from a pout. "Sandwiches, french fries, ice cream…" A faux, tearful sob choked up your throat as your eyes squeezed, and you covered your head with your hands. "I'll kill for a can of Pringles even."

“It sounds like you miss home a lot,” he commented. 

“Not really.” A disagreeing scrunch showed up briefly on your face as you shrugged. “Outside of the food, a select group of people… and the internet, I guess. I don’t think I miss it that much.”

Wukong nodded. Unlike you, he’s obsessively thought about your departure since Erlang Shen began sending letters to you through any form of a flight animal. He understood there wasn’t anything more to think about. Any emotional obstacles he encountered have been dissected and analyzed so thoroughly that, at this point, he was merely recycling his thoughts and worrying himself. 

How wonderful would it be if you decided not to leave? If there wasn't anything you missed, why couldn't you stay? But he knew better than to ask you of such a huge favor—abandoning your life, leaving all that you've built behind, discarding your potential to be greater over there than here. For him or not, he couldn't ask you to do that, and he wouldn't. 

His head was lowered, and his eyes fixated on his lap to avoid showing the microchanges in his expressions. But you weren't looking at him. When he discreetly turned to you, you were staring at the sky.

Contentment filled the air around you; you seemed to enjoy the view as if you never got to properly look at the blueness back where you came from. He smiled to himself and faced forward. 

Whatever time you’ve got left with each other. Months, weeks, days, or even just hours—Wukong considers all seconds of it destiny. 

He understood if something has to happen, then it shall.

“I’m going to miss you,” he said. 

You widened your eyes faintly and turned to him. 

His confession was unexpected. It was well-received because you somewhat returned the sentiment. When you leave, Wukong's world, full of magic and adventures, won't remind him of you. But your world full of stories and sculptures would always remind you of him. Rather than missing him, you supposed you would think of him a lot. 

“I’m going to think of you,” you returned.

He smirked briefly and fiddled with his thumbs, letting the silence eat away at the end of that conversation before he opened his mouth to speak again. 

“I’m still sorry,” he muttered, “about everything.”

It wasn't lost on you how groundbreaking it was that a character designed to be as arrogant as Wukong opened his mouth to apologize to you. You honestly didn't think you cared too much about what happened. The void didn't make you suffer. You fell asleep and then woke up—the process of them was painful but not enough to justify a grudge. 

“过去已成往事,” you said. “Water under the bridge.”

Wukong raised a brow, a somewhat impressed hum sounding from his throat. “How many idioms did that pig teach you?”

"He didn't teach me. He just says it a lot."

"He does. Sometimes, I pretend I understand what he's saying, not to give him satisfaction. Wukong scoffed, the hair on his body almost trembling in distaste. "Oh, by the way," he said through a sharp inhale and sat up. "What is Pringles?"

“Oh! Uh, it’s a brand of chips, but you don’t know that.” You held up your hand and pressed your fingers into a thin line. “It’s about this big. Depending on the flavor, it can be salty, spicy, or even sweet–“ you inhaled before returning to your previous mourning position– “Oh my god, I might actually kill for a single Pringles chip.”

Wukong scoffed and crossed his arms. “You can’t even climb a tree.”

“Hey, strength is not the only factor that makes up a killer,” you argued. “There’s motivation. There’s, uh, cleverness, calmness, wit–“

“Out of all four of them, you only have one,” he mused, leaning toward your face. “And it’s none of the latter ones.”

You smiled sarcastically before abruptly slapping a hand to his shoulder, surprisingly shoving him off the tree branch. A gasp ripped through your mouth, and you covered it. Carefully but quickly, you leaned your torso forward to glance at the ground. 

There wasn't a shadow of Wukong anywhere, which didn't make sense. The tree was tall, but it wasn't giant. You were still able to get a clear view of the ground! Either he has a secret hidden power of teleportation that he never told you about, even though it might have been handy in furthering the process of finding your way home, or he whisked himself away at the last second and went into hiding to prank you.

Couldn't say you missed those pranks, really.

"I know you better than believing you would fall to your death, Wukong, so come out–gasp!”

A sharp wind cut over your hair as the Ryui Jingu Bang extended in length at lightning speed. The leaves around you shifted, opening doors to let the sun in. 

Wukong, crouching on the top of his weapon with impeccable balance, was elevated to your face level. He grinned with amusement as he waited for you to slowly reveal yourself from your forearms, which covered your face from the gusts of wind just now. You opened your eyes to see him; under the sunlight, he thought they looked whimsical like water. 

"Hey," he greeted, bringing a hand off his knee to softly flick the tip of your nose with his fingers. "You know, I wish you would still worry about me a little, even though you know I'm competent."

"I do worry," you said. "I'll worry about you for a long time."

He whistled playfully. "For a long time?"

When you leave, there is no knowing how much chaos he'll cause and how much he'll suffer from it. You never wanted him to suffer, so you worry—you worry a great deal. 

You worry about him, and you are afraid for him. You grieve for him, and you cheer for him. Here or there, together or separate, it'll all be for him.

"Yes," you confirmed.

Wukong grinned. It was silly, but his heart knocked with an irregular rhythm, and he was both flustered and bitter. 

“Come on,” he reached a hand out, “let’s head back.”

You stared at him dubiously before taking his invite. He carefully tugged at your arm, and you let him, maneuvering your body to allow him more accessible access to pull you to his chest. His hand went under your knees, holding you sturdy, and you didn't bother to hold onto him for extra stability.

“Hey, you know–“ you looked up at his chin–“the last time you held me like this, I asked about those dreams you had of me. You still haven’t told me anything about that.”

He grimaced. He still didn’t plan to. 

Wukong didn't want to leave you alone with Sanzang, but under Bajie's physically violent persuasion (repeatedly knocking his back with a rake), he caved and went with everyone else to the nearby river for some water.

You weren't nervous because you knew it wasn't a confrontation. There was nothing serious the monk had to confront you with; you didn't count his opinion of you being incompetent and weak as a subject of a confrontation. His problem with you being a hindrance to their journey was but his speculation.

His feelings were valid, but they were also of his own making.

Sitting across from him by the fireplace, you remained silent and waited for him to speak. He didn't look at you. Either he didn't want to, or he felt too awkward. You didn't mind. His white horse, all curled up a few feet behind him, was a sight for sore eyes.

"Erlang Shen sent us a letter."

"Oh?" You perked up. It has been a while since you last received news from him.

"They think they've found a way to bring you home, and he has requested that you go back to test the method."

Jaw dropping slowly at the surprising news, you managed a few absentminded nods before looking down at the ground. 

Your shoes weren't new anymore. They were stained with dirt, dried petals, blood, and barely scraped-off substances. The bottom of it felt thin because of all the walking you've done. Perhaps you were wrong. The first thing you'd do when you return should be to get a new pair of shoes.

"I've been here long enough," you said. It was a thought that resulted from your shoes, perhaps. "They're bound to figure something out one of these days."

"I agree." Sanzang nodded. "Except, there is a problem."

You squinted your eyes and squeezed your hands together. It felt like your heart should beat faster, in rage, disappointment, or dissatisfaction, but you were steady as a log and calm as the mountain.

It didn't take him too long to reveal his intention, and you caught on immediately. No wonder he shooed everyone away and requested to speak to you privately. This wasn't a confrontation. This was a request, a shameful request. 

It has been cleared up whether Sanzang hates you, but the solved mystery merely turned into a problem that could only be solved by your departure, which cannot happen until you lose the remainder of your lives.

Sanzang wanted you to deal with your immortality faster.

"I heard from Bajie that you find me bothersome," you said.

His face was still like a rock. He didn't so much as twitch a muscle. If the tension weren't evident, you'd find the time to admire the stoicism.

"How surprising that you didn't figure that out from my actions alone," he said. "But he tells the truth. I do find you bothersome to our original journey."

"You must understand I cannot be faulted."

He paused for a prolonged second, his fixated eyes a loose image of gears turning in his head.

You were correct—to some level, at least. You never asked to be here; teleportation was beyond your control. You never asked to consume the immortal peach; even he cannot blame you for falling for that insolent monkey's many tricks. You never asked to undergo excruciating pain; your human body would never be fit for magical trials.

Nothing was your fault, except everything was because you're here. Everything happened because you're here. It may not be your intention to be here, but you were—results trump intentions. That has always been the curse. 

"You are not at fault, yes," Sanzang said. "But I blame you still. Just for being here, for being the clog that springs it all to life."

“But… that is not the only problem," Sanzang said.

You rolled your eyes and groaned, giving him a pointed raise of your brows to continue.

"You distract Wukong."

"That–" You poked your tongue at your inner cheek and squinted curiously. With an acknowledging hum and a sudden position that expressed intrigue in the conversation, you nodded at Sanzang. "Do you know about his dreams?"

It was the first time Sanzang's features ever shifted. He leaned back at your abrupt interest and frowned. "I don't know what you're speaking of."

"Really?" Your voice was low and dubious, but then you remembered Sanzang would, at any given chance, snitch on the blasted monkey he spoke so lowly of, and all your doubts vanished. He would have told you to embarrass the monkey. If he didn't, it was either he really disliked you or was telling the truth.

"He is distracted around you. Less cautious, more naive, and making careless mistakes. It’s as if he's lost his head.”

"Doesn't he always act like that?" you questioned. Walls of texts—blurred texts—from their novel flashed slowly before your eyes, and you faintly shook your head. "Actually… no. Wukong doesn't act like that. You…” The minor accusation fell weakly on your tongue. Your unwillingness to stir trouble made you backtrack, and you sighed. "Never mind."

“He enjoys your presence,” Sanzang said. “Surely, you’ve noticed that.”

"You don't think I got the memo when he fed me the immortal peach?" you grumbled through a sardonic chuckle. "I'm leaving, Sanzang. I shouldn't feed into it."

“How do you feel about him, then?”

Arching your neck to stare him down, you wondered why the monk would be interested in how you felt outside of hoping he'd find leverage against Wukong. It felt like a trap. A normal conversation with him about potentially romantic feelings felt like a trap. But, more importantly, you weren't sure how you felt about him, so you got the perfect excuse not to answer the question. 

“I’m not telling you that,” you replied monotonously. 

“That’s fair.” 

"I also won't force myself to do what you want," you added firmly. "I will try my best at the temples, but if it's physically impossible to continue, I will stop whenever I want. I do not care about your peace. I won't push my limits for you. You'll just have to wait it out."

Silence engulfed the air.

“That’s fair, too,” he replied. 

You have been here long enough to watch the seasons change. 

If you had the exact date, you could tell if Winter already arrived or if it was still late Autumn. To combat the cold, they had brought you to a town mid-journey and bought you a thin cloak. White fur was sewn to the collar to form a makeshift scarf. Those were the only options; you'd rather not freeze in the occasional snow. 

It kept you warm, and it kept you safe. You had pulled it closer around yourself when the Buddha you met this morning notified you that you were rid of your immortality. 

“Can’t sleep?”

You peered up at Wukong, who sat beside you with one leg propped up.

"No," you replied.

"Me neither." He tapped his index finger against his knee. "Oh, by the way, it's not real fur."

"Huh?"

He turned to you and pointed at your cloak, which you then wrapped tighter around yourself.

"I went back to the store to ask. It wasn't the best idea. I nearly scared that old man half to death showing up at his home," he snickered faintly and rubbed the back of his head. He stared at the floor almost bashfully. "I noticed you were doubtful when we got you the cloak. That was the only problem I could think of, so I had to go back and make sure. I just kept forgetting to let you know."

You stared at him, subconsciously reaching up to touch the warm softness around your neck. A smirk played on your face, and you turned away to hide it. "Thanks. I appreciate it."

"No problem," he muttered. "So! Tomorrow, early in the morning, you and I will head back to see that third-eyed freak! I can't say I'm excited to see him ever again! 

You pressed your legs closer to your chest and pursed your lips. Wukong was trying too hard to fill the awkward silence that wasn't meant to be awkward. It was an anxious sadness—the anxiety of experiencing an impending sadness—bottled and replaced by awkwardness. It was a facade. You two just didn't know what to say to each other before the eternal separation. 

A bitter taste developed around your mouth, forcing you to salivate uncomfortably. You swallowed the knots, feeling them drop past your throat and bounce on your heart to make it beat irregularly. 

You enjoyed being around Wukong. If you allowed it, you might even let your feelings for him develop and eventually admit that you liked him. But you didn't allow that, as you've decided to prioritize returning home. 

Nobody accused you of making that choice, not even Wukong. He would never. It was you who felt guilty for choosing to leave, and that still plagued you to this day. 

"I'm so sorry," you said suddenly.

Wukong slowly met your eyes. The confusion initially sitting in them vanished when he saw your furrowed brows and tearful eyes—whimsical like water. He wasn't wrong about that. Panicked, his hands hovered around your face, and he wiggled about, unsure what to do.

"What happened? What did you do?" he asked. "I'm sure you didn't do anything bad. Don't worry, I'll help you, okay? I promise."

You closed your eyes and cried quietly to yourself; flat whimpers, breathy hiccups, tears that were too cold against your cheeks, and comically placed hiccups. Wukong raised his brows, amusement bubbling at the brim of his quirked-up lips upon realizing how ridiculous (just a little!) you appeared. 

"Wukong, I wanna go home, but... but I–I don't want to leave. I don't–gasp, I don't want to leave you." You closed your eyes to squeeze more tears out. "I'm sorry. Maybe I should... I should just stay. I should stay here with you."

"Now, what about your Pringles chip?"

He chuckled when you cried harder at the mention of a past conversation. Putting his hand flat on the ground, he pulled himself closer to you and leaned his torso forward. His free hand gingerly wiped at your face, being extra aware of his sharp nails. You kept crying, and he didn’t feel like he could say anything to make you feel better besides agreeing to your sudden change of decision, but he couldn’t.

"Don't be silly," he said. 

He would be happy to have you stay with him forever, but you didn't want that. You were doubting your decision now because of him because you didn't want to leave him. But Wukong understood more than anyone else that he wasn't the significant marker that made up who you were. 

Your home, your school, your hobbies, your friends, your family, your potential career choice—those things made you who you were. Besides not wanting to be the reason for you making a spur-of-the-moment choice, he also wanted you to be surrounded by what you knew. 

You wouldn't achieve anything great in his world, but you would in yours. You deserve that chance.

"You have to go home," he whispered. "You can finally eat a proper meal. I want you to eat well."

You sniffed. "But I'm never going to see you again.”

His hand paused and hovered around your face. The established consequence felt much more threatening when you said it out loud. He calmed his nerves, pressed his palm against your face, and then urged you to move toward him. You did. Releasing the cloak on your shoulder, you climbed onto his lap and lay on his chest, snuggling close for warmth.

“Yeah, I guess we won’t see each other again,” he muttered, looking ahead at the forest. He tilted his head, inhaling thoughtfully. “I’m okay with that.”

“You are?” Your brows furrowed.

“Not the way you’re thinking!” he exclaimed. “I just… we can’t change that. No matter how much we beg or–“ he looked down at you– “cry, that’s never gonna change. We live in different worlds. We probably weren’t even meant to know each other.”

You threw your head back on his arm and groaned lowly. “Why are you saying all of this now?”

“What? No! I just meant–“ He laughed and pushed your head up so you’d look at him. “You’re going home. You have to go home. If we can’t change the fact that we’ll never see each other again, I guess I’d rather you never forget me.”

“That…” You rolled your eyes. “That won’t be an issue for me, but you!”

“Me?”

“Yes, you! 可以不爱我 但绝不可以忘记我," you said. "You don't have to love me, but don't you dare forget me."

He cracked a smirk. "I do love you." 

"It's for the later future!" you gently exclaimed as your head went slack against his shoulder. “Please don’t get in trouble, Wukong. Don’t get hurt, don’t do anything bad. I want you to live.”

“Oh, I’ll live,” he mused. “Not sure about the other ones, though.”

You knew those were wishful thinking. If his journey went the way the novels detailed, you also knew he would be okay. You weren't sure why you said those things—perhaps you wished him a smooth journey, but that wasn't why people admired him so much. Looking at him, you figured it's okay for him to get hurt occasionally. Hell, he might even deserve it once in a while, but you didn't say that out loud. 

Wukong stared down at your suppressed grin, his hands soft around your limbs to remember their shape.

You didn't know that he would love you for far longer than you'd be here with him.

The Tanghulu almost fell apart when you bit into the strawberry on top. You caught the sugar pieces with your free hand. 

The line leading toward an opened temple continued to move. It was mainly occupied by tourists, at least you believed so. There was hardly any reason for a local to be at a tourist attraction on a regular weekday except for you. You had a reason. 

Taking a broad sweep across the crowded area, you arched your neck to look above the sea of heads at the food stands lined up in a row at the back. You chewed on the cold fruit as you debated what to eat next. There was a stall selling Liu Sha Baos, and next to it had an array of condiments set out for bagged Lou Meins. Humming in agreement, you decided to hit those stalls first after visiting the temple. 

Erlang Shen’s method worked. He had suggested going back home the same way you came, which would be through turbulence on an airplane. Creating a makeshift turbulence was easy for just about anybody there, and you remembered Wukong waving goodbye at you a second before the clouds, picked up by the wind, covered your sight. And then you were gone—you suddenly woke up in the emergency room, startling a nurse. 

Time barely passed when you were there. You slept through the rest of the flight after the turbulence, possibly causing inconvenience to the passengers seated by the window whenever they needed to use the restroom. They probably noticed something was wrong when you didn’t wake up even after the plane landed. They called an ambulance, and you had only just arrived at the hospital not too long ago. 

You didn’t turn back. You visited your family and stayed with them for however long you had previously planned. It was a great way to distract yourself from the out-of-world experience. But nothing quite pulled Wukong off your mind. 

You went hiking with your mother for the first time. The mountain reminded you of him. Heading to the supermarket and seeing the fruit section made you think of him. The way your grandpa talks reminded you of Bajie a little! And there was a newly released game about Wukong himself! You haven’t bought it yet. Maybe you would sooner or later. 

“Hey! Can you walk?”

You jumped at the voice behind you and instinctively bowed in response, an apology leaving you like a ghost. Seeing that you were next ahead to admire the statue, you put the Tanghulu on the paper plate and back inside the plastic bag it came from. As you walked ahead, you dusted your hands on your jacket and stopped at the center of the opened temple. Looking up, you bit your lower lip to avoid laughing.

The Sun Wukong statue looked nothing like Sun Wukong. 

But your memory made it look every bit like him. 

“I found you,” you said. “I’m sorry it took so long. I was out of the country with my family. But I went to many places and ate a lot of good food.”

He stared back at you, unmoving. Your eyes softened at the replacement in your head—you wondered what he was doing now. 

Subconsciously walking forward, your heart beating gently at your ear as you ignored the unnoticeable ‘Do Not Touch’ sign, you placed a hand on the statue’s feet and smiled. 

“I remember you,” you whispered. “I love you.”

“Hey! Please don’t touch the statue!”

You turned your head at the warning. A strong breeze blew toward the direction of the voice just as you turned, enough to knock the security storming at you to the ground. You slowly released your hand from the statue, mouth slightly agape as you watched passersby help the security stand up. Pulling at the strap of your bag, you glanced at Wukong one last time, the weird coincidence lingering in your mind, and then you went to apologize. 

Before you could walk out of earshot, you faintly heard a little boy speak to his mother behind you.

“Mom! Did you see that? The words on his staff lit up just now!”

[1byhwng]

“You cared for me…why don’t you let me care for you?” With Felix (him saying it, not reader please)

prompt 3- “You cared for me…why don’t you let me care for you?”

Pairings - Felix x reader

You were the support system Felix needed. You helped him through breakups, episodes, and even him just crying while watching a movie. You were there for him but yet every time he tries to comfort you, he gets pushed away.

You were going through a break up for the 4th time in 3 months for the same reason by each guy saying “we just aren’t for each other” but you knew they just didn’t want you to cheat with Felix, your childhood best friend.

Although Felix has known you since you were both 4 he still didn’t know much about your family but you knew a lot about his. He tries his best to comfort you all the time but you never accept it which put you in the situation of having that big argument every best friend has at least once in their friendship.

“I’m sorry, okay? I just can’t.” You speak running a hand through your hair. “Can’t what? Be grateful for me helpi- trying to help you!” Felix says. You don’t know what to say but you know that he’s right, you do push him away every time he tries to help.

“go on Y/N” he mutters “tell me why you just hate to let me help you.” He crosses his arms looking at you with a disappointed expression. You open your mouth to speak only to close it. “Just tell me, Y/N..please.” he begs, his eyes soften and his arms fall to his sides.

You could see the pain in his eyes, knowing you were the cause of it hurts even more. “I’m sorry Felix I just-“ instead of finishing the sentence you sigh trying to avoid looking at him. If someone would’ve told you years ago that you and Felix would be in an argument like this you’d probably laugh in their face and call Felix to laugh about it with him.

unfortunately that wasn’t the case for you guys, you were both arguing in the middle of tour living room because you kept pushing him away when he tried to comfort you.

“You cared for me…why don’t you let me care for you.” You look up at Felix to see a pained expression on his face. “Im just not used to it, and I’m sorry.” you speak in a soft tone.

You see him sigh and run a hand through his hair. Before you could say anything else he hugs you. “that’s why i try to care for you…i don’t want you to have a safe space- I want to be that safe place for you.” he mumbles as he lays his head in the crook of your neck. Instead of pushing him off you hug him back. you could feel his body loosen up before hearing him speak again “thank you Y/N”.

When he speaks you feel yourself calm down feeling less tense by his hug. This was the first time you’ve ever felt comfortable with someone enough to allow them to help you. Maybe him helping you was never that bad and you should’ve let him years ago.

[datusaguy]

All TMNT Shredder’s Revenge Color References - Mona Lisa

Other Color Reference posts are linked at the bottom of this post.

I made some posts back when the first Shredder’s Revenge dlc came out detailing the references of all the additional colors (to the best of my ability). As there’s 2 new characters out, that’s plenty of new colors to detail and I’d feel wrong not checking them out again. Feel free to give me any additional info/corrections you might know and I hope you enjoy checking this out.

The focus of this post is of course Mona Lisa. I would say to also check out the Mondo Gecko post especially, but I unfortunately don’t have that finished yet. I have since put out a Mondo Gecko post linked at the bottom of you’re curious.

And on a side note, I think she’s really fun to play. I don’t really know how accurate the stars for stats are but she feels like the best combination in the game without feeling like a boss character (which Karai and Usagi did). I did grind out Survival as her already but I’ll probably do story mode as her soon.

# 1 - Default (1987 Show)

# 2 - 1992 Playmates Toy

# 3 - IDW Comics

# 4 - Venus de Milo - Stumped me for a little while as all I could think of is how this just looks like Leo’s colors. Then realized when comparing that her blues here are lighter than Leo and it immediately reminded me of Venus, the 5th turtle from the infamous TMNT Next Mutation

# 5 - Y'Gythgba (2012 Show version of Mona Lisa)

# 6 - Lita (IDW Comics) - I don’t think I’m even close to the section where Mona Lisa nor Lita appear in the IDW comics yet but from what I skimmed online, it seems like Lita is quite connected to Mona Lisa in said comics which seems to be why they chose this outfit. It definitely looks quite close visually as well which makes me confident it’s correct.

# 7 - Quarry/Sydney (2003 Show)? - Pretty unlikely it’s her as Sydney is much closer to color 5 (although I’m pretty confident that’s referencing Y'Gythgba already). The only other character I can come up with currently is Zak although I feel that would make even less sense to reference and while the hair and some of her body matches his general outfit, it also feels off.

# 8 - Red Fox? (ROTTMNT) - It seems like an odd reference to me but visually speaking, it does seem decently similar.

# 9 - K'Vathrak/Newtralizer (2012 Show) The chest doesn’t have the fading effect like the actual Newtrailizer but otherwise it seems close enough.

# 10 - Mirage - She doesn’t originate from the original black-and-white Mirage comics but she probably got this skin to be in-line with everyone else.

# 11 - NES - Basically same situation as Mirage, she’s never looked like this before but she got it to be in-line with everyone else.

# 12 - Gameboy - Same as NES

All other Color References posts:

1. Karai

2. Leonardo

3. Michelangelo

4. Raphael

5. Donatello

6. April O’ Neil

7. Splinter

8. Casey Jones

9. Usagi

10. Mona Lisa

11. Mondo Gecko

[jisokai]

Green Curse

Your friends care about you, much more than you think. Unfortunately it takes the worst possible first time trying weed for you to realize it.

kirishima eijirou & sero hanta x GN reader [implied first/second years] drug use (edibles), reader is anxious and an overthinker, descriptions of dissociation, slight suicidal ideation, touch-starved reader, implied smaller reader, lots of hurt and lots of comfort 10.9k words | oneshot, complete, can be standalone part 3 of a sort-of-series: "healing my inner teenager" (this fic's reader is NOT compatible with reader in the universe of [part 1] and [part 2])

notes: I feel like a lot of fics with substances never touch on these kinds of experiences (& if they do it's for humor instead of processing) so this one's for ME & anyone else with arguably traumatic first times smoking/taking edibles 👍

ao3 option

Kaminari’s room is boisterous as your friends settle on his bed to cozy up for the evening. You sit quietly on his carpet, back pressed against the mattress behind you. Your fingers brush through the soft fibers, tracing its dark pattern as you listen in to the various conversations around you—Mina and Kirishima curiously taking guesses at how it’ll feel to get high, Bakugou grumbling about being the babysitter, Sero and Jirou arguing over what movie they want to watch. You don’t make an effort to engage, even when you feel an opening, instead flitting your eyes between the different spots where people have congregated. You notice that nobody tries to pull you in.

It’s a delicate dance for you, being in this group. They welcome you easily, always happy to have you around, but you aren’t sure why. You don’t talk much, not unless asked, and even then you instantly regret answering—assuming you said too much or the wrong thing. Sometimes Kaminari finds an opening for a joke in your response, and the laughs that course through the others make you feel very, very small.

You confided in Kirishima once, during internship patrols—likely the reason you started getting invites in the first place. His bright attitude brings you ease, knowing he only thinks well of others, and his encouraging personality is a relief to the delicate glass of your self-esteem. You hadn’t meant for it, but the conversation somehow found you unfurling your insecurities. He looked at you sadly when you explained how the larger friend group puts you on edge, makes you hyper aware of yourself and your shortcomings. You’ve spent the past few weeks carefully skirting around him and the topic, incapable of handling more pitiful gazes.

You ignore him now, too, as you feel his eyes from where he’s seated with Mina on the bed. You focus your attention on Kaminari's shelves, observing the collections of hats and shoes. It’s a tacky space, you think, but the array of jarring colors and patterns make sense somehow.

You are jolted from your thoughts when said tacky host appears in front of you. He’s crouched with half a brownie in his hand, outstretched to you.

“Want first bite?” he asks. You nod and thank him quietly as you pinch the sides of the dessert, avoiding the brush of fingers. He continues. “It’s only half, since it’s your first time. You can have some more later if you don’t feel anything.”

He stands to offer brownies to those on the bed. You sniff yours carefully and notice that it’s unassuming, even when you take a bite and slowly chew.

“How’s it taste?” Mina asks from above you. You crane your neck to see where she sits beside Kirishima, who’s tearing a brownie in half for them to share.

You cover your mouth as you speak, feeling the gooeyness cling to your teeth. The chocolate is dark and there are chunks of fudge, a favorite of yours. “Normal. Good.”

Mina grins excitedly in response and eats her half in one go, straight from Kirishima’s hand. She hums in agreement. “Ooooh, they’re delicious!”

Kaminari nods proudly. “I only source the best, y’know!”

You finish your half shortly and glance towards the others. You hear Sero ask about the dosage and strain, and watch as he and Jirou both eat a whole brownie, then split an additional one. Kaminari downs one happily and removes another before closing the bag. You wonder if this is routine for them, and suddenly you are too aware of your inexperience. A course of shame rolls from your stomach to your shoulders, a choppy ocean wave. Once again you feel small—a speck of dust on the carpet. You think it’s silly, to be ashamed for not indulging in substances, but these are your cool friends that you don’t want to be lame around, at least not more than you already are.

You want to curl into yourself, a ball of arms around legs, but a tap on your head shakes you from your spiral. It’s Mina, pouting from above.

“Whatcha still doing down there?” She asks. You see the others piled on Kaminari’s bed—all but the blond himself, grabbing a deck of cards from the shelf.

“Sitting,” you say blankly.

She rolls her eyes and gives your shirt a tug, then pats the space next to her. “Sit here!” she instructs. Kirishima nods in your peripheral.

So you stand, just enough to get your hands and knees on the bed, and crawl next to her by the headboard. You avoid touching the pillows, and pull your knees tightly into your chest. Kaminari follows, plopping next to you. He’s cross-legged, knee bumping into your calf, and you tense at the contact. He doesn’t notice, busy shuffling the cards. Some of the others move, adjusting to make an evenly spaced circle of people. Mina shifts away from you and you scoot in the same direction, giving Kaminari additional room.

The game passes energetically, with loud reactions as some of your friends target one another. You’re not very competitive, but strategizing helps you focus on something other than your discomfort. 

After a few rounds, Sero checks in. “How are you all feeling? It’s been about a half hour.”

Mina grins lazily beside you. “M’definitely feeling something.”

She turns to you and you shake your head. You feel normal. Or, your normal.

Kaminari hmph’s and looks to Kirishima. “What about you man?”

The redhead scratches his head and purses his lips. “Maybe?”

Kaminari hops off the bed and reaches for the bag on his desk. He pulls out another brownie and tears it in half. You take the one he hands you, slightly smaller than the other. You glance at Sero and Jirou while you chew, trying to decipher if either of them are affected. Jirou notices your stare and shakes her head.

“Takes me a while to feel it,” she explains. “But I’ll be faded in a couple hours. Sero’s the opposite.” You note his already red-tinted eyes.

“Skill issue,” he says. Kaminari nods solemnly.

Jirou rolls her eyes. “That doesn't even make sense.”

You look away, chest heavy as their banter draws on. You wish you were close like that, with any of them. They’re familiar and comfortable in each other’s space. You may have catalyzed a potential closeness with Kirishima, when you unpromptedly spilled out your insecurities regarding his friends. But all that resulted in was a weird tension that hangs between you two—one entirely due to your own embarrassment. What is wrong with you?

You accidentally look his way and see the slightest crease of his brow, his eyes trained on you. You glance past him and to Mina, then the cards sprawled in the middle of the bed.

“Let’s just watch the movie,” you hear Sero say. “It’ll definitely kick in after a couple hours.”

A wave of hums passes through the air as everyone agrees. Kaminari stands to turn on his desktop while Sero moves to switch off the lights. The room darkens save for the glow of the computer, Kaminari searching for the movie in question. The others shift, getting comfortable for the hours to come. You turn so your back rests against the wall, and Mina presses into your side as the others scoot up to see the monitor better. You try to relax into the touch, but it’s foreign, her arm warm against yours.

Suddenly Sero is crawling up from the foot of the bed and grabbing one of the pillows by your side. He then sets it in front of you and lays on his side. Mina brings her knees over his torso while Bakugou grunts and nudges his legs aside for space. You pull yours close against you, body tense to avoid brushing against his hair. Kaminari huffs when he turns and sees the arrangement. He starts the movie and grabs a few snacks before nestling in the space between you and the headboard, legs outstretched by the top of Sero’s head. He opens one bag and tosses the others blindly to the others. He is squished up against you and gently taps your forearm, gesturing to his bag of chocolate-covered pretzels. You mumble, “thanks,” and take a small handful.

The movie is good. It’s not the kind you would volunteer to watch, but it gives you something to focus on and keep the attention of the others away from you. At the halfway mark you notice a cloudiness settling into your mind and body. Your legs strain from the prolonged effort to hold them close, joints and muscles prickling beneath your skin. With a nervous heart you shuffle your feet forward, just before Sero’s head, and feel the slightest relief. You try to wiggle backwards, for additional room, but you’re already pressed against the wall.

Mina notices and frowns in confusion. You don’t realize you’re sporting a pained expression, and hers morphs into concern. She whispers, “You okay?”

“Just cramped,” you whisper back. Your eyes widen when she pulls her legs up and gives Sero’s back a shove. He turns to her curiously.

“Stop hogging their space,” she says, and your stomach clenches at the word choice.

You start shaking your head, to protest, when Sero’s eyes move to you. He just says, “oh,” and squirms towards the edge of the bed. “Sorry. This better?”

Your feet slide forwards, letting your thighs and calves relax, and you nod with a quiet, “thanks.” Sero hums and turns back to the screen, unbothered. Your shoulders drop in relief. 

The movie draws on, but by the end you feel like it just started. It isn’t until Mina stirs next to you that you realize you’re leaning against her, and it isn’t until you right yourself that you realize your inebriation. Your body feels like it’s moving through deep, sticky honey as you sit up straight, and your head is unbelievably heavy. It tilts to the side as if in danger of falling. You pull it back, overcompensating, and it thuds loudly against the wall. A thrum of pain reverberates behind you and your vision floods with white static.

Your cheeks flush as you try to blink your sight back to normal. Kaminari giggles beside you, deepening your blush.

“You good?” he asks, voice filled with mirth.

You nod slowly, head unsteady on your neck. Your eyes rest halfway open and you swallow before grimacing. You smack your lips at the dryness of your mouth.

Kaminari giggles again and moves towards the desk. “Cottonmouth?” 

You’ve never heard the phrase, but you nod. He hands you your water bottle from the desk and then grabs his computer mouse, clicking rapidly. The screen flashes white and you watch as you slowly unscrew the lid of your water. The fluorescence fills your vision sharply, similar to when you smacked your head moments ago, and it makes your perception of the room feel warped—flattened. You blink rapidly as you try to recover a sense of normalcy, but it causes your peripheral to spin.

You tear your eyes from the screen and look at the bottle in your lap. Your grip on the lid is weak, and when you try to squeeze harder your hand tingles—almost tickles. Almost painful. You work gently, using the friction of your palm instead. It comes off eventually, but then you are struck by the new set of obstacles that come with bringing it to your lips and drinking.

Luckily the others are preoccupied with their conversations, drifting softly behind you as if in another room. You wonder if time is passing as slowly for them as it is for you, if they’re similarly encased in molasses. You can’t hear what they’re saying, but you assume it’s movie commentary. You can hardly remember what you just watched, the contents years away in your memory. What happened in the meantime? Where have all those minutes run off to?

Once you manage a few sips—with thankfully minimal spillage on your shirt—you set the bottle down and take deep breaths as you put the cap back on. It brings attention to your racing heart, thumping wildly. You think it might explode, which only quickens it further. Your solution is to curl into where Kaminari sat moments ago. You close your eyes and try to convince your body to relax. Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t work.

You don’t know how long you lay there, attempting to control your heart and breath. You conjure images of the ocean, of the wind—sturdy beings that breathe slowly, regularly. You try to imagine the galloping horse of your heart to soften to a trot, then eventually a delicate walk through a meadow.

A gentle hand lands on your arm, causing you to stir with panic. Your body is tense as you spot Kirishima, large and red, standing by your end of the bed. His arm is outstretched but pulling back, and his face is full of concern—eyebrows creased upwards and lip jutting in a pout.

“Hey, you okay?” he asks softly. 

You clutch the water bottle against your chest tighter, noticing that you’ve been cradling it in your fetal position. You aren’t okay, you realize. But this is Kirishima, the one you accidentally shared your embarrassingly low self-esteem with. He looked at you so pitifully for it, you can’t handle whatever reaction he’ll have if you say you think you’re dying.

So you nod, slowly, eyes still wide.

His eyes pinch and his lips press into a tight line. He looks pained. But he nods slowly in return before glancing at the others. You watch, the seconds passing dreadfully. You think you can see the way his movements smear across your vision, his afterimages in the bluelight.

In an attempt to give credibility to your act, you decide to sit up, to at least pretend you’re part of the conversation. You press up weakly and a wave of nausea rolls up from your belly. You panic at the sensation and take a shaky breath, as quietly as you can. Kiri’s eyes follow you, coating your skin uncomfortably.

You try to conjure your most unbothered expression as you mumble, “Just tired.” You catch the gaze of the others, but no one is scrutinizing you the way your red haired friend is. You summon all your willpower to appear attentive and normal.

You take note of them as best you can. Kaminari and Sero appear unfazed, as if they never got high in the first place. Mina’s words come out slowly and drawn out, with small bursts of giggles in between, and her cheeks are nearly red. Jirou sleeps deeply at the end of the bed. Bakugou looks annoyed—you internalize as perhaps specifically annoyed with you—and he’s the next one to speak.

“If everyone’s fine I’m fuckin’ goin’ to bed.” You don’t catch the next part, but it has more colorful language and the mention of babysitting teenagers.

Kaminari giggles while he watches the blond roughly shove his things in his pockets. Just before he slams the door, Kaminari teases, “I know you had fun with us!”

Mina laughs, soft chuckles from Sero and Kirishima follow. The five of you are huddled in a misshapen circle, not unlike the arrangement before the movie. After the giggles die down, Kaminari’s eyes sweep over you and your friends, assessing their conditions.

“I’m glad it’s kicked in. Does anyone have anything they wanna do next?” He asks.

You scan the faces around you, all holding the same indifferent expressions—shrugging or pursing their lips in thought. Kaminari appears shy, and you give him a curious look.

He smiles sheepishly and pulls his shoulders to his ears. “Shinsou messaged me,” he says. “I was thinking of heading over to his, but I don’t wanna ditch.”

Mina laughs and then hums in amusement. A light blush blooms over the blond’s face. “I am fully supportive of you ditching to be with your lover boy, personally,” she says with a dramatic sigh. The other two nod enthusiastically, and you give him a little shrug.

His face lights up at the response and he giddily stands from the bed. “Shit, okay yeah.” He rummages for his things. “Thanks guys, you can still hang here or whatever—”

The rest is a smear in your memory, the strength of your focus exhausted after a few minutes. You let your eyes cloud and your body accept its heaviness as you drone out the rest of Kaminari’s words. When he leaves you mumble a ‘bye’—or maybe it was ‘good luck’—but let your mind remain hazy.

You don’t know how much time passes, how to gauge it. Your three conscious friends continue to chat softly about benign topics, and you can only muster an occasional hum or slight tweak of your face in reaction. You don’t notice when their eyes watch you closely, instead convinced of your own invisibility, from your inability to push yourself to say something. You’re certainly high right now, and it would be fatal to say something stupid, something for them to laugh at while you forget it in the morning. It’s safer here, curled over yourself, knees and shins protecting your delicate heart.

At some point you notice you are no longer inside your body. When you glance down to your knees, you find you’re instead looking at the top of your head. You see yourself, your smallness, surrounded by your friends happily enjoying themselves. You panic, mind and body frozen at the sight. A coldness seeps into your skin, but the chill is distant. You can see how your friends are thoroughly engaged without you.

A heavy weight settles in your stomach—though your stomach is an abstract idea at this point—at the realization that your presence makes no difference. You are invisible, more so than Hagakure, with your timid personality. You swallow, feeling a heavy lump in the base of your throat—another abstract idea. You watch closely, take note of everyone’s eyes as they jump back and forth between one another and chat exuberantly. They giggle, stick their tongues out, roll their eyes. At each other, not you.

What are you doing here?

Maybe you should leave, leave and never come back. How did you get invited in the first place? Do these people actually like you, or do they feel bad watching you isolate yourself from the class? Your abstract stomach churns with a swirling mix of rage and shame.

You sit and watch, continue to scrutinize. You don’t say a word. You let yourself drift away.

After what could be minutes or hours—either a reasonable estimate to your brain—you feel the urge to use the bathroom. The task is mountainous, an entire excursion requiring careful planning and meticulous execution, but one that has to be done. It also offers a reprieve from your social dilemma. That serves as motivation enough to shift yourself to the edge of the bed and stand.

A wave of dizziness rushes through you. You watch, still as an outsider, as your body nearly topples over. Your hand reaches the desk in time to steady yourself, hyper aware of the eyes in the room. You play off your stumble casually, and lift your hand from the crutch prematurely.

“Bathroom,” you mumble and quickly exit the room.

The dorm hall is another beast. As soon as you turn from the door to the open space, you are confronted by your inability to process dimension. The hall is stretched into what appears to be an entire day’s journey. It makes your heart race again, anxious at the prospect of finding your way alone. You squint, attempting to count the number of doors you’ll pass, but they’re too small in your hazy vision.

You take a careful step forward, imagining yourself a blind elder fumbling through the forest, and drag your hand along the wall as you trek to the bathroom. The door at the end of the hall gets ever so closer, a small victory. You struggle to regulate your breathing throughout the process.

Using the bathroom is another challenge, one that also happens at a snail’s pace. You sit yourself in the stall for an eternity, leaning with your head against the wall. You close your eyes and take deep breaths. It helps center you, guide your essence back into the void of your body. Your mind is racing, running through muck, but it feels back in your own head.

You try your best to reflect on your dissociation in Kaminari’s room. Maybe it’d be best to distance yourself for a while, give yourself some space. Bakugou said he didn’t like babysitting, and that’s probably how the others feel about you always tagging along quietly. You remember Kirishima’s worried glances, how he always looks like he wants to fuss over you. Your cheeks flare in embarrassment, at being perceived as some helpless child. You recall how Sero and Jirou wordlessly split their edible, a practiced routine. There’s already a flow there, a vibe that you don’t fit into.

You should leave them alone.

Standing up brings another dizzy spell, but the small perimeter of the stall offers support. You fumble with your pants and flush the toilet before exhaling and exiting. You wash your hands slowly, let the sensation of the water remind you that you’re back in your own body, and then cup some to your lips. The contact tingles, and you’re numb to the way it drips down your chin and shirt. You scoop another handful and splash it over your cheeks.

When you look up, you’re confronted by a face only inches from yours. It takes you a moment to register that you’re looking at yourself. You see your red eyes and ruffled hair, your skin angrily painted red. You realize you’ve been crying the whole time, an unexpected but familiar sight.

Seeing yourself like this, head on but flipped in the view of the mirror, you stare. You watch your own eyebrows furrow as you search deep in your eyes, the way your lips part and exhale. You wonder who you are, if this is really you. Once again you wonder what you’re doing here. Not just in the dorm bathroom, high out of your mind. Not just in this friend group, one that would be better without you. Not even in UA, on the hero course, treading towards a future you aren’t prepared for.

What are you doing here, on earth. Existing. 

You watch yourself cry, face pinching tight. Your eyebrows scrunch down and your nose tugs up with your lips. You watch your own eyelids squeeze shut before you sit in blackness, feeling only the distant sensation of salty water rolling down your cheeks.

Your legs give out. Before you know it you are a puddle of fabric and skin, melting to eventually lay on your side. You don’t hear yourself sob, choked noises sputtering on the cool tile. You don’t know how long it takes for your cries to die, but eventually you calm and turn to lay on your back. You soak in the cold ground below you, once again floating above and looking down on yourself.

This is how Sero finds you. He gently knocks on the door before letting himself in, immediately spotting you on your back, taking slow breaths—face flushed and tear-stained, with bloodshot eyes. He blanches at the sight and rushes over. He scans the ground for hints, but it’s clean.

“Hey, you okay?” he asks gently. You look at him blankly. “Did you throw up?” you shake your head. “Did you fall?” you shrug.

He sighs. “Are you hurt?”

You shake your head again.

“Let’s get you up then,” he says, and you avert your eyes.

You miss the way his face falls. “Hey, really. Are you okay?” he asks again, still gentle despite his firmness. “You can tell me if you’re having a hard time.”

You don’t feel how your face twists in a grimace. You close your eyes and shake your head gently, slowly. Even when you blink them open again, you won’t look his way. 

There’s a moment of quiet before he speaks. “I’m guessing you’re overwhelmed, we probably gave you too much. It’ll pass, okay? You won’t be stuck like this. Why don’t you come back and wait it out with the others? I think you’ll be more comfortable there.”

You look at him this time, sporting that pained expression, and shake your head. 

It’s quiet while you watch him think. Eventually he asks, “Do you want to be alone?” 

You immediately nod.

Another moment passes, his lips pressed in a thin line. “I don’t really feel comfortable leaving you alone,” he tells you. “But we can just hang out the two of us, okay? And we can do our own thing, not bother each other if you want. But I’m gonna make sure you have company.”

Your eyes glaze with tears and you curl away, facing him with your back.

“Hey,” he tries again. “I know we aren’t that close, but you can trust me, okay? Or I can get Kiri for you instead.” 

He hears you exhale loudly and make a grunt of disagreement. He waits, crouched on the floor for you to elaborate. You eventually shift so he can see your face, shooting him a nervous look.

“Alone, please.” 

“It’ll just be an hour with us,” Sero presses. “To make sure the peak passes.”

You stare ahead, pensively. “Just you,” you say. A flash of surprise crosses his features. “Just an hour.”

He nods in satisfaction. “Yep, exactly. Now let's get up, yeah?”

The process is far from easy or short, but Sero handles it gracefully. He doesn’t rush you when you say you need another moment, and he’s patient as you adjust to sitting and then standing. His hand hovers over your backside, not making contact, but prepared in case you stumble. You walk slowly down the hall and eventually to the door of Kaminari’s room.

“I’ll grab our stuff and then we’ll go to yours.”

You nod and stay in the hall as Sero steps inside. You hear him huff a laugh and say, “Did she really fall asleep too?”

“They okay?” Kirishima immediately asks, ignoring the question.

“Yeah,” Sero responds calmly. You hear sounds of shuffling. “A little out of it, I think we didn’t wait long enough before the first check in. I’m gonna chill in their room while they come down. Sorry to end things early.”

There’s a muffled grunt. “Are they in their room now? Can I come with?”

Your breath catches from behind the door, heart stirring.

The shuffling pauses. “Uhh…I’m not sure. I don’t wanna make it overwhelming.”

Rustling starts again, a weight lifting from the bed, and your heart thrums when you hear Sero’s voice get closer. “Man, I really wouldn’t push—”

Kirishima is in the doorframe, turning his head and then his body when he sees you. You try to stomp out your nerves at the sight of him and bring your hand up to wave awkwardly.

He visibly deflates, you wonder if in disappointment. “Oh, hey!” he says loudly, then widens his eyes at the volume. “Sorry,” he whispers, “Was hoping to catch you. Sero said you aren’t feeling well? I—”

You don’t hear the rest, eyes locked on his while he speaks. The usual white around his irises has a red tint, but it’s the only noticeable sign that he’s high. He sounds normal, chatting easily. You pout, remembering that you ate the same amount as him earlier. Why are you the only one dying? 

Suddenly Kirishima is looking concerned, eyes wide and furrowed like that pitied gaze. As you tune back in you hear: “Shit, I’m sorry. Did I say something wrong? I didn’t mean to make you cry—”

You’re crying? You bring a hand to your cheek and pull away shining fingertips. You hear a sob, and then moments later realize it was you. Your vision blurs and you feel the faintest sliding of tears down your face. You bring your hands back up to wipe them away, but they pour faster in response. You see the blur of Kirishima’s panicked face, layered with confliction. 

Why are you crying? you berate. Kirishima doesn’t deserve this: your messy, unpredictable spilling of emotions. Your skin heats in embarrassment, reddening with shame. Your hands shake as they continue to brush the tears away. You barely manage to stutter out an apology.

There’s a gentle touch on your arm. It’s warm, comforting, somewhat hesitant. Not meant for you, you think. Your crying continues, unchanged.

Suddenly you are tugged into an embrace of warmth. Your face presses against a soft cotton shirt, balmy and firm from the chest beneath it. Additional heat crawls around your waist and back from strong arms holding you close. You are so shocked from the gesture that your crying pauses, though only for a moment.

Then you cry harder, sobs wracking through the length of your body as you bury your head into the safety of Kirishima’s chest. You can feel him tense, his grip starting to loosen around you. Panic bubbles through you, and before you register your actions you are gripping his shirt—shoving your face further into him. His arms return their hold, tighter this time, and you respond by releasing his shirt to sneak your hands around his waist. When he doesn’t let go, you squeeze harder.

(Sero’s eyes widen from the doorway at the sight. Kirishima shoots him a look that could almost be considered a glare, but Sero shakes his head quickly.)

Suddenly you are hoisted upwards, your arms forcibly pulled from Kirishima’s torso to be replaced with your legs. Your head comes to rest in the crook of his neck and you bury it there, the wetness of your eyes and cheeks sticky against his skin. You’re embarrassed and eager for comfort, enough to disregard your remaining pride. You inhale shakily, lulled by the smell of a typical men’s soap mixed with a tang and the warmth of dust. Your body sways gently as he walks towards the elevator, the rock of a boat on calm water. It pours some stillness into your body. Your teary eyes raise over a large shoulder to see Sero trailing behind, watching with a guilty expression. You shove your head back down at the accidental eye contact.

The journey to your room is long, and you only realize it was the destination when you feel Kirishima sit and lower you onto his thighs—one large hand splayed against your back for stability. When your head is freed from the crease of his neck, you see your decorated wall behind him and the duvet of your bed. You lean back to offer him space, and let your eyes trail over the room. It’s yours, exactly how you left it. Except for Kirishima on your bed and Sero standing by the door, dumping everyone’s belongings on your desk.

When you look back at Kirishima he’s smiling softly, somewhat sheepishly. He speaks in a quiet and low voice. “Do you want me to move?”

It takes a few seconds to understand what he means, that he’s not sure if you’re comfortable in his lap like this. You look down at the tops of his thighs, noticing how he seated you by his knees—far from his hips. When you look back up his face is pink, and you flush at the implications of your staring.

Your answer is no. You want to tell him, but admitting it is impossible. You can’t get yourself to tell him yes, either.

He watches you closely before asking cautiously, “Is it okay if I stay like this?”

You nod easily at the reframing of the question, and he smiles gently. A tap on your shoulder draws your attention behind you, to Sero offering you some water. You take it and chug, only now noticing your thirst.

“Can I sit here too?” Sero asks, pointing to the bed. You nod while drinking.

You toss the bottle to the side when you finish, and meet Kirishima’s eyes tensely. The awkwardness starts to sweep over you, remembering that you’re sitting in his lap in the quiet room, both him and Sero watching you closely. Your mind is still cloudy, your body slow in sticky air. But you’re not alone in the bathroom. You aren’t sure if this is better or worse.

“Pretty hazy, huh?” Sero’s voice pulls you from your thoughts. You nod and he hums. “We’ll just hang with you while it passes, okay?”

“‘Kay,” you mumble. You look back to Kirishima and are given more smiles. While guilt still rests heavily in your stomach, you can’t help the feathery tickle of happiness in your chest. It’s selfish, you think, to have them like this—especially after your declaration to yourself in the bathroom—but you can’t get yourself to care. Your face curls into a slight smile, and it makes Kirishima beam.

It’s too much. His joy grabs your stomach in a tight fist and you have to look away. You feel eyes on you, and pull your head down to ignore them.

The hand on your back treads up and down carefully, soothingly. In a moment you are pressed gently into Kirishima’s chest, and you graciously take cover, hiding your face. His other hand glides around your waist and pulls you close. Warmth washes over you, the comfort of morning coals still hot from a night fire. It would relax you completely, if you weren’t on edge from your newfound closeness with your friend.

“Let us know if you need anything,” Kirishima’s voice rumbles through his chest. It reminds you of the distant rolling of a storm. “Anything, okay?”

You can only nod into his shirt, not willing to make eye contact. Your cheek presses against his heart, its beat thumping through your mind. It’s loud, like uncontained joy filling a room. But it’s slow, steady. You lean into it, let it set your rhythm for breathing. You inhale as four pulses pass, then exhale for five.

Time still treads slowly, wading through fog, but you notice you don’t resume your bathroom spiraling. You wonder if the heat of your friendly company is keeping you afloat. You wonder if it’s just postponing the eventual continuation of your drowning. You hear shuffling on your bed, Sero getting comfortable as he takes out his phone. Kirishima diligently rubs your back as he takes even breaths, the deep humming of his lungs pairing calmly with his heart.

Your mind wanders to gentler places, wondering why you deserve such care. Your heart deflates at the thought that it’s from pity—Kirishima’s sad eyes still haunting your memory. You don’t realize that your shoulders have tensed until a large hand trails up to softly coax them to relax. You exhale and let them fall.

It continues like this, Kirishima noticing your every movement, bringing attention to when you become rigid or unstable. He doesn’t say anything, only moves his hands to be a reminder, to your body and how it reacts to your emotions, your overthinking. Only when you feel settled in your skin, cradling the familiar weight of your own bones and flesh, do you realize how detached you were. You hadn’t actually re-entered yourself since you first looked at the top of your own head, only adjusted enough for it to feel normal. You wonder if that’s your default, if you ever feel embodied the way you are now. A long time passes, but it gets more comfortable the longer you sit in your friends hold.

You shift suddenly, from Kirishima adjusting himself. You bring your head up to look at him and he offers you an awkward smile.

“Need to use the bathroom,” he says quietly. A slight pang of disappointment runs through you, but you nod and lean to the side, catching yourself on the bed so he can get up. He stands slowly and gives each leg a moment to stretch. You make a face when his knees pop.

He smiles at you before turning to the door. “I’ll be right back, okay?” You hope he means the hugging, not just being in your room.

You nod as he exits. Your eyes linger on the door, body in a trance, until a dip of the mattress brings your attention to your side. It’s Sero, sitting up. He drops his phone on the bed, eyes focused on you.

“How’re you holding up?”

Your eyes fall to the duvet underneath you, fingers picking at invisible lint. “Better,” you answer.

“Good.” There’s an awkward pause before he continues. “Sorry I didn’t try harder to stop him earlier.”

You frown, brow furrowed in confusion.

He returns the look. “You said just me, in the bathroom,” he reminds you. “I didn’t know you weren’t so comfortable with him. Though I’m kind of glad he came anyway.”

Your frown deepens. “He doesn’t make me uncomfortable.”

“Oh,” he says. He looks like he wants to probe further.

“He…” you start, then pause. You look down as you continue, “I just don’t want him to be nice because he feels bad.”

“Wha—” Sero cuts himself off in disbelief. You miss his shocked face as you continue to pick at the blanket cover. “Hey, Kiri might have a strong moral compass, but he’s not your friend out of pity—none of us are.”

Your nose stings as you listen, eyes blinking carefully to prevent tears from spilling over. Your fist clenches the duvet tight enough to send prickles up your arm. A slender hand reaches to cover yours, urging it to relax.

“Hey,” he says gently. “I mean it. And I’m sorry if it hasn’t felt that way.”

Despite all the tears you’ve shed today, you still cry easily—an endless, open stream. You bring your free hand to wipe your eyes, and then attempt to cover your face from the embarrassment. Your chest hurts, heavy as it struggles to take air. You feel the mattress shift and a gentle touch at your back. It runs softly along your spine and you cry harder, releasing a small yelp. You pull the front of your shirt over your head to soak up your sounds and tears, reddening from the noises you don’t mean to release.

Sero keeps his distance, rubbing your back but not guiding you closer. It’s a different sort of comfort than Kirishima’s, a different consideration.

He speaks again once you’ve calmed. “I’m serious, though. I’m sorry if we ever made you feel unwelcome, because that’s definitely not the case.”

You inhale deeply and shrug. “It’s okay.” You sniffle and wince at your voice, its hoarseness. “It’s not your fault.”

“Still, I wish we could’ve made you comfortable enough to bring it up.”

You shake your head, thinking of your accidental confessional with Kirishima, your surprise at your own words and the way you told him to keep it secret, to forget about it, even. “It’s…it’s not just you all,” you try to explain. “I’m like this with everyone.”

He sighs and leans back against the wall. “We should be better about it than everyone else, then,” he says easily.

You huff, trying to brush away the lump in your throat. It comes with more stinging behind your eyes and you will it away, annoyed with your crying. You rub your shirt down your face one final time before dropping it and pouting. When you look at Sero you think he’s holding back a smile.

He looks nervous as he asks, “Can I give you a hug?”

You blink before nodding, moving closer to him by the wall. He leans towards you carefully, slowly, but his lean arms come over your shoulders to hold you close. His skin is cool and nice against your clamminess. He smells crisp and refreshing, unlike Kirishima’s dense warmth.

“Sorry I’m probably not as comfy as Kiri,” he says. You huff a laugh into his chest. 

“Still nice,” you mumble into his collarbone. “Comfy in a different way.”

He laughs breathily, giving your back a couple pats before a final squeeze around your shoulders. When you pull away, shuffling to sit beside him, his arm lingers over your shoulders. It keeps you close, to lean into his side.

“This okay?” he asks. You mumble, “yeah,” in response.

The next few minutes pass quietly. You find the silence comforting, not the awkward tension you have with others. Something about him is easy and relaxed, nonchalant where you might normally panic. Even now in your close embrace, he handles it effortlessly.

He breaks the silence abruptly. “I’m also sorry we didn’t catch on sooner,” he says. “At the very least I should’ve known to not let you take so much.”

You pout. “Kirishima had the same as me and he’s okay.”

Sero sighs beside you. “He’s also probably double your weight. You seem similar to Jirou, where it takes a while to feel but it hits pretty hard, huh?”

“I guess,” you mumble. “I don’t have anything to compare it to.”

He hums and lifts his hand from your shoulder to pat your hair. “Well, regardless I’m sorry your first time wasn’t good. If you ever wanna try again we can plan the dosage better. And the environment.”

You roll your eyes and tell him that it’s unnecessary.

“No it’s not,” he says, frowning. “Seriously. I want you to have a good time.” He turns his head to look at you closely. “And…if you wanna talk about what tonight was like, I’d like to hear. Kiri would too, if you’re willing to include him.”

As if on cue, the redhead stumbles through the door. You look up to see his arms full of snacks and a mug in each hand. 

“Sorry I took so long,” he says. “I got hungry. And I went to check on the girls but they’re still sleeping.”

“I just assumed you were taking a shit,” Sero says, watching as Kirishima approaches the bed and lifts his arms to let the snacks fall. “And don’t worry about them, Jirou always falls asleep. If Kaminari comes back he'll take care of them.”

You blink in surprise when one mug is offered to you. You take it slowly, inhaling steam and tanginess. “Thanks,” you say. You think you’d cry again if you weren’t so tired of it.

Kirishima beams in response, settling himself in front of you. He crosses his legs, a knee brushing over yours. You’re suddenly embarrassed by Sero’s arm around you, and you wonder if your red haired friend is upset. Then you realize he’s probably happy to be relieved from holding you. 

“You didn’t get me one?” Sero pouts.

“Don’t worry, I put mine in a bigger mug so you can have some too,” Kirishima responds, extending his arm for Sero to have a sip.

You bring your cup to your lips, a mix of citrus and floral and sweet coating your tongue. “It’s good.”

“Chamomile and lemon,” Kirishima explains. “With some honey.”

You take a couple more sips, letting warmth soothe your throat and flood your chest. You look up from your mug to meet twinkling red eyes. You wonder why he looks so happy.

“Any updates?” he asks. “It seemed like I interrupted some chatting.”

You shrug. “Just that I’m feeling better.”

The redhead smiles excitedly. “That’s great to hear! Are you feeling normal?”

You purse your lips as you ponder. “My body feels a lot more normal,” you say vaguely. “But my heart is still racing. And my head’s hazy.” You also still feel anxious—more than usual—but you don’t mention it in case they probe further. 

“That’s good.” Sero hums, and you see Kirishima’s eyebrows raise, like he wants to ask more. He glances towards Sero, unfolding a silent conversation, and you look away when you recognize it.

Before you can curl in on your own insecurity, Sero says, “It’s common to get anxious the first time you use. Did you feel like you were dying?”

You begin to shake your head, but pause. Your face scrunches in thought as you say, “After the movie. But then it was more that I was outside of my body and I couldn’t get back into it.”

Kirishima frowns and you think you can see the gears turning, metal churning in his mind. Sero speaks before it amounts to anything: “Maybe we can debrief more in the morning, when you’ve had some distance. Especially if you’re still foggy.”

You nod immediately, a wave of relief rolling through you. Kirishima’s shoulders drop, but he nods in understanding.

The night carries on with ease. Despite the bulk of the high having passed, the boys hang around and you don’t ask them to leave. The three of you end up squeezed under the covers, quietly munching on snacks while watching a show. You fall asleep after a few episodes, and your friends speak softly as they watch your steady breathing.

“Did I miss something?” Kirishima asks, tucked between you and the wall.

Sero shakes his head, laying on your other side by the edge of the bed. “Not much. I mostly just apologized for not noticing sooner. And for not being smarter about the dosage.”

The redhead frowns. “They cried again, though,” he says, remembering fresh smears of red around your eyes.

Sero blinks in realization. “Oh, right. Yeah.” Kirishima deadpans, unamused. Sero recalls what he can, when you said you didn’t want them to be nice because they felt bad. The redhead’s frown tugs further as he listens.

“Shit,” he mumbles. “Maybe I’ve been too pushy. They told me recently that they can have trouble with friend groups…I was trying to be more observant and include them when we’re all together but—maybe that’s not what they want.” His chest pangs at the thought that he could be making it harder for you.

Sero reads his friend easily, deciding to keep the bathroom conversation to himself. Instead he says, “I think they’re comfortable around you, just embarrassed. About sharing that kind of stuff.”

Kirishima looks at you, your sleeping form breathing beside him. You look uncertain even in your dreams, a slight crease burrowed between your brows. He sighs and lays back, eyes drifting to the ceiling. His heart clenches the way it normally does in your presence, this time with an additional pang of guilt.

“It’s not your fault,” Sero says. “We’ll talk in the morning, okay?”

The redhead closes his eyes and nods slowly. He lets out a breath before smiling and saying, “Yeah. Thanks, man.”

They shuffle themselves out of the bed carefully, Kirishima awkwardly crawling over you to avoid shifting the mattress. He releases a breath when he stands and you lay unbothered, still deep in dreamspace. He turns to Sero and they nod in unison, leaving quietly to ready for bed.

Waking is painful, your eyelids sticky against you. At first you try to fall back asleep, the effort of opening your eyes too grand. But the bathroom calls, and soon you are peeling them open—right first, then the left. You blink rapidly to grease them, taking in the lightness of the room. While your mind is still somewhat hazy, you recall everything in an instant. The anxiety lingers, carved distantly in your chest, but you feel grounded in your body. 

You turn your head, remembering falling asleep between your friends, but they’re nowhere in sight. Disappointment makes that hollowness feel deeper, and you mentally chide yourself for being delusional. You huff and will yourself to sit, swinging your legs over the bed to head to the bathroom. You almost yelp when you look at the floor.

Kirishima and Sero are occupying the ground, the redhead’s limbs sprawled around him like a seastar, and the other laying as straight as a corpse. You watch the latter’s chest for several seconds to confirm he’s breathing. Then you tiptoe carefully, swiping your toiletries from your desk and delicately leaping to the other side of the room. You exit quietly, leaving a sliver of space between the door and the frame. Once in the hall you sprint to the bathroom and lock yourself in a stall.

You scowl. Minutes ago you were disappointed that your friends didn’t spend the night in your room, and then the moment you realized they did, you ran away.

Your time in the bathroom is primarily spent scrutinizing the events that unfolded the night before. You cringe as you count how many times you cried, your continuous blubbering to Sero. Postponing the “debrief” felt good at the time, but having this conversation sober feels immensely mortifying compared to admitting to these things while high. You could be playing off your words as a bad experience right now, and then returning to your grand plan of isolation.

It makes your heart feel funny to think that’s why Sero suggested it.

After you brush your teeth and wash your face, you stand idly by the sink. You take your sweet time returning to your room, and even then you can’t bring yourself to the door. You stop a few paces away when you hear murmuring inside. You contemplate booking it downstairs and saying you needed fresh air.

The squeak of the hinges seizes your options, and suddenly you are staring at a freshly-woken Kirishima. He rubs his eye with his knuckle and you watch as he brightens when he sees you.

“Hey!” he says. “We were wondering where you went.”

You freeze in place, feet cemented to the ground. Your fist clenches around your bag as you force a pained smile. “Bathroom.”

Kirishima’s face softens, eyes widening slightly. “You okay?”

You nod by default.

His eyes trace over your features, drifting along your brow and lips. When he speaks again, it’s much softer. “It’s just us.”

You blink, inhaling sharply. He extends a hand out to you, eyes wide and light. You stare at it, hand immediately lifting towards it before you stop yourself. He takes the pause in stride, still waiting, for when you eventually step forward and touch your fingertips against his palm.

He smiles at the contact and curls his hand around yours, layered petals of a rose. He’s warm and soft, and lets himself hold it carefully for a moment.

“Thanks,” he says before gently tugging you back inside the room. Your heart skips.

You almost laugh at the sight of Sero, on his knees and sleepily folding the blankets on the floor. His hair is matted in some spots while frizzy in others, and he looks incredibly tired. 

“Mornin’,” he mumbles sleepily. 

You return the greeting while Kirishima guides you through your room. When he reaches your bed, he asks to sit.

“You seem excited,” you blurt as you lower yourself next to him.

“I’m always excited to talk to you.”

You flush at the admission and dart your eyes to Sero. You feel betrayed by his lack of reaction, still folding the blankets.

“Okay…” you trail off, unsure how to respond.

Kirishima takes it easily. “How are you feeling?”

You want to say nervous. Instead you say, “Normal.”

“Good normal?” Sero chimes in.

You’re taken aback by the clarification. “Normal normal,” you say.

The pause that follows is enough time to bring unease into your body. It seeps from your shoulders to your chest, and then collects in your stomach. You frown. 

“I’m sorry,” you say when there’s still no response. You ignore their looks of confusion and let yourself blabber. “For making you babysit me. But thanks…I appreciate it, and I think it’s what I needed.”

“Anytime,” Kirishima says immediately. “Don’t apologize, we wanted to. We like hanging out with you.”

Instead of reassuring you, it pulls your face further into a frown. While you know Kirishima to be earnest, he doesn’t usually say these things to you outright. You wonder if he’s trying to be nice, to soften the prickles of your embarrassment.

Your skepticism must show. His face twists in a grimace and he loosens his hold on your hand—an unfurling petal. “Sorry, was that too much?”

You feel like a withered flower yourself, still stomaching your fears but beyond your capacity. It only takes a few shakes for your dried leaves to scatter. You brace yourself as you release them. “It’s just…you don’t have to say stuff like that.”

The air stills at your words. Sero’s folding stops, and you feel Kirishima’s rigidness through his hand. You stare down at it, avoiding the way his eyes track you closely. He says carefully, “But I mean it.”

The words sift right through you, a ghost passing by. You’re so numb to all the bad scenarios in your head, you don’t know how you feel when the opposite occurs. Your response comes out equally unfeeling.

 “It’s hard to believe,” you say, the words empty on your tongue. You want to slam your head in the wall for sounding so dramatic.

The hand over yours tightens. A dip on your other side indicates Sero has joined. You remain still, but your heart races beneath your stoicism. A soft pressure grazes your back, Sero’s gentle fingers. It’s distant, a contrast to the vice grip on your hand. But both touches are caring: one offering patience while the other expresses need.

“Can you tell us about last night?” Sero asks quietly.

You try. 

The words flow slowly. You pick them carefully, focusing on explaining sensations rather than your emotional journey. You describe how you felt at the end of the movie, the full force of your altered state, how time passed and you drifted further and further from yourself. You vaguely mention your overthinking, overanalyzing every interaction you noticed. You recount staring in the mirror until your legs gave out. You tell Kirishima that he helped guide you back into your own body.

Sero grimaces when you finish and says, “That sounds rough. I really am sorry—for not paying better attention.”

Kirishima nods in agreement while you shrug and say, “It’s okay.”

The three of you chat softly, mostly you answering when they ask for details. Sero looks intrigued, admitting that he hasn’t heard much about dissociation while using, but that it makes sense. His questions are easy—clinical, even. Kirishima asks the harder ones, trying to reign in answers that you’re too embarrassed to give.

“Do you have any guesses for what triggered it?”

You chew on the inside of your cheek, attempting to craft a response that doesn’t sound incredibly depressing.

Before you can speak, he asks, “Do you think it has to do with what you told me before? About being with bigger groups of people?”

The aversion of your eyes is enough of an answer. You stare at the rumpled blanket beneath you, busy your free hand by attempting to smooth out a patch of wrinkles. Eventually you nod.

You feel a squeeze around your other hand—the one still in Kirishima’s. You bring your eyes to his cautiously. “Can you tell us?” he asks. “We’re interested in hearing why.”

You swallow as you grimace. You think of words that can soften the edges of your thoughts. You settle on: “I think seeing myself from the outside made me realize that I don’t really contribute to the friend group.”

Their surprised looks make you flush, but you continue carefully when they encourage you. “I just…I don’t know why I get invited to hang out when I hardly ever speak. Hagakure is actually invisible and she’s more noticeable than me.”

Sero looks at you thoughtfully. “Do you like hanging out with us?” he asks.

You nod.

“Do you want to talk and be a bigger part of the conversation?”

You still, not expecting to be asked so directly. The answer sits at the tip of your tongue, but your eyes and nose sting. You swallow and take a few breaths before responding as evenly as you can. “I just…don’t want you all to think I’m lame, or stupid.”

They both shift at that, turning closer towards you. It makes you falter on your spot of the bed, your free hand pressing down for balance. You hear both of your friends start a response, then cut themselves off at the sound of the other’s voice. There’s a moment of silence, an exchange of glances you don’t see, and then finally Kirishima speaks first.

“We would never think that,” he says. “We invite you because we want to get to know you better. We want you to talk openly.”

Sero nods and adds, “I think you’re also forgetting that half of us are idiots. We’re always goofing around and saying stupid shit anyways. Besides, we know you’re smart.”

The huff of laughter that escapes you is genuine, but easily stomped as more insecurities rise within you, the beginning of a boil. You can’t stop now that you’ve started. “It’s hard, when everyone already seems so close,” you say. It reminds you of last night, when Sero said Kaminari was used to dealing with Jirou falling asleep in his room.

Sero hums. “I can understand that being difficult, since we’re closer to each other than you. But Kiri’s right, we wanna get to know you too. If it’s hard as a group, we can always hang out separately. Like now.”

Kirishima adds, “And the others would too.”

Your stomach squeezes at the thought of asking any of them to spend time with you, but you nod regardless and say, “Okay.” They don’t seem convinced.

“Is there anything we can do in the meantime?” Kirishima presses. “To make you feel more included? When we’re all together, I mean.”

You bite your tongue, an obvious answer ready. But it’s hard to say these things openly. Sero notices and says, “Really, anything.”

Your heart is still uneasy, but you shovel through your embarrassment. “I like when people ask me questions. It’s hard to jump into a conversation by myself.”

Kirishima brightens, as if you’ve offered him a gift. “Oh! That makes sense. Aw man, I wish I’d noticed sooner. I always have so many questions about you, but I don’t wanna overwhelm you.”

You blink in surprise at his words, a weight lifting from your chest. You feel excited by the admission, and embarrassed. You think the shift of energy in the room is palpable, much lighter than when you first came back from the bathroom. You smile sheepishly.

“Then can I ask…” he continues, “Last night—Were you okay with the touches? I’m big on hugging, but I probably should’ve been better about asking. That’s my bad. You can always tell me to stop.”

You shake your head easily. “No, it was nice. Like I said earlier, I think it helped.”

The redhead beams, hand tightening over yours. “That’s awesome to hear. I’m always open to it, y’know? I love hugging my friends and cuddling.”

Your cheeks darken at the honesty. You know you won’t ever feel brave enough to ask, but you nod in understanding. 

Sero huffs beside you. “We all do,” he says. “Even Bakugou. He’ll complain but he never moves.”

You smile at the comment, though not even a possibility to entertain. You prefer avoiding the blond at all costs. 

Kirishima is still smiling at you, with a joy you can’t understand. “Thanks for telling us,” he says softly, rubbing his thumb against your palm. You only find it in yourself to nod, heart quivering at his gentleness. 

“Thanks for asking,” you say. You have to tear your eyes away from Kirishima, his smile widening in such earnestness that you can’t let yourself entertain what it might mean. Instead you catch Sero’s easy grin, a calmer space.

Maybe he notices your antsiness, because he looks to Kirishima and says, “Maybe we can chat more at breakfast? I’m getting hungry.”

It’s easy bait for the redhead, immediately biting. “Oh, of course, man. You want me to cook you something? I’ve been wanting to try making an omelet, I heard you can get a ton of protein in the morning that way.”

You have to bite your lip to suppress the giant grin that crawls up your face. Sero catches it as he wears his openly. “Sounds awesome,” he says to Kirishima before looking back at you. “We’ll go take our stuff back to our rooms and then meet you downstairs?”

You nod, sliding off the bed while they gather their blankets and pillows. You open the door as they enter the hall. Sero nudges Kirishima onwards before turning to shoot you a smile. You take the stairs to avoid sharing the elevator.

The common room is surprisingly empty when you enter, despite approaching noon. While you pull eggs from the fridge and whatever other things you think belong in an omelet, Kaminari stumbles through the door. You wave when he spots you.

“Hey!” he says brightly, bouncing over. “How was the rest of your night?”

“Good,” you say simply, tired of talking about it.

His eyes shine when he spots the food on the counter. “Woah, you’re making breakfast?”

You watch his face morph into a pout, a plea. “Kirishima is,” you say. “I’ll tell him to make extra for you.”

He grins. “You’re the best.”

You blink in surprise, watching him pull out his phone and lean against the counter. Not knowing what to say, you ask about his time with Shinsou.

“Hmm? It was good,” he replies, thumb scrolling mindlessly. He brightens and then starts typing before saying, “Oh! He wants to try this cafe tomorrow, apparently they have tons of different chocolate options. You should totally come if you’re free.”

He turns his phone to you, showing an array of desserts. They look good, ones you would seek out on your own. But your brow furrows, wondering why he’d want you to third-wheel his date. “It looks really good,” you say.

“I know!” he exclaims. “You always eat those chocolate covered snack things, this seems like your style.”

You freeze at his words. Your heart lifts in your chest, but you carefully maintain a blank face.

“Anyways, let me know,” he says. He pushes away from the counter and heads toward the elevator. “I’ll be back down in a second!”

You are left alone and stunned in the kitchen. You frown, wondering if Kirishima or Sero set him up after the conversation minutes ago. Why else would he ask you to come along? Especially with him and Shinsou. Was he really that observant? Why would he even notice?

Your mind trails back to your conversation with the boys this morning. We wanna get to know you.

You inhale deeply, puffing your cheeks as you hold your breath. After a few seconds you let it expel slowly. Maybe Kaminari and Shinsou just want to hang out—with you. Maybe they don’t mind that you’re quiet. Your body tingles.

Ten minutes later you are wedged between Sero and Kaminari, the three of you on chopping duty while Kirishima whips eggs on the other side of the counter.

“So, you think you’ll come along?” Kaminari asks while the other two argue over how many peppers to use. You nod, and he brightens. “Awesome! I’ll tell Toshi.”

Your eyebrows raise at the nickname, then at the way the blond licks the remnants of tomato off his fingers to type on his phone.

When the others cast curious glances, you quietly explain. “We’re going to a cafe tomorrow.”

Kirishima immediately blinks, saying, “Wait—” while Sero gasps dramatically. You furrow your eyes in confusion until the latter asks, “Where’s our invite?”

Kaminari snickers. “Toshi says the rest of you are too loud. He wants a peaceful day out.”

Kirishima’s face falls into a pout and you feel bad at your growing smile. For the second time today, you bite down on your lip to suppress it, but Sero notices. He makes a show of his own exaggerated petulance, but then it morphs into another easy grin. You think he looks happy for you.

“Let’s study together today,” you tell Kirishima. At his immediate switch to a joyful smile, you let yours return. You feel yourself beaming like an idiot.

“Oh, let me join!” Kaminari says. “You’re so good at English, and I need so much help.”

“No!” Kirishima immediately protests. “You can ask Bakugou. You’re already stealing them tomorrow.”

The noise that leaves the blond is akin to a squawk. “I said I want to be tutored, not bullied—”

You giggle as they bicker, turning back to your onion as you feel your cheeks heat. You continue chopping, embarrassed by the attention. A nudge from your left makes you look up, eyes connecting with Sero’s. He gives you a wink and then sticks out his tongue. You return the gesture.

Your heart still beats quickly and you feel the familiar tingle of nerves thrum through your hands. Your mind has a slight haze, a tough stain left by the previous night. Your cheeks are warm from embarrassment. You cringe at the mere thought of the conversation in your room earlier.

But you’re moving forward, you think. To the cafe with Kaminari and Shinsou, to study with Kirishima. To let your friends in just a little bit, and to begin this careful exploration of yourself in the process.

[ughgoaway]

What was it like when neighbor Matty and girlie met 🤭

-Belle <3 <3 (love u)

omg, my beloved belle!!! good question my love

Ooooh okay, so I think you first see each other on move-in day. you're lugging box after box upstairs, pink-cheeked and sweaty in a way that makes you look like you're on mile 25 of a marathon. Wou were expecting to be able to use the lift, but there's a sign on it that says “broken until further notice” and judging by the dust that covers the paper, it's been that way for a long time.

You're dragging the last box across the floor when a man dressed in all black with curls peeking out the hood dragged over his head strolls into the building, he spares a glance at you and smiles, adjusting the headphones that sit on his ears. Despite them being plugged into his iPod, you can hear the heavy bass and mumbled lyrics in the room just because of how loud it's blasting in his ears.

He strolls past you carelessly, walking up to the lift and pressing the button. You go to grab his shoulder and tell him it's broken, but before you can the lift dings, and the doors slide open. You watch in frustrated shock as he strolls in, pressing the door close button and shooting you a wink a few seconds before they click closed. you don't take the final box up the lift out of principle, but by floor 3 you're wondering if you have any principles left or if you've sweat them all out.

But you don't count that as your first meeting, because neither of you spoke, the actual first time you met was under unfortunate circumstances.

Matty being a bartender means he really has no concept of other people's less nocturnal schedules, so when he comes home at 4 am from a shift, he doesn't hesitate to turn on the radio and clang around his kitchen making a grilled cheese.

As soon as the radio clicks on you roll your eyes and flip over in bed, dragging your pillow over your ears as you do. You try to let it go, not wanting to be that annoying neighbour on day one of moving in, but when he drops a pan on the floor and it makes an ear-shattering bang, you can't help but roll out of bed and storm over. You knock furiously on his door, gradually banging louder and louder when he can't hear you over the nirvana he’s blaring.

Eventually, the door creeks open, and Matty doesn't hesitate to look you up and down, silently judging your Winnie the Pooh pyjamas with a smirk. It's then you realise the hot mystery stranger from earlier just happens to be your neighbour, and a shitty one already.

Your eyes widen briefly at the sight of him, but they soon settle into a scowl Matty grows to know all too well. You huff lightly before speaking, “Look, maybe your last neighbour was more cool than me, or half dead, but would you be able to turn your music down a bit? It's 4am and I've only just finished unpacking. i'd like to sleep without Kurt Cobain screaming at me through the wall”

Luckily the man whose name you don't yet know nods, not dragging his eyes away from your exposed legs before he speaks. “‘Course love. Don't wanna stop you getting your beauty sleep, do I, princess?” his familiar smirk falling over his face once again. Maybe it was endearing the first few times, but at this point, you kind of want to smack it off his smug face. 

“Thanks. princess,” you respond, rolling your eyes as you walk back to your apartment, acutely aware of his eyes on your ass as you stroll. You turn back to catch him in the act, but his stare doesn't falter when you spin around, instead, he nods at you and winks just like he had earlier on, clicking his tongue before slipping back into his apartment. You stay frozen for a few seconds, but the gradual turning down of smells like teen spirit brings you back to earth, finally able to hear your thoughts again. It's then and there you knew he’d be trouble, and you didn't like that you couldn't quite figure out how you felt about that.

[angel-kyo]

Almost the one [I]

When a too prone to fall in love Satoru decides he is tired of always chasing the wrong person, his eyes finally turn to the one that should be his perfect match, and to your dismay, this is no other than one of your closest friends.

This is sort of inspired by/aligned with this thing I wrote.

=======================

“No. Absolutely not.”

Satoru’s smiling face turned to what could pass for a pleading pout, if you had ever seen one, but you could not give in this time.

“Why not, [name]?” he asked, but he already knew the answer.

You sighed. “Utahime is my friend. You know my friends are off-limits.”

If anyone overheard your conversation with Gojo, they would probably think the reason why you did not want him to ask your friend out was that you had feelings for him, however, that was not it.

Actually, it was far from the truth.

You loved him, sure. He was pain sometimes, but in a way, you did. You wanted him to find happiness and love, of course, but…

“I know, but…” He turned to look behind, maybe hoping to catch a last glimpse of Utahime, who had just left the two of you sitting at the coffee shop where you and she had been studying before he arrived.

The thing about Satoru was…

He turned back to you with that lovesick grin you knew too well. “What if she is the one?”

...That he always fell too easily.

You finished the last bite of your pastry and started gathering your things, ignoring the man smiling in front of you.

That smile is like a fire alarm.

Satoru had been like that ever since you knew him, and since he discovered romance.

His charms always made it easy to catch the glances of the prettiest faces of girls and boys wherever he went, and a few sweet words later, he and whoever had caught his attention were in for a romantic failure.

Yes, a failure.

Unfortunately, for some reason, Satoru was great at initially engaging people but not so much at keeping them. No, he was not a womanizer of any sorts, not consciously at least. In fact, most times, it was always the girls he dated the ones that left him first. Nevertheless, the reason why he seemed to fail at every relationship attempt had remained a mystery to you since junior high up until now that you were in university.

You zipped your backpack and gave him a skeptical look. “A month ago, you were saying Hana could be the one.”

Satoru rolled his eyes and stood up, mirroring your movements. “Okay, well, I was wrong. Obviously,” he mumbled. “But that does not mean I will be wrong this time!”

Just a couple weeks ago, he had called you nearing midnight because Hana had told him she was not ready for a relationship after dating him for three weeks.

In your opinion, she had not even passed the probation period.

“Gojo, I admire your optimism, but I value my friendship with Utahime, and...”

If… No. When it does not work out, I don’t want to be in the middle.

Now, how could you say that without hurting him?

You bit your lip. “And you’re not her type anyway.” You walked outside and he followed.

“Not her type?” he asked eyeing your form. “And what kind of guys is she into?”

Satoru knew people could have personal preferences when it came to looks, but he trusted that 1) he was not ugly, and 2) even if his looks were an issue, -again, not that they had ever been- he could convince Utahime to see past his physical appearance. After all, love was blind, right?

From your point of view, the issue was not the type she liked. Physically, Satoru could fit into the description of your friend’s perfect guy, but personality-wise, you were not sure they were compatible. It was hard to picture your serene, put-together Utahime with a guy who was so daring when it came to romantic matters and who already had earned a certain reputation around campus.

“I mean… Please don’t take it the wrong way, but I don’t think you’re the kind of guy she is looking for.”

You stopped walking when you heard Satoru’s steps halt behind you.

Okay. That had not been the right way to put it.

Your turned to face him and were going to try and rephrase it when he spoke first.

“Then help me become him”, he said.

“Huh?”

He stepped closer. “You see what’s wrong with me, right? You can help me fix it, help me be the kind of man who doesn’t get dumped.”

He must be joking…

“Satoru, there is nothing wrong…”

“’Nothing wrong with me’. I know, you always say that, but it would not hurt to make sure.”

Although Satoru could sometimes be dramatic when a girl left him, deep down, you always believed he was not that affected by it. At the end, he always reverted to his hopeful self, willing to show the next person his best winning smile.

But if he was not affected, why was he looking at you like that now?

Maybe you were wrong. Maybe he was tired of getting his heart returned as an unwanted gift each time.

You looked around for a second. You two standing there would have been an obstacle on the sidewalk if the streets were more crowded, but they weren’t despite the lovely weather of the last days of winter melting into spring.

“I wouldn’t know why the girls who dated you dumped you.” You shrugged. “I’ve never dated you.”

His eyes shone at your words. That was a look you had not seen often but had, somehow, learned to understand.

If his lovesick smile is a fire alarm, that look announces an earthquake.

Indeed, his next words would shake your world.

“Then do it, [name]. Date me.”

=======================

Note: I was putting off writing this because I thought it would be bad, but bad writing is still fun, so just don't mind me.

Anyway, if you read it, thank you!

[heelvr78]

Project “sex” |L.H| TEASER

Pairing ◊ Fem!readerxstudent!hee

Genre ◊ smut, classmates too ??

Warnings ◊ smut, fem receiving, kissing, fingering, praising, degradation,unprotected sex, cock warming, ect.reader and heeseung are 18

Summary ◊ you and Heeseung have a project about human anatomy. You may end up exploring each others.

Release date: to be determined

Word count: to be determined

a/n: hey, this is my first fic so I hope you like it. Repost and likes appreciated.

More under the cut <3

“Good morning class” Ms smith says before sitting down her books on her desk. “ today we will be making a project about human anatomy. You are free to choose who to work with, the due date will be next Monday and we will present Tuesday”.

“Great” you huff as you look around the room to find a partner. You don’t really have friends except for Bryana and Hannah. They have always been by your side through thick and thin but unfortunately you don’t have any classes with them.

“Umm Ms I don’t have a part…” you say before you get cut off because of his arrival. Lee heesueng. He’s the cutest boy in your grade. He’s tall, has dark hair, sharp features. You’ve had a crush on him since junior high.

“ well y/n looks like you’ll have to work with Heeseung ” Ms smith says. You both give each other awkward glances before sitting down at a table and getting started on your project together.

“So what do you want our topic to be?” Heeseung says breaking the awkward silence. “ since everyone else took the less embarrassing option we have to do genitals” you gradually whisper out of embarrassment.

His cheeks begin to turn red at the thought of studying your private area. Before you and Heeseung can get started the bell rings for your next class. “ hey, do you mind coming over after to school to continue working on the project” heeseung says with a smirk on his mouth. “ yeah sure, I’ll be there around 4.” You say before darting out of the class to your friends down the hall.

You meet Bryana and Hannah standing next to your locker. “ guys you’ll never believe who I’m working with for my biology project” you say out of excitement “ who?” Both Bryana and Hannah say out of genuine confusion and curiosity. “Lee Heeseung” you say with excitement. “You know he’s know to be an f-boy right?” Hannah says with a concerned tone. “Well I think this is the perfect opportunity for her to talk to new people” Bryana says enthusiastically. Before you guys can finish your conversation the bell rings for your next class.

After the last bell rings you’re headed to heesueng’s house. You arrive to his front door and nervously ring the door bell. Suddenly the door swings open to a shirtless heesueng with gray sweats and wet hair.

As he stands in the doorway you can’t help but stare at his muscular physique. He looks straight out of my magazine. Suddenly you feel a wetness pooling in your panties.” You okay?” heesueng says with a concerned tone even though he knows exactly what he’s doing. “ yeah, yeah I’m fine” you say. “Come in” he says while opening the door for you. As you pass by him you can smell his strong cologne.

@

[caffedrine]

Matias Asbrink - Fake Lovers for a Day - Event Summary

This is mostly a summary for me - I make no promises on the accuracy of what’s happening. I’m not nearly fluent enough to get half the jokes/innuendo much less accurate plot points.

As a warning - this event goes into some dark things with Matias. Beware.

Matias, the First Prince of Achroite, the Land of Snow and Laws was a serious man who deeply respects the laws. Yes, he has some rather eccentric aspects to his personality, but deep down, he was honest and good. However, when he appears in court as a Judge, he only embodies the face of the cold impartial justice of the law. 

After finishing her role as Belle with no romantic entanglements, Emma went to Achroite with Akatsuki. Akatsuki, too young to be her father, travels around various countries to their bookstores, buying and selling rare and valuable books. 

Since coming to Achroite, Emma has grown accustomed to the sight of snow falling like flower petals, but the sight still makes her heart jump with joy. Snow was rare in her home country of Rhodolite, so she has never had a chance to get used to the fairytale scenery. Then again, the person who truly looks like he stepped out of a fairytale illustration is walking next to her.

Up close, Matias looks even more fantastical, with hair the color of fading twilight and eyes the color of snow in the shadows. His aura is as pure and beautiful as the white snow falling around them.

Matias notes that Emma has been exploring parts of the city and asks if she has some favorite places yet. 

While marveling over how approachable and personable he is, Emma tells him about a bookstore in the center of town. She’s been visiting almost every day and can’t stop. Matias recognizes the place; he’s been visiting it since he was a schoolboy. They both agree that the owner is what makes it so welcoming, with his cheerful, friendly, and all-around decent persona. 

Emma heard recently from the bookstore owner about a museum that specializes in romantic exhibits. She asks if Matias has ever been there.

Unfortunately, no. It’s a relatively new museum, but the owner is an eccentric with particular requirements for people to even enter. For one, all his customers must be in a romantic relationship, and come as a couple. 

Since Matias is single, and unless he misunderstood, Emma is too, they are both out of luck. 

That’s a shame, Emma heard that one of the limited exhibits would be centered around her newest favorite novel (set in Achroite). It’s a shame she’ll probably never get a chance to see it.

(Now she knows what it’s like in Keith’s route when you want to read a romantic book/see a romantic scene but can't)

Matias pauses, deep in consideration. They both want to go visit the museum, but they’re both woefully single. Maybe . . . Maybe they could work something out?

Matias quickly assures her that he doesn’t intend to break any rules. But, if they become a couple for the express purpose of visiting the museum, and then break up right after, that wouldn’t be technically breaking any laws. Right?

Also, Matias isn’t the type to normally rush things, he knows the social etiquette rules around becoming lovers, and he doesn’t intend to have a whirlwind romance. 

After a fateful encounter, they would slowly grow closer over an appropriate amount of time. As they fall deeply and helplessly in love, they finally confess and soon, are united as one . . . 

Emma gives him a good shake, calling his name. This brings Matias back to reality, and he coughs uncomfortably, centering himself. Anyway - before he got distracted - he was saying that he’s not the type of person to push boundaries and rush into relationships. 

However, the exhibit they’re both interested in is on display for a limited time. Without wishing to offend, perhaps they can be lovers for a short amount of time, just to visit the museum?

Honestly, Emma is the only one he can depend on in this situation. As a friend, does she agree?

Emma understands completely. Matias is very popular with the women, and if he were to propose being temporary lovers, she has no doubt it will end with the other person in tears. Honestly, this arrangement works out for both of them. 

Emma agrees to Matias’ proposal. Even though they’ve been friends for such a short time, she knows that deep down he’s a good man. Besides, there is nothing weird about friends being fake lovers. Right?

Matias beams at her, his expression suddenly switching from friendly to sexy. He assures her that he will take good care of her.

Emma thought the princes of Rhodolite had prepared her on how to handle attractive men. However, their collective attractiveness could not hold a candle to the radiant sun of Matias’ charms. Emma has to take a deep breath to steel herself and then bows politely to Matias. She is in his (temporary) care as his lover.

Suddenly Matias holds out his hand to her. At her confused expression, Matias explains that he wants her to hold hands with him.

Wait a minute. Are they starting right now?

Yes, Matias doesn’t think he can escort her adequately on the day of their museum trip without some time to get used to thinking of her as his (temporary) lover.

From this moment until after they visit the museum, he intends to be lovers with her. That should give them enough time to go on at least one outing as lovers too. 

Wow, Matias does not do things by halves. Looking into his earnest eyes, Emma can tell that he is absolutely serious. 

Well then, they’ll be lovers for only a short while, but she will give it her all too. She timidly accepts Matias’s hand, and he grasps her fingers, rubbing them. As her lover, he noticed that her hands were cold, even though she was wearing gloves. He grows worried, Achroite is famously much colder than Rhodolite - is she having any trouble adjusting?

(Now he cares)

Emma assures him that she is fine - it’s cold but she doesn’t mind. The country of Achroite is very beautiful, so to her, the positives far outweigh the negatives. 

Matias is relieved, Achroite is the land of snow, it would be difficult to stay here without enjoying it. So that she can enjoy the scenery even more, he grasps her other hand to warm it in his.

Matias is truly doting on her. Emma looks away bashfully as he brings her hands to his face to blow hot air on them. 

He touches her hands like they are precious treasures. The edges of his mouth lift in the beginnings of a smile as he exhales over them.

Forget her hands, the rest of Emma is growing uncomfortably warm. Maybe it was a mistake, to agree to be his temporary lover. 

They make plans for a date later in the week, and part ways to return to their respective duties. 

On the day of their date, Emma arrives at their prearranged meeting place a little early. She is still surprised by the events of the last few days; she has received a letter from Matias every day since she agreed to be his (temporary) lover. Andrea what Matias wrote . . . Her face grows red remembering. She knew that he was a romantic at heart, but those letters . . . 

Emma is taken out of her reverie by the sound of the people talking next to her. They’re discussing the bookstore in the center of town, and how it is running a fraudulent business. Their book prices are outrageous, and the owner has a nasty temper just because one of the two was a bit rough with his books. They agree to warn their friends to stay away from the bookstore.

Emma recognizes that store as one of her favorites. Yes, the prices are high, but the owner sells rare books. Also, as a fellow book lover, her heart sinks at the thought of a book being handled roughly.

Emma starts to interject gently, telling the two men that there must be a misunderstanding.

The two men immediately accuse her of being an agent of the bookstore owner. They ask if she’s in on the fraud and close in around her, threateningly.

Matias asks if the two men are prepared to make that statement in a court of law. He reminds them that perjury and defamation are very heavy crimes in Achroite, and they will need to be prepared to pay for any crimes. 

The two men fall silent, only now noticing Matias. He continues, that if the bookstore owner wanted to, he had two witnesses to them making false statements. He warns them that while they are free citizens of Achroite, they are still responsible for behaving in accordance with the law.

Emma rarely gets to see Matias like this, as the impartial arbiter of justice. 

Matias ends by adding that he personally will not tolerate continued disrespect to his girlfriend. Who totally loves him, as much as he loves her. Which is a lot.

Smiling beatifically at her, Matias drapes his arm around her shoulders and leads her away from the two thugs.

(Step one of dating - make sure the local thugs spread the news)

After they leave the area, Emma thanks Matias for protecting her back there. Matias assures her that it was fine, besides, she did the right thing back then. Emma is confused and Matias elaborates. Like he said, those men were slandering the store owner. Granted, it’s not a crime if the victim, the store owner, doesn’t report it, but those men were still behaving criminally. He is proud that his ‘girlfriend’ can recognize and call out criminals so quickly. 

Oh, how awkward. Emma wasn’t calling out those men to uphold the law, she just wanted to clear up any misunderstandings about the store owner. She’s not a champion of justice or anything, and probably wouldn’t have intervened if those men weren’t talking about someone she personally knew.

But Matias seems happy with it, and it’s such a small matter that Emma decides to leave it be. She promises Matias that she will do her best to be a woman worthy of him.

After that, they went to the various places Matias had planned out on their date, and Emma’s appreciation for the country of Achroite grew. She tried candy with frozen fruit, admired the intricate woodwork, and freaked out when Matias seemed to look at her too closely. Matias immediately backed down from the last bit, explaining that he’d never had a girlfriend before and that this was a new experience for him as well.

Matias was also able to explain Achroite culture to Emma, which helped her gain a deeper understanding of a scene in one of her favorite romance books. Matias admires the fictional couple, as he too wants to find a love that he would risk his own life for. 

He adds though, that he thinks the male lead is entirely unreasonable, letting the main character get into all these dangerous situations. If he could switch places, he would keep his princess in a safe cage place free from all danger where he could keep her pure.

Matias notices the side eye Emma is giving him and apologizes for saying all that in front of her. His girlfriend. 

No - that’s not the part Emma was worried about. What’s this about a Princess? Is Matias cheating on his real lover with Emma?

Oh, no, not at all. Matias is talking about his future wife whom he has yet to find. 

Matias begins to describe his ideal future wife: a woman full of noble dignity, a warm heart, and an honest appreciation for things. 

As he continues, Emma is amazed at how specific Matias’ ideals for his future wife are. It’s almost as if he’s describing someone he knows.

Eventually, Matias winds down his explanation, finishing up that his future wife would be a lot like Emma herself. 

Emma gives him a puzzled look and Matias coughs uncomfortably. 

Wow, he is really looking forward to seeing the couple’s museum. Isn’t Emma?

They continue their date long into the day as the sun begins to set, dying the town red. 

Suddenly the air around Matias seems to change, and he pulls them both to a stop, staring at the crowd of people. Looking at him, Emma thinks he has gone as cold as ice.

Just as she starts to ask him what is wrong, Matias apologizes and asks her to wait just a moment. Before she can respond, he sprints out into the crowd. He jumps a man walking through the crowd, pulling him to the ground and pinning his arm behind him. Matias has recognized this man as a criminal who intends to break into Ultima Thule, free some of the prisoners, and escape the country. Matias knows everything, and this man will pay for his crimes.

This man has enacted illegal means to acquire restricted information, bribed some of the guards, and, worst of all, had made contact with an individual in Obsidian for his escape route.

The man is shocked at how much Matias knows. Matias tells him not to underestimate the National Guard, they haven’t apprehended him yet only because they were looking for his hideout. Thanks to this man, this criminal, walking through town, the investigation can be brought to an end. 

The man wails that ‘her’ body is failing and that she can’t take it anymore.

Matias nods, the man was waiting for the right time to strike but became impatient and moved ahead. 

Of course, even if Matias hadn’t just found him, the man would have failed. Ultima Thule’s security would have stopped him, no one can escape. 

The man screams that it’s not ‘her’ fault. She was just trying to help someone; she didn’t realize that person was connected to Obsidian. 

In a monotone voice, Matias pronounces that anyone who breaks the law is a criminal.

Matias notices Emma watching and a small thaw in his demeanor appears. He assures Emma this will all be over shortly. 

The man on the ground has heard that Matias has a lover. Matias tells him that his relationship status is none of the man’s business. 

The man shouts that if Matias has a lover, he must know exactly how he feels. The wish to do anything for your lover, even at the expense of yourself.

Yes, the man has committed grave sins, and he will commit them again and again for ‘her’ sake. He will bear any punishment, even if it costs him his life, just please show his lover mercy. 

Matias tells the man not to lump in his girlfriend with criminals. Unlike them, Emma is a pure and righteous woman. 

By this time the city guard has come, and Matias hands the man over to them. Then, as if nothing out of the ordinary happened, he comes back to where Emma is standing.

He immediately notices that she’s shaking and smiling gently and asks if she’s okay.

Emma assures him she is and asks about Ultima Thule.

Ultima Thule is Achroite’s forced labor prison. Criminals who’s crimes are not so bad that they’re executed are sent there to work off their debts to society. It’s in the coldest, most remote, and most desolate place in Achroite. 

Matias apologizes for the scene that Emma just saw. He understands that she isn’t one for violence. Would she mind continuing the date with him and giving him the chance to apologize?

Matias is trying to cheer her up, but Emma can’t shake the realization that Matias is being so kind to her because he thinks she is someone that she is not. Emma isn’t a crusader for justice, if anything, she’s sympathetic to that criminal’s plight. She couldn’t say for sure that she wouldn’t break the law if she and that man’s places were switched. 

Emma is one misstep from being hauled away to prison under Matias’ cold, unforgiving gaze. 

She realizes that Matias is dangerous.

Matias gently strokes her back as if trying to soothe her. He tells her that he made reservations at a nearby restaurant and suggests they head there for a break.

The food, which Emma had no doubt tasted delicious, tasted like nothing at all.

Sweet End 

On the day of the museum date, Emma looks at the exhibits with Matias, but she is still trembling with fear. The joy of the exhibits fails her as she focuses on the man next to her.

Matias stops her from going to the next one - he’s noticed her state and wants to apologize. He understands that what she saw during their date frightened her, and he wants to apologize for subjecting her to that scene. 

Emma thinks that it must be difficult for Matias, who is just doing his job, to have everyone afraid of him. She apologizes too.

Matias shakes his head and assures her that her feelings are natural. It must be a blow to realize how far into the country criminals connected to Obsidian can infiltrate. As a member of the criminal justice system, the fact that the criminal got so far in his nefarious plot is a stain upon his honor. It’s not only her whom he should apologize to but to all the good citizens in the square that day. He came so close to failing to protect everyone.

Er . . . Matias doesn’t quite get how she feels after all. Those words the man had flung at Matias, about having to understand him since he knows what it’s like to have a lover, ring in Emma’s ears. She wonders if Matias was unable to understand that man at all. Matias is nice and fun, but she truly has no idea what is going on in his head.

And that is what she’s afraid of.

In reality, Matias apologizes to Emma for failing to protect her. Emma shakes her head, reminding Matias that she wasn’t hurt at all. In fact, no one at the square was hurt. 

Matias disagrees, as her lover, it’s his job to protect her physically and mentally. And right now, she is full of anxiety and fear. 

Matias wants her to feel safe and have a fun time. He wants her to only feel happiness.

For that goal, he will put everything he has, everything that makes him Matias on the line. He tells Emma to relax and enjoy herself and reminds her of that exhibit she wanted to see. 

Matias wishes she would smile.

Emma is still afraid, but Matias’ passionate speech has touched her heart. She looks at him, trying to shake off the fear, and smiles. He smiles back at her, relief on his face.

And, oh, that smile. Emma can feel her face heat up.

Oh no. Emma can’t take her eyes off Matias. Not just her face but her whole body is heating up. She’s about to explode from the heat boiling up in her.

Suddenly Matias grabs her by her shoulders, and Emma realizes she was listing to the side. He asks if she’s okay, supporting her.

Emma snaps back to herself and shakes her head, trying to return to normal. She assures him that she’s fine and lets Matias lead her through the museum. 

That charm of his is something else.

Emma has seen a few ladies her age standing in a daze next to Matias, but she never thought she would be one of them. Ugh, how humiliating - Emma wishes she could just crawl off into a hole somewhere. As she considers cutting the date short to save whatever is left of her dignity, Matias catches her attention and directs her gaze at a painting.

Oh. That painting. The one Emma wanted to see more than anything else.

Matias had said that this painting was supposed to evoke the feelings of spring love, but that description falls flat. Emma’s heart leaps at the sight of it, entranced in the beauty before her.

Matias nods, this isn’t that far from how he imagined the scene. The man was fine, but he thought the woman should be smaller, like Emma, with long brown hair, like Emma. Hmmm . . . Oh, he gets it now.

(Does Emma have a single/available sister by chance?)

The woman in the book was described as the most beautiful woman in the world, which is why he thought of Emma. 

In Matias’ imagination, her hair would sway in the southern wind, and her eyes would sparkle in the sunlight. She would turn towards him, smiling as if the whole world was celebrating. 

Emma cuts him short - he is praising her too much. Matias disagrees, as his girlfriend, it is no exaggeration to say she is the most beautiful woman in the world. 

Well, Matias sure has a strong imagination of his girlfriend. 

Matias suggests they move on to the next painting. He has created an itemized list and flowchart to look at the paintings he thought Emma would like the best. Emma agrees that this sounds like fun.

You know, Matias was looking forward to the paintings, but he thinks the best part will be seeing them together with Emma.

They walk through the paintings, admiring the exhibits. Before long, they find themselves at the exit.

Emma peers at the exit - it appears there are rules to leave the building. They must demonstrate how their love has deepened before they leave.

Matias muses that the rule leaves it open for interpretation but wonders about the various ways people can demonstrate their love. Emma thinks words or declarations of affirmation would probably be the most popular, though she grows flushed at the idea of saying such things to Matias.

Well, rules are rules. And Matias, who researched this in advance, is prepared.

He wraps a cute, fluffy pastel scarf around Emma’s neck. He explains that even with her gloves on, sometimes Emma looks so cold. 

He also has gloves for her, which match his own. They go past the wrist and are waterproof so should keep her warm longer. 

Matias’ idea to prove his love for her is to protect her, in this case, from the elements. Emma thanks him, now, not only is her body but her heart warm. 

And now it’s Emma’s turn. Her heart is fuzzy and warm, she takes a deep breath and begins.

When they leave the museum, the city is red with the sunset. Matias thanks her for being his temporary lover, he had a lot more fun than he expected.

So much fun that he doesn’t quite want their time together to end just yet. Didn’t they agree that they’d be lovers until the end of the day today? He asks if she wouldn’t mind grabbing dinner together. 

Emma’s heart pounds in her chest as she looks into Matias’ snow-colored eyes. They were endlessly kind when they looked at her, but she has seen them become frozen at a moment's notice. She’s curious about Matias, about the way he thinks. Maybe if she spends more time with him, she’ll find something that will satisfy her and wipe away the fear that lingers in her heart. Feeling hopeful, Emma agrees to spend the rest of the day together.

Premium End

On the day of their museum date, Matias arrived early at their prearranged meeting place and had been waiting for Emma. She apologizes for keeping him waiting and he waives her off - she was waiting for him last time and he hadn’t wanted to make her wait for him a second time.

Emma thinks that Matias really is a nice person. That time at the town square, he had just been fulfilling his duties as a guardian of the law. If anything, Emma should be relieved that he was truly impartial and egalitarian in dispensing justice.

But she is still afraid.

Emma tries to stuff the fear somewhere down in her stomach and smiles at Matias. 

Matias pulls out a notebook from his pocket and proffers it to Emma. He explains that he was researching the exhibits, and thought there were a few that depended on a deep cultural understanding of Achroite. He thought she would like to look up and understand those points at her leisure. 

Emma accepts the notebook and opens it, realizing that it is all in Matias’ own handwriting. Matias explains that while he hoped that it would be useful to her both as a reference for the museum and as something to aid her grow accustomed to Achroite.

Just as Emma begins to open her mouth to thank him, Matias beckons her closer, he wants to give her a souvenir from their last date. He takes out a package and starts touching her earlobes. Afterwards, she looks at her reflection in the window of a nearby shop and admires the wooden earrings. He also gives her a package of sweets from the coffee shop they visited.

(This man is the reason why women's clothes should come with more pockets)

These gifts remind her of the good times they had yesterday and show his care towards her. Really, she had been having a great time until that scene at the end. 

But she’s still afraid.

Emma resolves herself to face Matias without being trapped by fear. The gratefully thanks him.

Matias’ snow-blue eyes narrow slightly and he reminds her that they’re lovers. These gifts should be as natural as breathing. Emma shakes her head, a lover wouldn’t take their partner for granted, and she can feel the time and effort he put into these gifts. She might not have experience with a lover before, but she is certain Matias would make his partner the happiest woman in the world. 

Matias assures Emma that she has been the perfect lover, the time he has spent daydreaming about her has been too perfect for words. 

Uhh, what?

Matias quickly assures her that he wasn’t skipping work to daydream about her, just when he had a quiet moment to take a break. He would picture the smile she would give him, and every moment basking in her radiant prescience.

Oh, that’s what he meant. Yeah, that’s okay then.

The feeling of fear hasn’t left Emma completely, but she thinks that she can enjoy their museum date. Seeing her smile, Matias smiles back. They haven’t even started their date, but Matias is having a great time already. That said, they probably should start making their way over. 

Matias courteously holds out his hand and Emma accepts it without hesitation.

After the museum date, Matias brought them to the dance hall in Achroite Castle. It was completely different from the one in Rhodolite, with soft wood tones and candles illuminating the national crest carved into the wooden floor. 

Matias admits that he hasn’t had many good experiences in this place, but he has always fantasized about dancing here with his lover. He thanks Emma for coming with him and asks if she would like to dance with him. Emma agrees and accepts Matias’ hand. 

Matias is impressed, Emma is a much better dancer than he was anticipating. Emma admits to practicing hard in the past. She is happy it worked out for them, after all, if she couldn’t dance then she wouldn’t be able to be his lover, right? After all, Matias is a member of the royalty, and his beloved would need to be a noble.

Actually, not necessarily. It would be better if his queen could dance, but it would be fine if she learned how to between their engagement and the actual wedding. Achroite is less class-conscious than other countries, so his wife could come from any class. 

Besides, the Asbrink family rules are very vague on the qualification for their wives. The only real rule is that she be worthy of the distinguished Asbrink family. Which is why Matias wants someone he can love and cherish and make happy. Emma notes that Matias looks so happy when he talks about his future wife. 

Choosing his wife is technically one of the few personal choices Matias can make in his life. He wouldn’t be constrained as a keeper of the law, or as the scion of the Asbrink family. He would be able to just be Matias and choose and love someone just for himself.

Emma understands that as both the keeper of the law and the first prince of Achroite, Matias has many responsibilities and rules he must follow. The time spent with his lover is probably the only time he gets to be himself.

Matias begins describing his ideal lover to Emma. Emma nods, she understands why he speaks so enthusiastically about his future lover. Matias adds that since his lover would be marrying a guardian of the law and the first prince of Achroite, the most important thing is that she is righteous and pure.

Emma thinks that his definition of the last bit would be that Matias’ wife would never violate the law no matter the circumstances. Emma doesn’t have it in her to live up to those standards. But she is his lover until the end of the day, so she should enjoy it while it lasts. She asks if they could dance a little longer, and Matias mutters that he wishes he could dance with her forever. She hopes that at least until the end of the day, Matias feels a little bit of freedom.

Suddenly Matias grabs her waist and spins her around. Emma is surprised and impressed, she never thought she’d be able to spin like that. Matias admits to trying it with her for the first time, he’s only read and fantasized about it.

Surprised, Emma asks about all the dance parties he’s been expected to attend as a royal. Matias reveals that he has always tried to keep a certain distance between himself and the ladies. If he gets too close, he will suddenly find it difficult to get away.

While Emma would normally think it’s nice to be liked, she can see the downsides. But with Matias’ seductive aura, she’ll need to be careful too. Subtly, Emma tries to move away from him, at least so she feels less of his body heat.

Oh no! Matias has noticed and asks why she’s pulling away. The hand on her waist tightens, pulling her closer to him. 

His snow-colored eyes exuded such sensuality that it made chills run down Emma’s spine. The shock of his face so close makes Emma lose her breath and forget how to breathe. A heat stirs in her body, and she suddenly can’t look away from his face. 

Her head was full of Matias, just Matias, and she climbed onto him and his heat. She wants nothing more than to cling to him.

A sudden image of a young woman dazed and confused next to Matias flashes through Emma’s head. She remembers that Matias doesn’t like women like that and awkwardly tries to push him away. Emma explains that she’s trying to put a little distance between them. She pushes at his chest again, but the arm around her waist only tightens. 

Matias reminds Emma that she’s his lover, so he needs her close to him. Emma refuses, if this continues, she’ll get in trouble.

With the saddest eyes, Matias asks what kind of trouble she is talking about.

Oh, that did it. The last of Emma’s strength leaves her body as Matias calls her name.

Epilogue

During the last night as Matias’s lover, she and he attended a dance party. Unfortunately, the prolonged exposure to Matias’ seductive aura overwhelmed Emma, and she came close to fainting. Thankfully Matias was able to steady her, and she was able to pretend that she simply missed a dance step and injured her ankle. Which did happen.

Suddenly she is in Matias’ arms as he lifts her. He tells her that they’re done dancing, instead, he’ll bring her to her room. And, since it’s late, he’ll arrange for her to stay in a guest room tonight.

Matias bridal carries Emma into a room and places her on the bed. He fetches a small box of medical supplies and begins tending to her ankle.

Emma apologizes for the trouble, but Matias assures her that he’s used to doing this in the National Guard. Weirdly impersonally, Matias rolls up Emma’s skirt, so her leg is exposed up to her thigh before he starts manipulating her ankle. Emma wants to preserve some modesty and lower her hemline, but she doesn’t want to get in his way.

Looking at Matias, it is clear that he has barely even noticed her state, and instead is focused on her ankle. She reminds herself that this is just a medical treatment, something that Matias is used to and has done to his fellow soldiers before. She tries to think of something else, but her thoughts just keep on returning to Matias bent over her ankle.

After what seemed like a small eternity has passed, Matias pronounces his field treatment as complete. He instructs Emma to keep her ankle elevated so the swelling will go down by tomorrow-

Matias suddenly freezes, as if realizing the position he and Emma are in. He immediately apologizes, explaining that he moved by instinct and had no ulterior intentions toward her. 

Oh, even though she’s his lover, he has gone too far to pin her down to a bed, and even touched her bare skin with his ungloved hands- 

Matias’ panic is making Emma feel embarrassed all over again. She quickly assures him that she understands he had nothing but the best of intentions and concerns over her injury. Honestly, she’s grateful that he was so quick and efficient in his medical treatment. Emma bows her head and Matias snatches his hands away from her leg.

Well, okay then. Matias nods to himself, regains his composure, and sits next to Emma on the bed. Once again, he is close enough for her to feel his body heat.

Well, there’s only one last thing for a couple to do on a night like this. Suddenly, Matias’ face draws closer to Emma’s. She begins to protest.

But why? They’ve just finished their second date, so shouldn’t they do the proper thing? Sit close to each other and talk about the parts they enjoyed and what they want to do next. And, as they talk, the bond between them grows and the feelings they have are reflected in their softening gazes and then-

(Besides, according to the Asbrink family rules, no sex before the third date)

Oh, okay, Emma gets it now. She feels embarrassed - Matias apologized for touching her just to treat her injury, of course, he wouldn’t expect to go further physically. Emma sighs in relief and tries to objectively look at Matias. He seems to really enjoy being a ‘temporary’ lover, to the point that he’s forgotten that there will be no ‘next’ for them. 

Matias asks Emma to tell him more about herself - for future reference.

At Emma’s puzzled look, Matias explains that while they won’t be lovers, they’ll still be friends. Besides, now that he knows her a little better, he thinks they could be great friends. So, he wants to know more about her.

Emma understands that Matias’ words are saying that he wants a deeper friendship, but something about his sensual gaze makes her feel like what he really wants is something else.

Still, Emma agrees, and Matias smiles like the sun reflecting off of ice crystals. Maybe he’s still in the headspace that they’re lovers since the night isn’t yet over.

[jjonglemons]

Mr. CEO

Jongho / NSFW

You’ve been working at a new company as a Marketing Manager for nearly a year. It’s clear that Choi Jongho, the CEO, has taken a liking to you throughout your time there, and vice versa. Finally, your subtle flirtations with each other reach a boiling point.

WC: 2.8k

Warnings: smut, female reader, boss!employee, dirty talk, praise, bdsm, some fluff

Enjoy :)

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

“Finally,” you exhaled, reaching the office building with three minutes to spare. Not that your boss, Choi Jongho, was very strict to begin with, but nonetheless, you always valued being punctual when it came to your job. Unbeknownst to you, the trains were operating on an alternative schedule due to maintenance, so naturally when you reached the station at 8 AM sharp as you always do, you began stressing when you saw the timetable. Thankfully, there weren’t any delays for once and you made it to work by the time it said you would. Today, you had a very important presentation that would be disastrous to miss.

“Good morning, Miss!” The secretary greeted you cheerfully.

“Good morning,” you nodded back, smiling kindly before making your way into your office.

For the first time, you were in a position where you weren’t stuck in a cubicle, tightly snuggled in an overcrowded space of a fire hazard quantity of colleagues. You inhaled, letting out a deep sigh and closing your eyes for a moment to ground yourself for the day. Suddenly, you heard a light shuffling of footsteps that stopped in your doorway. 

“Good morning, Y/N.” You opened your eyes to see a smirking Jongho leaning against the doorframe, “how was your weekend?”

“Not too bad. I spent most of it wining and dining by myself.” You winked playfully, leaning forward to rest your chin onto your intertwined fingers. “What about you?”

“You want the honest answer or a lie?”

“Whatever you want.”

“I was babysitting my brother’s kids,” he sighed, “I love them and all, but trying to get work done while a three and five year old are screaming at you to play with them isn’t ideal, to say the least.”

You chuckled at his annoyance. That’s something you’ve dealt with yourself, being an aunt to three little ones. “I get it. Well,” you continued, “I hope you can find some time to let loose this week. I’m sure it was stressful, and only more so that we have this huge meeting today.” You knew that wasn’t going to help him feel any better, but the blunt side of you spoke up before you even realised.

“Ugh,” Jongho groaned, extra dramatically for effect, “don’t remind me. I still have some last minute tasks I need to finish.”

“Then you better get to it,” you commanded, clapping your hands and shooing him away jokingly.

He shot one final smile in your direction before taking his leave. “Catch you later, Y/N.”

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

“All those who vote no, raise your hand.” Jongho, said as the discussions from your presentation concluded.

You felt your throat drop into the pit of your stomach upon seeing eighty percent of the room raise their hands. You expected this. This new campaign idea of yours was a risk, but nonetheless, seeing it actually fail in front of you, despite all of the hard work you put into it, punched you in the gut. Hard.

“I think she had a lot of wonderful points,” Jongho added, “would some of you care to reconsider?”

The room stayed silent, no one seeming to change their minds. Your cheeks grew hotter as your embarrassment increased, unsure whether you wanted to scream at everyone for insulting your work or cry about being a failure. You gulped, sneaking a glance at Jongho beside you. His face was stoic. Of course being the CEO, he had to save face, but you couldn’t help but notice the concern in his eyes. You could tell he genuinely liked your idea and felt empathetic to this ordeal. But unfortunately, in order to keep democracy in the company, he couldn’t just ignore everyone else's opinions on the matter.

“Seriously?” He murmured, noticeably aggravated. No one seemed to hear or notice, though, other than you. He cleared his throat. “Okay,” he sighed, “then this idea is scratched. Todd, you will be presenting on Wednesday, okay? Everyone’s dismissed, thank you for your time.”

You stayed behind as everyone filed out, needing a minute to process your humiliation. You knew it wasn’t out of hostility, but it was hard not to take it personally, especially since this idea was one of the few you were really proud of. You truly hoped it would have been a game changer.

You were so lost in your thoughts that you hadn’t realised Jongho was still in the room with you. “I’m sorry,” he expressed, continuing to clean the whiteboard, “I know you put a lot of thought into this from the little bits you’ve shared with me throughout the month. I wish I could have done more.”

You smiled, some of your unpleasant feelings fading into a sense of affection towards your boss. He may be your authority, but he’s always treated you as an equal. As a friend, not just a colleague. You’d admitted to yourself already that you had a crush on him, but it would likely pose an issue if you were to attempt to pursue anything. Though, you weren’t stupid; you could tell the feelings were mutual. 

“It’s okay,” you sighed, “Honestly, I’m pissed. I wanted to tell everyone how much they sucked,” you laughed, “but obviously that wouldn't have helped anything. I really loved this idea.”

“I’m mad, too,” Jongho said, gritting his teeth slightly, “you’re the best marketer in this fucking company and I’m tired of people not noticing that. Or ignoring it, I don’t know. Whatever it is, you deserve so much better.” He was inches away from your face now, “If I wasn’t trying to be a good boss, I’d say “fuck it” to the votes and have your idea plastered everywhere immediately.”

Thankfully the meeting room was windowless- even the door was lacking a peephole- because if someone were to walk by at this very moment, the way you two were standing would raise suspicion. 

“That’s sweet of you,” you said softly, lightly biting your lip.

Jongho stared at you for a moment, watching your movements. He had a million thoughts running through his head. He was angry on your behalf, at how much the colleagues seemed to undervalue you. He was angry at himself for not doing more to help, but realistically, he knew he couldn’t do that without turning into an inconsiderate boss, and he never wanted to be one that didn’t listen to nor care about his employees. He kept thinking about how beautiful you are; how kind and attentive you’ve been towards him, and everyone, since you started working there. He couldn’t forget the fact that you always stood by his side when rumours about him would spread around the office, giving him the benefit of the doubt. 

Despite only knowing each other for just short of a year, you truly saw him. All of the times you’d peak into his office when you’d stay late, noticing the art doodles that decorated his notebook as you quietly said goodbye to him. Or the times he’d fallen asleep at his desk, so you’d carefully organize his folders into a nice pile just so he’d have less to think about when he’d wake up to go home. All of the little things that made him Choi Jongho as a person, not just a CEO.

Suddenly, it didn’t matter that he was your boss. All he wanted was to show you that he cared and was proud of you, even if no one else did. 

And that’s when he lost all sense of reason and forgot you were anyone but Y/N, his friend and the person he was surely falling in love with.

“Can I kiss you?” Jongho asked, his voice coming out as a gentle whisper.

You blinked a few times in shock, unsure whether you had misheard him or not.

“Sorry, that was uncalled for,” he added, scratching his head shyly as he stepped away from you. He blushed, darting his eyes towards the wall. 

“Yes,” you said, interrupting the train of self-deprecating thoughts that were beginning to form in his mind. “Please kiss me,” you finished, adding more confidence to your tone.

Jongho inhaled sharply with nervousness and excitement for a moment before his lips found yours. He cupped your chin to bring you deeper into the kiss, but he suddenly stopped and pulled back, leaving you confused.

“The door,” is all he said before rushing over to quickly lock it and return back to you.

You gripped at the lapels of his suit, pulling him closer so that your bodies closed the gap between the two of you. Your tongue found its way into his mouth rather quickly, earning a muffled moan from him. 

“Shhh,” you giggled between kisses, “you have to be quiet.”

“I know, I know,” he assured, gripping your hips so he could push up against your core, “will you be, though?” he teased. He trailed his fingers along your hips to reach the button of your trousers, tugging at it lightly.

“Is that a challenge?” You baited, biting down on his lower lip. He whimpered, causing you to erupt into a giggle again, “damn, seems like you’ve already lost.”

Jongho’s eyes became clouded with a lustful glare, your taunting pressing him in all of the best ways. He flipped you over, pushing you against the meeting table. He gripped your hair and pulled your head up so it was flesh with his chest, his head dropping beside your ear. You could feel the heat of his breath trickling down the side of your neck. “I don’t think so, love,” he smirked. 

He used his free hand to unbutton your trousers, moving his fingers closer to your sex painfully slow. You hissed, wriggling beneath his grip. “Don’t tease me, Jongho,” you scoffed, “I’m already mad, so don’t make it worse.”

While this fact was true, you both knew you were just using those words as an excuse to rowel each other up even more. He chuckled as he reached your dripping core, fingers sliding between your folds as he began to make circles on your clit with a slow, yet urgent pace.

“Fuck, Y/N,” Jongho breathed, “I knew you liked me, but I didn’t know it was this much.”

“Who said I liked you?” You hummed, fluttering your eyes shut.

“Ha,” he scoffed, pushing one finger into you, “you couldn’t lie about that even if you tried.” 

Your moans began to grow in volume as Jongho pressed the tip of his fingers against your g-spot, sending shivers through your entire body. He slowly entered with a second finger, being careful not to hurt you. He began to curl his fingers, feeling your arousal increase with each movement. “You’re doing so well for me, baby,” he hummed, watching the way you twitched beneath him. He used the weight of him and the resistance of the table to keep you steady, moving the hand that was gripping your hair to now cover your mouth. “As much as I want to hear those pretty little moans of yours, I don’t need either of us getting fired.”

“Aren’t you the one who fires people?” You managed to get out through the shifts of his hand from the movement of your bodies.

Jongho didn’t respond. He was too engrossed in the feeling of your wet pussy around his fingers. He pushed a finger into your mouth, earning a slight gag from you. You began to bite down and suck on it, causing him to hiss. He started to pump his fingers faster, placing his thumb on your clit for more stimulation.

“Fuck, Jongho,” you whined as quietly as you could, “I’m going to come too soon if you keep this up.”

“I want to see you unravel,” he paused briefly to turn you once again so you were facing him. He picked you up to sit you on top of the table, quickly pulling your trousers down to your ankles so he had full access. He kept his hands steady on your thighs, deciding to take a seat in one of the meeting chairs so his lips could meet your sex. He sucked on your clit, making sure to add a bit of teasing by playing with pressure and taking small breaks to tug at your lips. "You deserve this, baby," he moaned as he continued to taste you. 

You could feel your orgasm building up more and more by the second, but you didn’t want to cum without feeling him inside of you first. “Baby,” you moaned, “please fuck me. I want to cum with you in me.”

Jongho didn’t waste any time as he quickly stood up, pushed the chair away, and unbuckled his belt as he placed kisses on your nose and lips. You pushed his hands away from his throbbing member so you could give him some foreplay, too. You slowly moved your hands up and down his shaft, feathering the touch when it reached his tip.

“Shit,” he inhaled sharply, losing his balancing ever so slightly he had to grip the edges of table to keep him steady, “that feels so fucking good, love.”

You kept going as you slowly inched yourself towards him so your core was now hovering over his hard cock. He placed his hands onto your hips, lining himself up with your entrance.

“Can I?” He asked through heavy breaths.

You nodded, guiding him inside of you. You both let out a hum of release simultaneously, taking a moment to just savour how it felt to be connected in such an intimate way. 

“I never thought our first time together would be in a meeting room,” you joked, tugging on his arm so as to tell him he could start moving. He began thrusting into you steadily, sighs of pleasure dripping from his lips. “It’s fun, though,” you added, with a near ungodly tone as he reached the right spot at that same moment. Your mouth hung agape in pure bliss, your eyes alternating between absorbing his fucked out face and watching how he fucked you.

Your wetness engulfed his cock, Jongho choking on the moans he so desperately was trying to hold back. “I’m so proud of you, taking my cock like this.” He bit down on his lip, hard, hoping it would stop them from escaping. “Baby, I could do this every day,” he said, quickening his pace, “I could live inside this sweet pussy of yours.”

“It’s only yours, Jongho.”

Something about you willingly handing yourself over to him triggered the possessive, animalistic part of him, and he began to thrust into you deeper with one hand reaching up to grip your neck.

“Oh, fuck,” you screamed with a whisper, placing your hand over his on your neck to keep it right where you wanted it, “please, Jongho, more.”

“I might break this table if I do that,” he growled, squeezing your neck a little harder.

“Then just fuck me on the floor.”

Before you knew it, he had your legs thrown over his shoulders, back pressed against the carpeted floor. Who knew how many people had walked on it with their gross, outdoor shoes, but at that moment, you didn’t care. All you wanted was for Jongho to keep fucking you and make you cum for the remainder of the work day. 

“Baby, I’m going to cum soon,” Jongho said, pulling at your ankles to keep you as close to him as possible so he could keep pounding into you relentlessly, “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he repeated over and over with each thrust. “Look at you, so perfectly fitting around me.”

A scream began to escape from your mouth, so you threw your forearm up to it to bite on for suppression. Your muffled whines and convulsions underneath of Jongho pushed him further to his climax, his eyes beginning to roll back as your body shook more aggressively. “Fuck, Y/N” he let out a loud grunt with one final, deep thrust, throwing his head back in pure bliss as he filled you up. This final thrust sent you over the edge, flailing beneath him. You screeched quietly, gripping his arm tightly as you spilled your juices down the sides of his cock. The two of you laid there for a moment, heavily breathing as you came down from your highs. 

You looked at each other, beginning to grin as you both reentered the present. You propped yourself up onto your shoulders, leaning up to kiss his cheek gently. He blushed, pulling you up so he could fall back onto his butt and have you seated in his lap. He wrapped his arms around you, nuzzling himself into your neck, peppering kisses along your shoulder.

“So,” you said after a few moments of quiet, “how are we going to explain this when we leave the room?”

[spotaus]

New Age au (og drabble)

Finally gave up trying to post this on my phone and I'm doing it from my computer >:(

Don't mind if this post seems outdated compared to any other lore you've seen, this is the very very very first version of this au that I wrote up in my drafts before making the first post about it here lol- It's inspired by @ancha-aus Real Age AU, and is buried in my bajillion insane Fantasy thoughts. (Knight AU basically, Nightmare is a king, usurped to twin thru prophecy stuff, hired on several murderers + outcasts as his elite group of knights.)

This is all un-edited and un-reviewed, best of luck! (I also lost 90% of the italics I added, unfortunately)

(@papiliovolens too btw! Hi!)

   Oh. Oh.

   The feeling that sloughed through Nightmare's body was one that was foreign and uncomfortable. The sound you get when you walk with a pail of water and it sloshes and slams around inside no matter how carefully you walk? Yeah, that was happening to him. 

   His magic felt like all at once it sloshed to the front of his ribcage, then back again as he recoiled. 

   He was training now. Pinned between his knights as they slashed and charged at him. He always loved to enrich them with fast-paced work outs like today. The task was to try and incapacitate him, and he'd planned to tire them out for a while longer. 

   Now, though? He felt sick to his stomach and his vision doubled as he slid out of the way of Killer's blade. He was trying to keep it together, his movements still confident, but hell was it going to shit quickly. He'd never felt a drain like this. 

   As he nimbly moved out of the way of Cross, he noticed they were corralling him. 

   He wondered if this would pass. If he could finish out their training session without giving away just how horribly off-put he felt. Just how unbalanced he was becoming. 

   And yet when he ducked to evade a magic attack from Dust and nearly slammed directly into Horror's broad chest, he realized he was... not right. He was addled, and his senses were dulling. He was grasping at straws trying to identify the magical signatures of his team. 

   Nothing. It was just as bad as being blind. 

   He spun away again, facing his entire team as he caught sight of them. They were having fun. They were enjoying themselves, focused and invested. He hated to cut that off so soon. 

   Nightmare stood tall, opening his mouth to announce a hault, when... 

   He threw up. 

   Not... not in the way most living creatures do. It wasn't bile or mucus or digested food that flooded from his mouth, but instead all at once his magic seemed to erupt. 

   It clogged his throat, and he reached up for his jaws as it flooded out of him. He hunched a bit, only barely catching the surprise enter the expressions of his team as he stared back at them in shock. In disgust at himself. 

   Then his knees gave out. All at once, sense flooded from his mind and he slammed to the ground, his knees and elbows taking the brunt of his weight, joints jolting painfully as his good eye centered in on the ground. Where his magic was pooling and slipping away from him. Down into the cracks in the stone and the mat beneath him. 

   He trembled there, unable to bring himself to move. To try and hold it in. He couldn't breathe, it was just a flow of his magic like someone was tearing it out of his very core. Siphoning it like a straw. 

   He saw a shadow cast over his view, he heard scuffles. The voices were there, but the feeling of losing his grasp on his magic was too overwhelming. He couldn't make anything out past his out soul beating like a drum in his chest. He was losing it. Something. A part of himself. 

   Then a touch. A contact with his back. 

   Not through the protective veil of his magic, not through the sensation of transmitted contact. A thin fabric held him apart from the bony hand that so gently rested along his spine. 

   He gagged on the magic, seeing as it started coming in spurts. He... did not like that sensation. The gasping and the choking as it continued to rise from his core. 

   In a fit of shaking strength, Nightmare forced his body to move. He caught sight of pearly white bones exposed on his hands when he moved them out of the pile of sludge. He weakly shoved himself towards where he thought the hand was from, and collided with a large body. Someone's side. They were knelt. 

   He pressed his back to them as he continued to heave, and the presence drew closer, almost around him. An arm now covered his back, leather pressing heavily into his weak bones. It didn't matter if it hurt, because it made the heaving less horrifying. 

   It felt like an eternity of agony as the last of his magic dripped out of his throat and onto the ground. 

   His chest hurt, his neck hurt, and jaw hurt. His knees ached from the mat and his entire body still shook. He wasn't sure what to do with himself. Why had that happened? 

   He couldn't feel his team.... his team! 

   Nightmare's head shot up. His breathing was ragged, and he surely would've fallen over had he not been so heavily supported by that body. 

   Horror. 

   Horror was the one who was supporting him upright. Who was staring at him, brow furrowed and silent. Who seemed deeply perturbed by what he saw. 

    Past him, Nightmare could see the others. Cross, Dust, and Killer. They all seemed poised, ready to attack an unknown threat. Their backs were to him. The training room was utterly empty. 

   "M'lord?" Horror muttered in question, almost hesitant. 

   Nightmare stared up at him a few more seconds. His mind was chugging through what had happened, trying desperately to come up with a solution. 

   "Stand down." Nightmare ordered. Though, it felt like a squeak compared to his usual deep tone. His voice had lost any bit it might've held not ten minutes prior. 

   At the order, the other three whipped around and observed Nightmare. 

   Cross seemed reproachful. He looked to the others. He was the newest, probably wondered if they'd seen this before. 

   Dust only really turned a bit. A glance from the corner of his eye. Evidently he wanted to stay vigil. 

   Then there was Killer, who immediately dropped to his knees in a kneel to examine Night more closely. 

   "Lord, are you hurt?" Killer asked. 

   He was the first of them, and knew Nightmare best. 

   Nightmare stared at Killer. He was so earnest and loyal. 

   "I... the apples of the prophecy have revoked their magic. I am... I am weakened." He admitted loosely, staring at Killer. He felt empty.

   Killer frowned, his brow furrowing. "May I check you, Lord?" He questioned then. 

   Nightmare nodded. 

   The feeling of magic flowing through his body was not invasive nor unwelcome. It combed his very being, before revealing itself in script before Killer. 

   Nightmare

   The prophecy will not be delayed. His title may now be challenged. 

   Nightmare winced as Killer seemed to hunch even more down, closer to the ground. "If someone can reach my soul, they become holder of the prophecy. I- Dream will know. He'll come for me." He croaked. "Everyone will come." He added, suddenly feeling a terror strike into his soul as Killer raised his dark sockets to stare at Nightmare. 

   Killer hardly moved his hand, and Nightmare felt a second-wind sweep him up. A rush of adrenaline. Some wild jackrabbit just woke up in his soul and realized with a blood-chilling terror that it was surrounded by dingo.

   He thrust himself out from under Horror's arm before the knight could think to constrict him, and caught himself on his feet. 

   Killer's gaze trailed him. As did Horror's as he seemed surprised. 

   Dust stood perfectly still as he went stumbling backwards. And Cross? Well Cross was- 

   Nightmare wasn't sure what came over him when he felt arms around his sides. He was hoisted off the ground, he recognized the technique, it was Cross. 

   "Cross, release me!" He ordered, bis voice weak and panicked. Some part of him knew Cross wouldn't do it. He knew he'd be delivered to Killer and Killer would carve out his soul. 

   He was carried back to the group of nights, then forced to the ground, Cross holding him in place firmly, right where Killer and Horror were still sat. 

   His vision- it was growing blurry with tears. His composure completely broken at the aspect of being killed so soon. 

   "Killer, please don't."  He pleaded, seeing the skeleton draw closer. 

   Killer seemed to frown, "Lord, have some faith in us. We'd never let anything happen to you." Killer said, sounding unimpressed. 

   He raised his hands, and gently laid them against Night's neck. 

   Warm, soothing magic coated the tight injury, and Nightmare tried to resist the temptation to squirm in Cross' grip as it eased his ailment if only slightly. 

   "Your soul's beating so hard I can hear it from here. Breathe." He ordered then. 

   Nightmare took gasping breaths, slowly, very slowly, trying to calm himself. Of course they wouldn't hurt him. These were his knights. He just... he hasn't been so weak in years. Why did he... why did he panic like that? Why... was he so scared still? 

   He didn't open his socket, his good one, for a minute. He let the ebbing race of his soul calm. He tried to remember that he was the one who taught Cross this hold. A non-lethal hold, one which didn't risk harming the target. He tried to relax, to go limp in the hold, but he couldn't. He was still shaking. 

   He kept breathing. And breathing. He'd trained all of them to go for the kill, none of them enjoyed toying with their prey. They would not kill him. 

   "I apologize. I- I don't know-" He tried to speak, only to choke up again as he tried to open his eye. His body just felt so heavy, and so, so abysmally empty. 

   He squinted at the group. 

   "He hasn't stopped shaking." He heard Cross report unabashedly from behind him. 

   Horror stared for a brief moment, before he sighed. "Magic loss. I can hardly feel his aura, he has to be drained all to hell right now. Running on fumes." Horror announced solemnly, his big red eyelight focusing on Cross. 

   He knew Horror was right. He didn't know why it hadn't occurred sooner. His form was reacting poorly to the loss of a godly amount of power. Of course he was afraid and vulnerable. 

   "Mm. What did he usually do to help me? Soup and bed-rest?" That was Dust, his grumbling tone barely scraping Night's ears. 

   Killer and Horror looked to eachother in agreement, nodding. 

   "Lord, I'm going to assume you're delusional and exhausted from magic loss right now, so I'm not taking the tears personally." Killer voiced then, looking to Nightmare. "Cross and Dust are going to escort you to your quarters, Horror is going to bring your dinner, and I'm going to go triple check that this place is on lock-down." 

   Nightmare stared at him with a wide eye, and it took him several seconds to realize that Killer was waiting for something. 

   "P- permission granted." He muttered, and Killer nodded and raised from his knees to stand. 

   Horror followed him, and Cross took a few moments before he eased Nightmare onto his feet. He realized only then that he was barely Cross' height. Barely tall enough to look him in the eyes. 

   He still shook like a newborn fawn, but felt less weak. Cross offered his hand awkwardly. Nightmare noticed he was avoiding his gaze. 

   Horror and Killer were far out of the room by the time Nightmare could muster a standing position. His cloak was far too long for him now, and he hastily bundled the edges up into a bunch before tightening his belt into them. Dust helped him with the clasp, his hands still too shakey. 

   He pulled up his hood, and gripping Cross like a lifeline, the trio left the training room and headed towards Nightmare's quarters. He was a weak, weak man, he realized. Fragile. Once a servant was turning a corner away, no doubt spooked by Dust, and Nightmare nearly fled out of fear. 

   They opened and closed the doors, revealing the darker room. Cross led Nightmare to his bed and gently helped him out of his training wear, only leaving him in the simple under-clothes, which still seemed to hang off of him. 

   He eased into his bed, and he wanted to say something to Cross as he dutifully fluffed Nightnare's pillows, but he could muster nothing. He couldn't bring himself to- no...

   "Cross?" His voice was a bit stronger again. It hurt less to speak. No doubt Killer's magic settling in. 

   The knight seemed to jolt a bit, looking to Nightmare. Nightmare slunk back under his gaze, unable to withhold the reflexive recoil. 

   "I- Thank you, for disobeying orders." He managed, "I could've hurt myself in my frenzy. You made the right call." He admitted, before swiftly turning his head away. 

   Cross seemed silent for a moment, hesitating at the bedside. 

   "You always said if you fell ill that Killer would be in charge. I just figured this was one of those instances and did as he ordered." Cross reported, his voice meek as well. He seemed to be taking Nightmate's sudden decrease in magic just as hard as the tyrant himself. 

   Nightmare nodded a bit. In agreement. In acknowledgement. Of course Cross would never disobey him on his own whim. Cross had always been a soldier. 

   The room grew still in the wake of the words, and Nightmare felt himself sink a bit easier into his pillows. 

   Cross stationed himself by the door, and Dust settled at the foot of Nightmare's bed, using the trunk sat there as a seat. He'd done it before in the past, and Nightmare had never noticed how defensive of a position it was until that moment. He felt... secure. Like he always did with his knights. 

.

   Horror returned with a meal within the hour, gently awakening Night from his dazed half-sleep which had nearly consumed him. His sockets were heavy when he sat up to take the plate onto his lap. 

   It was a nice cut of meat, and a drink he was almost positive was plain water, with what looked to be fresh plants from the gardens.

   Horror had handed over the utensils, and stood idly near to Dust as Nightmare worked his way through the food. He'd never had a large appetite before, not even as a boy. Now he had devoured everything on his plate, and felt sick for it. 

   It seemed to please Horror, though. As Night discarded the plate to his nightstand, Horror had turned his head and smiled at him. He hardly had the strength to nod back in approval. 

.

   Night had fallen asleep mere minutes after he finished his meal, sinking back into his pillows with a soft repose. Horror had stood and pulled his covers up a bit further. Nightmare was a lot smaller, now. The linens drowned him, and the his bed felt all too large. His frame seemed fragile. Dwarfed in the expanse. 

   It wasn't until Killer entered that anyone spoke. Nightmare had drilled it into them that Killer was the one in charge if anything weren't wrong. 

   "Everything's secure, all the guards know to be on alert." He reported to the other three. His gaze only lingered on Nightmare for a few seconds before his shoulders sagged. "How are we feeling about Nightmare? Does it look like he was right? Prophecy privileges revoked?" He asked quietly, though he could see with his own eyes just how obvious it must've been. Nightmare was small, and frail, and his skull was covered in cracks. 

   Dust hummed, "No sign of his usual aura. Seems like he's going to be okay, though." He reported evenly. Killer didn't need to look to know the others were also looking at their King. Exhausted, tucked soundly into bed. 

   "Surely he can't continue his duties like this. I mean... we scared him. Us." Cross piped up from the door. It seemed he still hadn't recovered from his own apprehension. Killer had seen the hurt in his face when Nightmare had been so afraid. 

   Killer scoffed, "To be fair, I think that's the normal reaction to seeing us, Cross." He teased, "But no, you're right. Even if he's more calm when he wakes up, we shouldn't let news spread of this... change. It would put him in danger." Killer lamented a bit, and heard the others all give grunts of agreement. 

   Horror shifted onto his feet, "We'll have to keep close to him. He seems... younger. I don't like the idea of leaving him alone when there might be threats." Horror had been raised on the outskirts, he was always sensitive to young people. When Cross had joined them, he'd lingered around him so often Cross was sure Horror wanted him gone. 

   The big guy was just trying to make Cross more comfortable was all. 

   Killer tapped at his thigh as he stood there, "We'll take shifts, then. Assume we treat this as an illness for now, follow his protocol, and once he's feeling better we can decide if he's still fit enough to, y'know, order us around." Killer said to the group, though there wasn't going to be fuss either way. Killer was always the one they'd trust next after Night. It was only right. They'd all trust Killer with their lives. 

   They all seemed to silently debate. 

   "I'll take first shift. I was going easy during training, so I'll stay up tonight." Dust finally chimed. 

   Killer agreed, and the others, after some hesitation, ushered out of their king's room and out into the halls. 

   Cross said he'd go back and train some more on his own, Horror said he was going to go get food for himself and Dust. Killer was going to go reschedule all of Night's meetings for other times or assign them to advisors. They all had things to do, and it felt strange to know their King was now not who they once knew. The fear in his eyelight had been the same fear they saw when they got injured, or sick, or hurt. They never expected to cause that fear to the man who had earned their full trust. 

[bellaxgiornata]

October Update Information

Tuna-Tober starts next week and I figured I'd give a bit of information about what to expect from me during this next month. It's fitting this writing challenge happens during my birthday month and after reaching over three thousand of y'all lovely people following me! I have absolutely no idea how we got here and I want to celebrate, but I am far too busy to do a follower event specifically. BUT I'll be dropping quite a few fics throughout the month of October for Tuna-Tober so we can pretend it's serving multiple celebration purposes! It's like my birthday gifts to all of you!

I'll be giving a bit of important information below the cut, but you can keep up with my updates for this event in my Tuna-Tober Masterlist.

I'm going to try to schedule posts for the days I have a fic to drop on tumblr (which I've never done and hope it works) in order to update on the correct dates. Though for those of my AO3 readers, you'll either have to read the fics here or wait because I will most likely not be able to get those posted on the correct days. I'm far too busy to actually sit down and update almost daily, unfortunately (and I don't think AO3 let's you schedule posts).

I will not be updating any of my series' during the month of October. I'll be posting far too much already (currently seven pieces completed but I'm aiming to get a couple more written/finished that you see on the masterlist and some you don't) But I should hopefully resume those stories in November.

I will try to use the character one shot tag lists for each of my Tuna-Tober updates, but I will not be adding to it during the time since I'll be scheduling posts ahead of time. I'm hoping tumblr will properly tag, but if not, the days I have fics going up will be listed in the event masterlist. You can always go there to see what updates are out and when more are coming.

I love all feedback and will absolutely try my best to respond to everyone, but I will probably be slow since I'm posting more fics in a month than I've probably posted...like ever. But I absolutely read every comment and reblog when I see them and I appreciate each one ❤

With that, my first fic should drop on October 1st! 🙃

[kurthorton]

desire to release the new blog vs the knowledge that the second i do i will stop working on the docs pages immediately and never return

[ratwithhands]

Decided to polish some jacket designs!

Emmet originally received a strait from the League after they thought he posed a safety risk to others and mandated him to wear it. Big surprise, they literally just went to a Unovan hospital and asked if they had any of the old jackets lying around. It's ill-fitting and unpleasant, not to mention the hasty edits they made to his uniform to act as a secondary restraint looks awful. As much as he is still operating as usual, having to walk around in the strait is humiliating and dehumanizing, especially because of the stares from other people.

Of course this crime against dignity and fashion had to be corrected, so Elesa called her designers and offered to make the League Council a more appropriate uniform for him. The only rule given was that it must still restrain as well as the original straitjacket, so Elesa ended up modelling the jacket after a vest and the secondary restraint after a double-breasted greatcoat. It's meant to look like clothing, more like everyday wear than something out of an asylum. It also uses hand covers (i.e. socks) instead of a grossly oversized sleeve to keep the hands restrained.

It resolves a lot of the issues Emmet had with the original, namely that it blends in with the crowd rather than making him stick out. It also has an air of professionalism and formality that the original didn't have. He's much more willing to wear it and keep it on, as well as being more comfortable in it.

I'm struggling to describe this in sentences so as for the differences:

League Straitjacket:

actual retired straitjacket from hospital storage

made of old canvas and leather

uses oversized belted sleeves to restrain arms

uses belts and buckles to restrain upper arms and tighten back

can't fit anything thicker than a tank top underneath

Elesa's Modified Straitvest:

bespoke articles custom tailored to Emmet's measurements

made from stiff cotton and fabric straps

uses belted cuffs and hand covers to restrain arms

uses straps and locking slide buckles to restrain upper arms and tighten back

able to fit a collared shirt underneath

Elesa's outfit also has the added bonus of being more breathable, soft, and being able to function as regular clothes.

Anyways bonus sketch comic:

Dignity restored.