#never done this before but I can dream someone will use this as the image for their gaz post or something LOL

[honeyhobbs]

idk how Soap can focus on the mission....

[lauraneedstochill]

can’t pretend

pairing: Jack Abbot x resident!reader summary: He is puzzled with you first, then vexed, and he can’t understand his feelings. In an attempt to get to know you better (or maybe to get you out of his head), Abbot accidentally crosses the line. (or, alternatively: what if Jack met someone similar to him in many ways. traumatic past included) »»» part 2

warnings: <rivals> to friends to lovers, slow burn, mentions of blood and injuries / I’m hinting at the age gap but you can ignore it / some complicated feelings and a LOT of Jack’s thoughts (his poor therapist will need a raise); assault. ANGST. / words: 7K author’s note: this is my first fic for “The Pitt”. I binge-watched the show in 2 days and didn’t plan on writing anything but my inspiration decided otherwise. I’ve never had a beta reader in my life, please be kind. ♡

Early at dawn, the sky is just the right color — the darkness slowly dissipates, deep purple at the edges, black fading into blue. If he squints and looks above the roofs, he can pretend he’s looking at the ocean. He’s been toying with the idea for some time but it’s more of a dream, a comforting mirage: him getting a small house by the beach, waves crashing softly in the distance, clean blue water blending into the bright blue sky. He’d wake up to the sunrise, take lugs full of cooling salty air, walk in the sand that glistens under the foaming swash. He’d probably adopt a dog — someone to pass his days with, just so the silence doesn’t get too heavy, doesn’t weigh on him when he can’t sleep at night.

A passing car honks down the street, loud and sudden, and Jack flinches, opening his eyes. That’s when the perfect image always falls apart. He is afraid he will get lonely with just a dog and with nothing to do, he will be going up the walls, bored out of his mind. But he doesn’t know how not to be alone. And some days he wishes that he did.

The air in Pittsburgh doesn’t carry any scents at this morning hour, and Jack’s gaze wanders down to the tree leaves writhing in the wind. He absentmindedly rubs his wrists when he hears the door creaking behind him.

“You know, security is getting worried about you,” Robby chuckles, his steps slow. “I heard the guys making bets on how many times a week you’ll come here.”

“Says the man who likes to brood in my spot,” Jack huffs without looking at him.

“Me, brooding? No idea what you are talking about.”

Robby gets to the roof edge but stays behind the railing, leans on it and slowly stretches his arms. His tone lets empathy in when he speaks up:

“Tough night?”

The sky is overcast, a mush of white and grey clouds the blue barely peeks through, and Jack sighs as he turns away. “Remember you told me about the kid who OD’d on Xanax laced with fentanyl? The parents sat by his bed hoping he’d wake up by some miracle,” Robby only nods when Jack throws him a glance. “I’m dealing with one of those.”

They both lost patients before, and both know that it doesn’t get easier with time. You have to tuck your grief away to walk into the room with their loved ones, offer apologies that carry little meaning, take even more grief in because this isn’t about you and this loss is not for you to carry. But they do carry it — Robby memorizes lifeless faces, Jack never forgets the names of everyone he couldn’t save.

“Brain dead?”

“Yep,” Jack drawls, hands gripping the metal rails. “He’s got three sisters, and all three were begging me. And I stood there feeling absolutely useless.”

Robby watches as his friend’s knuckles turn white. “If you couldn’t do anything then there was nothing that could’ve been done. And I’m really sorry.”

If only words could bring people back from the dead, Jack thinks bitterly but doesn’t say it out loud. He doesn’t want to sour Robby’s mood. And he can’t help but notice — it used to bother him way more, it sometimes would eat him alive; now Jack is mostly numb.

“I’ll sleep it off,” he mumbles.

“Not staying for the welcoming party?”

It takes a few seconds for the reminder to pop up in Jack’s head: a new senior resident, today is her first day. After Collins took maternity leave, Robby spent hours on the phone, glasses pressed to the bridge of his nose as he flipped through the applications, always unsure, never satisfied. And then he got a call and drove across the city to another hospital to meet her in person — he came back beaming. Jack must’ve zoned out so he didn’t catch the details.

“Don’t think I have a very welcoming face.”

“Should’ve seen the guys she worked with. I thought her chief of surgery would literally fist-fight me after I offered her the job,” Robby cackles.

It stirs Jack’s curiosity a bit. “She’s that good?”

“I believe she is. Skilled, confident, haven’t heard a single bad thing about her,” and even though his voice is certain, Robby dithers, bringing a hand to the back of his neck.

“But... ? I sense a but coming.”

“No-no, she’s great, really, and I made up my mind. It’s just that… She comes off as quite stubborn, and I feel like she is used to flying solo,” his eyes dart to Jack. “Reminds me of someone I know,” a smile grazes his lips, an unvoiced comparison he can’t help but draw.

Jack doesn’t see it, his gaze set somewhere on the horizon. “We all have to be team players here, that’s how it works,” he says dismissively. “I’m sure she’ll learn.”

The streets are getting busy, filling with people talking, rushing, making endless calls — and with more honking and more sounds that all merge into one unpleasant noise. And Jack is getting really tired.

“I should go back. Don’t want anyone to scare her off,” Robby puts a hand on Jack’s shoulder, a friendly but firm grip. “I’d also rather not waste my time on scraping your frail body off the pavement. Let me walk you out.”

“Frail body? You are three years older, you bag of bones,” Jack quips, and they share a laugh, and it warms up his heart a little.

But the warmth fades as they get inside, into the weave of corridors, into the crowd of nurses and other doctors pacing, the lighting bright and harsh, the smell of antiseptics clinging to the walls like mold. And it is not as overwhelming as it’s tiresome; once he is out on the street, Jack takes a few deep breaths. It’s hardly a relief.

As he passes by the park, exhaustion already on his heels, he suddenly picks up a sound, something between a whine and a small woof. Jack looks around to find the source peeping out from behind the bushes — brown eyes, wet nose, grey fluffy ears, one marked with a white spot. When Jack takes a step closer, the stray puppy immediately runs off.

On his way home he gets some dog treats and throws them in his bag. He tries thinking of pet names but nothing comes to mind. And when he falls into his cold bed, thick curtains not letting any light reach him, he dreams of standing on a long road framed with grass, a murmuring of waves heard through the mist. But he can’t see the ocean.

It keeps raining, and they have to close the roof — “Merely a precaution, sir, we don’t want anyone to slip. I heard the weather is supposed to clear up in a few days,” one of the guards assures Jack. His mood these days is just as gloomy as the sky. But he’s a man of habit, so every time Jack wants to get out to the roof, he instead gets more cases, drinks more coffee, barely a few words squeezed in between that aren’t work-related.

At first, he only catches glimpses of you.

On the days when your shifts overlap, he sees you tearing along the hallways, your hair up and your face focused, removing gowns to quickly put on fresh ones, your hands either in gloves or carrying the charts. You don’t speak much, and very few times Jack gets to walk past you, he is slightly puzzled by this combination of quiet and fast-paced.

Your first week is nearing its end when Dana prompts Jack to make a proper introduction. She calls him uncooperative and calls for you herself when she sees you leaving trauma#1. You swiftly come by the nurses' station and glance up at the board — and then you finally face Jack, your gaze so piercing, it catches him off guard. He clears his throat and manages a greeting, a bit coolly.

“Nice to meet you, Dr. Abbot,” you tell him calmly, offering a hand. And you don’t look away, and your handshake is firmer than he would expect. The next thing you are holding is another chart, eyes following the lines of words and numbers as you step away, Whitaker barely keeping up.

“She is so fast, she’s almost flying. Beautiful,” Princess notes approvingly, and Perlah hums in agreement.

Their voices snap him back into reality, and Jack inhales sharply, only now realizing his gaze is still on you. He looks down, pretending he needs to fix his watch. “What is this, a fan club?”

“Aw, no need to be so jealous. You will always be our favorite old white doctor,” Princess teases.

Perlah gives her a side-eye. “I thought Dr. Robby was our favorite.”

“Well, yes. But I have a soft spot for men in existential crisis,” Princess winks at him.

Perlah rolls her eyes. “They are all in existential crisis.”

“And I wonder why,” Jack deadpans, then picks a case just so he’s got an excuse to leave. And maybe an excuse to pass by the room you’re in, your gloved hands already stained with crimson.

He starts watching you more often, an impulse he can’t necessarily explain.

He’s careful, he’s not staring, but his hazel eyes always pick you out from the crowd. He’s taking mental notes: you lean on doors with your right shoulder when you rush in, you scan the injured head to toe in every case, hands moving quickly in tandem with your gaze. You never raise your voice but you keep eye contact — with the interns when you give instructions and with the patients to make sure they understand what’s going on. You are efficient with your work-ups, you’re the first one to come in and you stay late to turn your patients over to the night shift. You are meticulous and disciplined in a way he finds relatable; in three weeks' time there’s a foundation laid for him to grow respectful. But sometimes Jack can’t stop the thought: he is yet to see your smile. He is also yet to see you slip up, and that is bound to happen because no doctor is without fault.

A month in, he thinks you finally come close to failure.

A patient is wheeled in on a gurney, gesticulating, red in the face from how displeased or pained he is (probably both); still, as you talk to him, he makes pauses to listen. There’s blood on his chest and his speech is slurring, and Jack’s gaze follows you. From where he’s standing, he can see you clearly, so he can’t help but glance up a few times from his computer screen. It’s all the same routine and it seems to be working smoothly — but when he takes another peek, he sees you frozen.

Jack instantly draws near, alert and observing through the glass: the man is intubated, his shirt cut and chest bared — and with a nail sticking right out of where his heart should be. The monitors go off as the blood pressure drops. When Whitaker makes eye contact with him, Jack takes that as an invitation to come in.

“What do we got here?”

Whitaker looks half worried, half relieved. “Um-m, 41 years old male, nail to the chest, intracardiac. Prepped for the thoracotomy. Cardio is tied up with another surgery, and it’s at least 15 more minutes until we can get an O.R.”

Jack knows the patient doesn’t have that long. His gaze flickers to you but you do not meet it, and he can’t tell what you are looking at. There is no time to guess — if you’ve never cracked into someone’s chest, he’ll gladly guide you. And his guidance is assertive, if a little cocky.

“It’s not every day that you get to do a thoracotomy. And it can be daunting — also, pretty risky if you ask me—”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m not asking,” you retort abruptly without even sparing him a glance.

And then you pick the scalpel and make the first incision, your hands steady and never hesitating, the confidence of a tsunami sweeping rocks away.

Jack has to take a step back because it would be childish to argue when someone’s life is hanging by a thread. And all his doubts are crushed before his very eyes the way ribs are under the pressure of a steel retractor you are holding, the metal sinking into flesh and blood to give you access to the heart. After the nail is out — long but intact, you deal with excess fluid and with the bleeding — and you are more nimble than he is, than he’s ever seen the other doctors be.

“Well, call me impressed,” Jack says earnestly.

The silence is a little awkward — a couple of seconds before you give reply: “Thank you, Dr. Abbot.”

He wonders if maybe his compliment might’ve come as patronizing. What he knows for sure is that you do not need his help. But when he backs away, he sees a glint out of the corner of his eye — dog tags left in the pile of the man’s belongings on the floor. Jack has the same tags hanging on a chain around his neck. He almost doesn’t feel the weight of them but the memories they bring are heavy — sometimes an image flashing through his mind, sometimes a nightmare stirring him awake. And mostly it’s the latter.

But today, as his shift goes on, he isn’t thinking of torn limbs and collapsing buildings and bombings that looked like firecrackers in the night. Those weren’t the reasons he kept going back — he never once craved violence, never really cared about the money. For him, it was the roar of the adrenaline and the belief that even amidst the death and ruins, he could make a change. He hasn’t felt that for a while: the rush, the determination, the power held in your hands when you are cutting into someone’s body, fixing the organs and sewing the skin together, bringing the life back in. He lacks that spark, he misses it, he wants to get it back. To prove to himself that he still can do that — or maybe not only to himself.

So now he isn’t watching you but studying, with a diligence of a man who once had to learn how to walk again.

He starts work earlier just so he can get more patients — but also to listen in on your case reports and trail your steps, peek into trauma rooms you run in and out of. He often finds himself holding back the questions: damn, how did you do that? How come you easily catch things others take so long to figure out? You take on complicated cases: a feeble woman who can’t hold her food down, her arms marked with a red rash; a young jogger who keeps fainting, short of breath; a man whose neck hurts, the pain radiating to his chest. And you examine them and pick the clues to solve the tangle of the symptoms — it’s Celiac disease, it’s kidney failure, it’s spondylodiscitis and you know exactly how to treat it. But Jack knows all these answers too. And even if they don’t click in his mind as quickly as they do in yours, it’s still a victory: he’s not as rusty as he thought he was, he is enjoying this. He can’t believe he almost let himself forget.

When he decides to try a day shift for a change, he’s met with Dana’s worried face, her wondering out loud if he feels okay. She then proceeds to ask the same question two more times, just to make sure.

“You on day shifts may be the thing that saves Robby from a heart attack, you know,” her face softens.

“Are you saying you guys get way more action than us night owls?”

Dana grins. “What, you are already reconsidering your choices?”

“Like hell I am,” one corner of his mouth hints at a smirk.

The day is busy, and he can barely catch a break, but it isn’t a chore: he’s equally enthusiastic about a road accident that left a guy with a skull fracture, an appendectomy, a stoned teenage with a knife stuck in his thigh, a street worker with a leg broken in two places. An hour before his shift ends, they get a lacrosse team of middle schoolers, and the staff shares an exasperated sigh; but not Jack. He fixes broken noses and split eyebrows and some nasty shoulder dislocations, then goes to talk to their coach — a woman in her fifties, robust and perhaps too loud with her scolding. But her blaring voice cracks as soon as the kids are out of her sight. At some point, Jack finds himself holding her hand in reassurance, and she jokes that she’d gladly marry him if only she didn’t have a wife. She also promises that all the kids' parents will give the hospital the highest ranking. And they do.

Jack clocks out when the sky is colored orange, the shadows bleeding on the pavement, and his limbs hum but this weariness is pleasant. He is content, he’s almost joyous — the almost comes from you having a day off. He got to work with so many people, why would your presence make a difference? Jack persuades himself it’s not the reason he takes a few more mornings.

But when he comes back the next time, and you’re already there, there is this weird feeling in his ribcage — a spill of heat, a flutter of his heart. He blames it on the caffeine. You stand with your eyes glued to the chart while Princess lets out a big yawn.

“If another lacrosse team comes in today, I might actually quit,” she laments.

“Send them my way,” you say with ease, without missing a beat.

“That’s ten people,” she punctuates, incredulous. “We got lucky they were just kids. Grown-up men who slam into each other while voluntarily chasing a ball scare me.”

“I’m not easily scared,” you carefully tap on the screen, scrolling through some case report, someone’s illnesses broken into signs and terms; but you do pay attention to what she’s saying. You glance up at the nurse, your voice kind: “If you ever need help, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

And then you look over your shoulder as if you can feel him watching — and it’s the same as the first time: your gaze startles him, like would a fire eruption or a ball lightning. But Jack’s greeting stays rooted in his mouth because Mateo sprints in:

“Hey, there’s something wrong with my patient’s veins, can someone take a look?”

And you are by his side and following him out of the hall in what feels like barely a second.

“I’m so grateful for you!” Princess calls after you. Then she spots Jack too, her face expression turning smug. “Oh, hello there, boss,” and she grins like she knows a secret Jack wasn’t let in on.

Turns out, Robby showed his gratitude by taking a sick leave, the first in three years (Jack would’ve sent him home himself if he heard Robby’s muffled coughing one more time). And it left Jack with way more shifts to cover. He readily gulps coffee from his to-go mug as he skims through the list of patients. The others join him soon: Mel smiles at everyone, the ever-optimistic one, Whitaker looks like hasn’t slept in months, and Santos teases him about something Jack doesn’t care to listen to. McKay is running late. Langton walks briskly to the nurses' station, taps on the tabletop right next to Jack.

“Ready to get back in the game?”

“I’ve been in the game for more years than you can count on your fingers,” Jack gives him a cold stare.

Frank sighs, his fingers drumming on the wooden surface, although he sounds barely concerned. “Love the positive attitude. Dr Robby surely won’t be missed.”

“As if you are such a pleasure to work with,” Dana cuts in, hands on her hips. “You guys should redirect that buzzing testosterone into your work. No one is getting paid for whining.”

“Preach,” Jack huffs as he steps away.

He stops himself from immediately going to check up on you. And twenty minutes later, he is glad that he did — you walk back, unruffled as you always are, Matteo tagging after you. His patient is an old lady with thrombocytopenia she probably ignored until it got too bad: there are bruises sprinkled on her arms and legs, a splotch of dried blood under her nose from how often it’s been bleeding. You gave her a platelet transfusion but you suspect it’s cancer; you order more blood tests and bring her a blanket before she even asks for it. Her eyes well up, voice shaking with heartfelt gratitude. And Jack has to remind himself that he can’t pick any favorites, he isn’t in it for the long run; but if he was to pick, it would’ve been an easy choice. And no one lags behind today — he’s got a well-coordinated team, like gears interlocking in a clock, the harmony built out of weeks of practice. They make jokes, share work stories and snacks; but every time Jack’s eyes get back to you, he can’t catch even a ghost of a smile.

He finds that you are very hard to read. And it unnerves him, maybe just a little.

He tries for his attempts to look brief and nonchalant — a kind word here and there, a quick approving look, a dry joke — and you offer nothing in return. As thorough as you are with diagnosing, you take no part in other conversations, you rarely take breaks or stand around. By the time the noon rolls in, Jack is fighting the urge to grab you by the shoulders: hey, take a seat and have something to eat. And tell me how can I cadge a laugh out of you, just one will be enough.

Dana waves a hand before his face, the phone up to her ear. “There’s been some gang fight at the North Side. Four victims coming in, two critical — one shot in the stomach, the other has his head smashed in. Don’t think they both will make it.”

Jack’s bet is on the first guy but it’s the head injury that’s fatal — the victim is pronounced dead, face so disfigured they’ll need a DNA test. Mel looks away in shock, and Santos frowns. Your stare is blank and unimpressed. You volunteer to take the third guy with a pelvic wound — he’s rambling incoherently, the tight bandage over his hip already soaked; you press your hand to it on the way to trauma. Jack leaves the worst case to himself.

“Who’s down for an ex-lap?”

“Can I run the bowel? I’ve never done it,” Santos asks, hopeful.

“Sure. Once we open the abdomen and remove the bullet, you can have your fun,” he offers, and she runs along with joy.

Although Jack can’t imagine a procedure less joyful. Yet, he is fueled by his new-found appreciation for his job so he walks her through the steps: identify the entry wound and cut in, look for the bleeding and what the bullet might’ve hit. It missed the liver by an inch; but to confirm the damage they need to evaluate the area by hand.

Perlah peeks into the room. “Is he stable?”

“Well, unless Dr. Santos gets too excited and makes a bow out of his intestines,” her hands stop, and Jack breathes out a chuckle. “I’m just joking, keep going. I’d say, his vitals do look promising.”

“Then you can keep him down here for a bit. We have a guy with a balloon in his aorta, he’s gotta go up first.”

Jack blinks at her once, twice, the meaning of her words settling in. “Did someone do a REBOA?”

“You bet she did. And it was awesome,” the nurse then scrunches her nose. “Apart from the amount of blood. And by the way, the fourth one only has a broken rib, so no miraculous procedures needed.”

He doesn’t find it funny and he can’t find the word for it: it’s something in between confusion and offence. As soon as Santos’s done with stitches, he strides out to find you.

His turmoil momentarily recedes when he sees one of the cubicle curtains stained, the deep red lurking through. Jack pulls at the material and barges in — and then he’s silenced at the sight. The area looks horrifying: bright streaks of blood left on the floor, the anesthesia trolley, the table with the instruments that you are now collecting, a few droplets smudged over your cheek. Before he’s even angry, there is another feeling — a thought, a pull: if only he could brush that splatter off your face, a few brief seconds for one briefest touch. Of course, he doesn’t.

Jack keeps his hands behind his back. “You didn’t think you should consult with anyone first before doing a damn REBOA?”

“Why would I?” your eyes are on the tools.

“Because it’s dangerous as hell and since I am the attending—”

“I do know protocol. But I also know how fast a human can bleed out. It was a truncal hemorrhage, and you were hands deep in someone’s abdomen. Was I supposed to wait?”

He wishes you were meaner, rougher, anything that would give him an excuse to snap. But you aren’t doing this to show off — your tone is measured and your reasoning is simple: a man was dying and you knew how to save him. Jack realizes it is the same logic he often uses. And he can’t tell what is it that bothers him so much. If Whitaker pulled off something like that, Jack would’ve chosen to commend him. The same goes for Santos, Javadi or King, for any other intern or resident that he can think of... Except, they would’ve asked for his opinion or his help. You didn’t even think to.

Well, Robby warned him you’d be stubborn.

“I want to be informed about any life-altering decisions. At least give me a heads-up so I am not blindsided when a nurse gushes over it in passing,” Jack insists, head tilted slightly so he can catch your gaze.

What he really wants is for you to look at him. You grant him that one wish.

“Will do,” you tell him simply.

But your eyes are still unreadable, a book written in a foreign language, a manuscript he doesn’t know how to decrypt.

And either out of incomprehension or rejection, his brain makes an assumption: maybe you believe that you are better, maybe you think the rules weren’t made for you. You never really gave him cause for rivalry — you are in your final year of residency, and Jack is put in charge. But you are so bluntly independent and reserved, his every try to understand you feels like leaping in the dark. Later that day he can’t help but glimpse into your file — there’s hardly anything of interest: you previously trained in a small clinic, in a nice neighborhood, your letters of recommendation all consist of praises.

What adds to his moroseness is that you fit really well with literally everybody else. Langdon tones down his sarcasm, listens to you like he only does to Robby. Santos discreetly brings you cases she needs advice on, McKay and Mel enjoy your company when you get a free minute. Whitaker seems to be your favorite although Jack isn’t sure why — he deems him soft and insecure; but Dennis does a better job under your guidance. On rare occasions when he’s got a day off, Javadi always takes his place.

Jack figures out everyone’s relationships by his fourth morning shift; he hasn’t gotten any closer to figuring you out. He’s fighting the grimace at how bitter his coffee is when Javadi pops out in the hall and you follow suit. He catches scraps of your conversation: something about a teen with a gashed forehead. Javadi rambles — until you ask her nonchalantly, unprompted. “You don’t like the sight of blood?”

“What? Oh no, it’s fine! I’m totally fine,” Victoria stumbles over the words, but her denial is too meek.

From how nervous she is, Jack guesses that she’s lying. He almost wants to laugh — before a thought comes to his mind: how come he never noticed her fear of blood?

“It’s just a little disturbing sometimes... But I only passed out, like, once or twice.”

“I used to be like that. Fainted many times during blood tests,” you tell her quietly while entering some data.

Jack is so caught in disbelief, he can’t help a glance in your direction. But your sincerity doesn’t seem feigned. Javadi gapes at you.

“And how did you... what did you do to overcome it?”

“I found myself in a situation where someone needed help and there was no one else around to help him,” you shrug. And Jack discerns the subtle reticence behind your tone.

It only spurs Javadi’s interest. “Was there a lot of blood? Like, a heavy bleeding, a deep wound?”

Your fingers freeze over the tablet screen, your facial profile not betraying your true feelings. But Jack swears he can see the tension crawling down your body. You don’t give the answer right away, you weigh the words carefully before you say them.

“A drug overdose, he still had a needle in his arm and I must’ve missed it. Took barely a minute of chest compressions for the needle to fly out across the room. It was a lot of blood to me.”

Javadi’s hopefulness grows dim. “Yeah, I don’t like needles too. I tried drawing blood a few times but the process kinda makes me nauseous, and I can’t force myself to —”

“It’s different when it’s someone you care about.”

Your comment slips out involuntarily — and immediately you look like you want to take it back. But you get it together and meet her eyes, your voice carrying just the right amount of firmness.

“Listen, I’m not suggesting you should torture your family members. But you may not always have attendings by your side or someone else to take your place in case you feel like fainting. If you fall, you can hurt your head, you can hurt a patient, you can disrupt a surgery when every minute counts. I think you have a good head on your shoulders, and I don’t want to downplay your efforts. But please, figure it out. Otherwise, you won’t make for a good surgeon.”

You reassure her you won’t tell anyone her secret. Javadi manages a small smile, a hushed “thank you”. It is a sweet moment, a heart-to-heart chat you bond over; it’s also three times more words than you’ve spoken to Jack in weeks.

But he accepts your silence — as a challenge.

Jack keeps an eye on you, now critical, resisting the gravitation that’s been attracting him to you. Although it’s hard to find the reasons to be hard on you. Whenever he has questions — or more so when he can come up with some, you give detailed replies, and he’s left with nothing to complain about. Your patient satisfaction score is high, you are never facile or reckless with your judgment; with how smart you are, you can give odds to many doctors, him included. And Jack knows he is older, with years of experience under his belt — but he can’t in good faith wish for anyone to go through the same things he did to gain the same knowledge.

On his second week of day shifts he is still clueless about what to make of you. And Jack tells himself that he is simply looking for a connection — except, all his attempts look like he is trying to pick a fight.

“This is a teaching hospital. You are supposed to teach them things,” he grumbles as he meets you outside the trauma room. You got a guy who came in spitting blood — post-tonsillectomy hemorrhage, and things went south pretty quickly. He started choking, crashed, his airways flooded with liquid; you had to intubate him blindly. Whitaker spent an hour by your side, his questions endless — to which you did give answers, barely ever breaking focus, but you only allowed him to use suction.

“He’ll learn plenty if he is attentive enough,” you say, throwing away the gown, trying to put some distance in between you.

Jack doesn’t like it, he keeps pace with you. “Whitaker needs more practice, as much as he can get. He’s not supposed to stand there like some deer who wandered into the yard.”

You whirl around, so fast that Jack comes to a stop when you are separated by merely an inch. And your gaze burns, like lava seeping through the mountain’s restrain.

“And I needed the patient not to die on the table,” you bite back, then breathe in — and then add more coolly. “Dennis will get his chance to shine.”

“And when exactly is that gonna happen?”

“That’s for me to decide,” you state, like you would do a fact that can’t be questioned. “Thank you for your input, Dr. Abbot, but I have to get back to work.”

You turn your back to him and leave him standing there, and Jack almost feels helpless. And that’s the feeling he can’t stand. It simmers in him, it must be the reason his cheeks suddenly feel hot.

Dana tsks as she comes near, her brows furrowed and face visibly concerned.

“You know how I’ve been calling Robby a sad boy? I’m gonna start calling you a pissy boy.”

“Not the worst thing I’ve been called,” he dismisses, a humorless escape attempt. But her fingers grab at his elbow, and he pauses with an annoyed exhale.

“I’ve been watching you hammering away at her for days,” Dana makes sure to lower her voice. “If she was a student, I’d maybe let it slide, but she is a resident, a senior one. And nothing I am seeing suggests she isn’t doing well.”

His eyes dart to her hand; then he glares stubbornly at her. She looks unfazed.

“Jack, you will take it too far one day — and you will regret it,” Dana tries to reason. “She is a good kid and she’s really good at her job. Just let her be.”

“Thank you for your input, Evans. I’d prefer to get back to work,” he frees his arm, and she allows it. But Jack can feel her worried gaze as he walks away.

He doesn’t come home until the twilight hugs the sky, until he feels like he’ll pass out on the next step. Jack wastes hours on attempts to wear himself out: he walks the entire park three times, peeping about in case the puppy comes again. It doesn’t. He stops by the bar he hasn’t been to in a few weeks, orders a beer and sips on it, his musings soon drowned out by the blasting music. The alcohol tastes weird, and the bass guitar gives him a pounding headache. He takes a walk instead of taking a bus home, two miles on foot in hopes he falls asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow.

But the thought of you cuts into his mind as easily as a nail does into a human body, and it stays there, vexing and robbing him of whatever little peace he’s had.

He barely gets any sleep.

And his nights are dreamless.

It’s just another Friday, and these bring in a lot of drunks — from parties and family gatherings, from business meetings that ran late and tense until someone reached for whiskey. Jack stays behind for paperwork, a tedious pastime that keeps him pinned to an uncomfortable chair. He briefly takes eyes off the screen, stretching his neck — and then a noise catches his attention. It’s someone talking in a raised voice, someone who sounds too wasted to be reasoned with. Which sounds like a problem.

Jack finds the source with ease — the nurses all glance in the direction of the trauma room, and in support of their agitation Mateo all but flies out, his face hardened at the edges. Jack gets up and gets closer, his ears open and eyes watchful.

“Should we call security?” Dana asks warily.

Mateo brushes the suggestion off. “No, it’s fine,” — but it sounds like it’s not. “I just need a short break.”

“What’s wrong?” Jack interrupts.

And it isn’t a question but a demand for explanation Mateo can’t reject. He lets out a tired sigh.

“The guy got drunk and couldn’t hold his liquor, some passersby saw him sprawled out in an alley and called the ambulance. Came in with a nasty arm fracture. He’ll live though,” Mateo looks back at the room with obvious disdain. “Unfortunately.”

Jack promptly moves forward. “I will deal with it.”

“Hold on, Rambo,” Dana interjects. And she keeps her eyes on him while she talks to Mateo. “Did he get physical?”

“Nah, he’s too inebriated. Keeps trying to get up from the gurney but mostly he’s all talk.”

More can be heard from where they are standing — it’s some drunken yelling, a disarticulated chain of curse words. And then they hear something break, a dull sound of an object hitting a wall.

In a few seconds comes another one.

“I can’t just let him trash all of our equipment,” Jack gives Dana a pointed look.

She clucks her tongue at his persistence. “It’s not the equipment that I fear for.”

“Rest assured, Evans, I won’t give him another arm fracture.”

“I didn’t think you would, but now that you suggested it so easily—”

“Finally someone decided to take action instead of all this talking,” Perlah remarks, her gaze isn’t on either one of them. And Jack turns to follow it just in time to catch you running right into the room.

His heart falls. Why the hell are you even still here?

And it’s barely three heartbeats before a realization strikes: you can’t go there alone. He can’t let you.

Jack bolts to you without waiting for anyone’s permission. He comes in just in time to see you dodge the trolley the patient pushed at you — it slams into the wall and rolls over, the instruments scattering loudly across the floor. You don’t seem scared, but you are all tensed up, gaze fixed on the guy who’s screaming his lungs out.

“You won’t trick me! I won’t let you experiment on me!”

And you don’t look away once but you must’ve noticed Jack; your voice comes out low. “I think he’s having an episode. He needs benzodiazepines but I can’t get close to administer them.”

“And you should not,” Jack retorts, eyeing the guy with discontent. “You absolutely shouldn’t deal with him on your own. Not when he’s flapping around and yelling like a fucking psycho.”

“Silently watching him wreck the room didn’t seem like a good tactic either.”

In an instant Jack’s gaze is drawn to you, pulse racing as he is struggling to bite down his emotions: why would you put yourself in danger, why can’t you ever back down, why can’t he stay away? And unexpectedly you look at him, and your gaze isn’t a puzzle or a dare but an explanation: you can’t be mad at me for the thing you would’ve done yourself. I know you would have.

The room goes quiet but only for a moment — before another cry comes, and the patient lunges straight at you. Jack’s eye catches the movement, and at the very last second, he moves to stand in the guy’s way.

The drunkard crashes into him, hands swatting at the air, too uncoordinated to land a proper punch. And then all of a sudden he headbutts Jack. The pain is sharp, shooting toward his nose, but Jack manages to stay upright. He can’t see you stopping cold or the security approaching in a hurry and in worry.

Because Jack is only seeing red.

He breathes in through the mouth and grabs the man with both hands, rough and unflinching. Jack pushes him back to the gurney, then throws him on it, face flat against the pillow; his angry cries tone down to weak whimpers.

“Shut the fuck up. Stop moving,” Jack hisses into his ear.

He can taste the blood that oozed down to his lips and he can hear the sound of footsteps in the room. But he doesn’t let go.

Jack feels a hand on his shoulder — he turns to see one of the guards, Ahmad. “Man, let us handle this. C’mon, step away.”

Begrudgingly, Jack does. Ahmad quickly takes his place, he and two other guards strapping the patient down; Mateo wriggles in the middle to sedate the guy. He dozes off, a dark purple bruise already blooming on his forehead, drool at the corner of his mouth.

You are still standing at the exact same spot, but then your eyes land on Jack’s blooded nose, and you immediately fall out of the stupor. You rummage through the nearest drawer and get a few clean cloths, then call for Dana to bring an ice pack. The guards leave but Mateo hangs back; he pulls up a chair for Jack to sit on.

“Are you okay? Any headache or dizziness or—”

“I’m fine, no need to coddle me,” Jack waves off his concerns crankily. Mateo looks at you for some support.

“He needs a head CT,” you say, gaze glued to Jack. “Ask the radiology if they can squeeze him in.”

Mateo nods and takes off with no other questions asked. The silence is now laced with tension, and while Jack’s pain gradually subsides, his anger doesn’t. He’s not the one for chit-chats, and it’s not a 'thank you' that he wants — but an admission: he was right, and you were careless, and maybe this is the one time you can agree with him.

You lean over wordlessly and wipe the dried-up blood, pushing his head back to examine his nose. Your touch is light, fleeting, but his skin heats up under your hands. You take a penlight to check for septal hematoma; then your thumbs move from his cheekbones to his nostrils. Jack doesn’t wince or look away, eyes dark and boring into you, unblinking. You put a finger to his nose and move it slowly from side to side, watching closely as his gaze follows it.

And then you pull away, and something cracks in him, a line formed on the ocean floor after it’s shaken by an earthquake, a force that pushes waves to crash onto the shore. And all his feelings surge up, unstoppable like a tsunami.

You look for more cloths, and only with your back to him, you finally decide to speak:

“Doesn’t look like a fracture but—”

“Are you out of your mind?!” Jack bursts out, the stridency of his voice barely contained.

Your hands flinch at the sound. Jack misses it or maybe chooses to ignore it, too adamant in his displeasure, too wrapped up in it.

“Do you realize how dangerous it was for you to go here alone? What could’ve happened to you if security came late? Or do you just assume it’s not a big deal if you get hurt? Can you for at least a second consider the consequences of your relentlessness, can you imagine how dire they might be? And what it’s like for someone else to throw themselves between danger and you?”

But then you turn to him, and his tirade breaks off, the anger ebbing instantly as he sees your face expression.

It would be easy to assume he must’ve hit a nerve. Except, it looks way worse than that.

Your gaze is swept with pain, eyes wide and bright with tears you are holding back. An inhale quivers at your lips, chest heaving like you are scarcely managing to curb your feelings. Like there’s been a wall you’ve built meticulously over the years, and he didn’t just put a crack in it — no, he tore it down completely, drove through it with a bulldozer, only a mess of rubble left behind. And he knows that’s not something an apology will fix.

Jack feels the guilt already swirling in his chest as he sits straighter, eyes not leaving yours.

“Listen, I didn’t—”

“I heard you loud and clear, Dr. Abbot,” your voice is lacerating, a blade you’ve armed yourself with, steel that cuts him deep. “If my company displeases you so much, I will make sure to limit our interactions. Apologies for any inconvenience.”

You turn away, and when he sees you wipe your cheeks with one quick motion, Jack knows he is the only one to blame. But you don’t let him see your tears nor do you wait for him to talk again. You rush out of the doors, and the words he catches aren’t meant for him:

“Dana, please help Dr. Abbot with the ice pack.”

He hears her coming in and he’s almost ashamed to look — Dana meets his gaze with arms crossed over her chest, shaking her head in disapproval. She doesn’t say a thing and puts ice on his nose with a face that looks like she would rather punch him. Jack doesn’t even try to come up with excuses — he knows that he has none.

He fails to find you after the shift ends: you must’ve sneaked out to avoid him, and he can’t say that he’s surprised. Jack walks home in the rain, not bothering to open the umbrella, the street lights drowning in the puddles underfoot, the wind biting his wet face. He can barely feel it. And in the privacy of his apartment — a cold, half-empty space, walls void of any color — a thought that has been lurking in his mind finally takes shape:

Jack loathes being alone.

And he messed up so badly.

»»» part 2

🎵 the title is a quote from Tom Odell’s “Can’t pretend” (the song is just so Jack-coded to me! highly recommend you give it a listen. the small part from 1:29 to 1:49 gives me heart palpitations and is very fitting for this chapter lol).

by “rivals” I meant it’s all in Jack’s head, he’s silly like that 😩 you’ll learn about the reader’s past in the next chapter!

I didn’t specify how big the age gap is exactly. google search told me you get into residency when you are in your 30s, and Abbot is def over 40. but some like to imagine the reader younger, so I didn’t want to ruin that for you.

there are definitely some medical inaccuracies (pretty sure ex-lap isn’t performed in the ER) but I am begging you to ignore that.

dividers by me & plum98.

» I plan on writing 3 parts in total (a prayer circle for my inspiration to stay with me, PLEASE). of course, there will be smut... they just have to learn how to talk to each other first. » read on AO3 » English is not my first language, so feel free to message me if you spot any major mistakes. reblogs and comments are very appreciated! tell me if you want to be tagged ♡

[616ioi]

❛ #HUFF! Sakamoto days.

────────── hey google, what do i do if my sleeping buddy dreams of me? .ᐟ.ᐟ

⤿ pairings. shin asakura x gn reader

⤿ contents. wet dream, sub&bottom character. this is mature content, read at your own discretion.

⤿ thoughts. you can find part two here.

Shin asakura couldn't sleep.

His mind was in frenzy mode, and his senses were overloading. His body? Hot to the touch.

In all the time he's known you, this is the first time he feels so flustered. Flustered enough, he might even scream.

He grabs his pillow and yanks it over his face as he tries to block out your thoughts. This shouldn't be a hard task.. but you're so persistent.

He is no stranger to thoughts of himself; cursing him, complimenting him, simply passing by him. But, a wet dream? About him of all people?

The images are blurry, but your thoughts are so graphic and detailed that he can't believe it. You're touching him all over, greedy hands grasping at his own as you force him them away from his weeping cock. You press a lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth as if that'll soothe his pain.

'I h-hate you..' His voice is so whiney.

There's no way he sounds like that. He wouldn't know, anyway.

Then you coo, the pads of your fingers trailing down his body, teasingly. You smile down at him. It's coy, yet he can spot the adoration behind it. 'Don't say that, shin. You know you love me.'

A whimper slips past his pink lips before he can stop it. His eyes widen at this strange reaction. Never in a million years did he think this would affect him. Never in a million years did he think someone would want him this badly.

He only presses his pillow over his mouth to muffle the embarrassed shriek he lets out.

Shin notes that your touch is so certain yet gentle, like you've done it many times before. Like you know what he likes.

This isn't your first time thinking of him... like this.

But, he isn't too positive. This is the first time you've slept over at sakamoto's beloved home. His eyes widen as you shift on the bed beside him. His breath catches in his throat when the dream shifts from you and back to him.

It seems like you've jumped ahead but unfortunately, things were getting foggy. He couldn't make out a lot.

Unfortunately?? Shin shakes his head furiously.

Your hands are on his shoulders as you rock yourself back and forth, using his precum as lubrication. Your thighs are covered with it. All he can see is the furiously red head peaking out from in between your legs. It looked painful... but good?

Shin bucks his hips, but you jab your thumb into his shoulder blade, eliciting a cry from him. 'What did I tell you?'

'Mffnn, I'm sorry, (name).' The dream shin can't seem to stop squirming, apologizing multiple times, seeking your affection.

'Don't you worry, cutie. You're still doing such a good job. You're so patient for me...'

He removes the pillow (it's thrown somewhere, he doesn't care) as he struggles to catch his breath and instead covers his mouth with a hand. His pupils blown wide as his mind trails off.

How would your warm, plush thighs feel around him?

....Would you also praise him?

He can't seem to stop himself as his sweaty hand trails down his body and slips past his pajama pants, "a-ah.."

He palms himself through his boxers, hot muffled pants huffing out from under his palm. You could wake up anytime and the visions would end.

"Huff...huff," shin shuts his eyes tightly when an image of you kissing him flashes in your mind as if it'll help him shut it down.

His ears burn as he frees himself from his tight pants as he thinks this over. Is he really about to do this? He wouldn't even be able to look you in the eye.

But, before he could even do anything, your dream ends, and your eyes flutter open. Shin gasps lightly before pulling the blanket over his burning face.

Darn. Shin stares hard at his bulge, biting his lip in frustration. He was too slow.

[sunnyknight-original]

Dear My Dear -

an @forgettable-au fan-slideshow

At the end of their journey, Sans has remembered everything. And theres only one question on his mind now…

*now what?

Its lore time. omg theres so much-

The way ill organize this…lIll start with the GENERAL thing, before getting more spesific, and explain each slide in way too much detail.

THE BIGGER PICTURE

This is the hypothetical end to their journey. Sans and Papyrus remember what happened, and this is how Sans is handling it. A letter to Wingdings.

I was hesitant to make this at first for obvious reasons- we dont know how its gonna end!!! But I took this more as a “what if ?” scenario. IF they ever remember anything, how would Sans specifically, react? I mean thats gotta be tough.

Because of that though, lot of what happened to lead up to this is kept vague.

ill explain in way more detail how Sans got to the point of writing this letter, and how he feels in the end when I explain each slide individually. But the reason why, the MAIN ISSUE is…

Over the years, hes put so much effort into enjoying what he has. And- nothings even changed!!! So why does he feel so much has? Now that he remembers what he lost…WHO he lost. He cant help but have this voice in the back of his head that says “would it have been better if that never happened? if Papyrus never existed?” and of course he absolutely hates to think that! but the voice gets louder. Writing this letter, is an act of closure. Of laying to rest someone he never got to. Someone he never even really got to do much with.

(Excuse the shitty quality of the images- I promise they’re better. WATCH THE VIDEO)

my dear wingdings,)

Sans says “wingdings” here instead of “brother”. that’s important. Also its on a white void, showing a sorta “heavenly imagery” with the mention of Wingdings. Also Gaster is in a BLACK void, but hes talking about WD here, so, contradictions.

you never came back, and now…after remembering everything everything clearly i understand why.)

Sans and Papyrus are sitting by a fire at night. They are both sorta lost in their own worlds at the moment, but are more or less leaning on one another for comfort and support. They both need each other right now despite each other being the whole reason why they feel the way they do right now-

Papyrus is notably no longer wearing the white coat that somewhat resembles a lab coat. Symbolism! Growth!

(art note: I drew Sans as a lefty in this- cherish it. It was so hard to draw these hands at these angles- CHERISH IT.)

i don’t imagine you’ll receive this letter, but i, nonetheless, must send it. wingdings….oh ‘dings…)

the first part is somewhat of a self aware/sarcastic joke. Sans is writing this letter for himself- he doesn’t imagine Wingdings, the dead man, will ever see it. Nor would Gaster care to read it. Thats another important thing, this is NOT a letter for Gaster. This is a letter for Wingdings. which is for Sans

The star in the sky symbolizes a few different things- the main one being Wingdings ofc. But also Papyrus’ expectations of himself- which mainly come from who he was. He’s looking at it, reflecting, thinking of what Wingdings did, and what Papyrus has done. Who he is NOW, and if he ever was Wingdings.

Or if Wingdings just became him.

A square is a rectangle, but a rectangle isn’t a square type thing.

i was just starting to dream the silliest- the softest of dreams. i miss you. and i will always miss you.)

2 contradictions, what Sans used to think, vs what he knows now. The memories were fuzzy- he couldn’t remember The Royal Scientist, he just feels like he remembers some nice times. Before now knowing everything clearly. And he still misses it- slightly.

The reflections are blacked out at first, before showing their future selves. Before, there was no connection to the present because it wasnt true. It felt like/was 2 completely different things

but i cannot live like that.)

Sans can still tell, even without the rose tinted glasses view he used to have, he cant live missing the past and not living in the present. He always knew that, but repeating it here makes him feel better.

Pictured is Sans and Papyrus hiking up the mountain next to the city as the sun sets. Papyrus is in full view of the light, but is facing away in order to help Sans see it too. Symbolism!

and it seems you cannot live any other way.)

another reference to the fact that Wingdings cant live… at all now. But also an awareness that part of him lives on in Gaster. The thing that killed him.

I doubt hes going to change in any way by the end of the comics, he’s far to obsessive about angels and the player for childish stuff like “growth” and “changing for the better as a human being”

when i was with you, the world made sense. but now that we are apart, i see clearly that your world is not a world from which one can escape.)

When they were together, they knew what they wanted to be. They wanted to be scientists. But after being apart so long and experiencing so much uncertainty, Sans finds that mindset is unhealthy. Again, a lot of this is stuff he already knew, but is repeating to himself because after remembering everything, he feels as if hes back at square one.

As kids they would test echo flowers, for science purposes! We don’t know yet if WDs voice comes through on them, but I imagine not… maybe. But for this we’re gonna say no. Their speech bubbles are trying so hard to be circles- the scribbles also somewhat resemble stars because I thought that’d be fun.

But the last slide has it shown that he dug them out, also for science purposes!

He took the echo flowers from their roots, much later on in his lab career. That in itself isnt that bad, but it symbolizes that he doesn’t care much for taking things slow. He wants to test with echo flowers? **TAKES EVERY SINGLE ONE WITHIN A 100 MILE RADIUS**

Also the empty holes reflects sort of what happened after he died. All of the underground was left with holes to fill. Sans, a childhood/brother. Alphys, the royal scientist. Those are the main ones but he was THE ROYAL SCIENTIST im sure there were more (smaller) holes that may or may not have been filled.

Ok and the last thing the flowers being taken out represent- he took the ones specifically from when they were kids, and abandoned what was left for the grass to grow tall and the entire area to be, in general, a lot flatter. In his quest to basically never grow up and continue being the thing he KNEW he wanted to be since kindergarten- he’s taken everything and left the rest in the dust. He’s The Royal Scientist now, he “doesn’t need anything else.”

i’m so sorry. for everything. for everything long ago, and for starting up that machine again.

Sans knows he could have been better. He could have done things differently, and that thought messes with him, even before he remembered.

The 2nd image is Sans at Grillbys after another failed attempt to get Wingdings outside. Despite the fact that he could have done things differently, theres no real reason to be “sorry” But still, he cant help but feel like he should be. He could have done things differently- could have tried harder, and gotten Wingdings out more often- or at all.

Im not sure where the machine in Sans’ lab comes into play in this AU, but it worked for the purposes of this audio.

theres a good man within you, wingdings. but he is wrestling with a giant. and the giant WINS time and again.)

Before everything, there was still a good man inside Wingdings that Sans saw. But now that he’s Gaster he just cant see him ever changing... and yknow what hes probably right. Like Papyrus says! Anyone can be a good person if they just try!…Gaster just isnt trying

“Wins” being emphasized here, I enjoy, since its sorta a video gamey term. The giant hes wrestling is that/the player, after all. Also probably his ego

I also had fun with kid Wingdings and what he’s drawing. Ofc its all him and Sans plus silly little stars, but him being finished drawing Sans, but not yet finished drawing himself, symbolizes the fact that at that age he still didn’t really know what he wanted to be, I feel like Wingdings kinda remembers the past wrong. Sure he definitely had science on the mind, but younger kids are often filled with questions, he questions if thats truly where he’d be the happiest.

Thats the good man within him

you’ve broken my soul again, and i fear i have broken yours. and for that i will never forgive myself, but i need to let you go now.)

the star represents, again, Wingdings. And the moon represents Sans, which shines only under the Suns (Papyrus’) light.

The sun is beginning to rise, and Sans and Papyrus are beginning to leave. Sans puts out the fire, closing this chapter of his life.

Because of every reason he needed to relearn/re-reflect on listed here, hes ready to let Wingdings go now. Sans is the one to put out the fire here, and not Papyrus, cause this is from the perspective of how SANS handles putting this issue to rest. Papyrus can have his own fire to put out later

Another thing about putting out the fire, thats just kinda common knowledge to do especially at a public camping spot. Yknow what else is common knowledge to do so you dont disrupt the community?? NOT REPLANTING FLOWERS-

Its not that deep…but still-

i send you the radio you made many years ago when we were kids. not because i dont want it, but… because i care for it far too much and it reminds me too much of you.)

CALL BACK!!!!!!

Sans leaves this last memento to Wingdings, the last thing they have that has nothing to do with Papyrus. Because at this point theres no reason to keep it, in Sans’ mind at least. There’s also no reason to destroy it- Like he says, hes not leaving it out of malice, theres just no good that will come from keeping it and holding onto the past.

As the sun rises, here we see the brothers leaving. in contrast to before, Sans is helping Papyrus down. Helping him down from the spotlight, the expectations he’s set upon himself. Another kick that Papyrus still has much more to reflect on and think about, he’s still looking back at that light, at a shooting star, at everything he thought he wanted to be.

i hope one day you will find some kind people who with appreciate you. for it kept me thinking of you all these years.)

GASTER FOLLOWERS!!!

Despite everything, Sans still wants whats left of Wingdings, Gaster, to be happy and find something, anyone, that will give him true happiness. It’s left ambiguous however if they truly do, do that for him. If it’s at all healthy.

cause frankly i have no idea how theyll be included. but just like everything- i cant wait to find out

EDIT: something important (and really wordy-) I just remembered and forgot to mention: the wording change “i hope you will find some kind people who will appreciate you”. I chose this because I think it’s the thing Wingdings and Papyrus just want the most. To be appreciated- to be loved for who they are. Sans is/has been so happy that Papyrus has found those people in Undyne, Toriel, Asgore, and…hopefullllyyy Alphys? And now that Sans remembers Wingdings, and remembers how badly he wanted that, and how he never did. Sans cant help but feel horrible for him, and in turn, Gaster. Sans forgives Wingdings, and loves Papyrus…and….he just wants the best for Gaster. He hopes he can find true happiness in that twisted mind of his…

and i hope by returning it to you, i can finally be free. goodbye.

- your brother

As the sun rises, the star gets smaller and smaller and eventually the sun replaces it. Remember when I said Papyrus represents the sun? SYMBOLISM!!!

Also about that, the star shines brighter than anything, but the Sun is among a lot of clouds, depicting how isolated Wingdings is/was despite shining the brightest, vs Papyrus who also does indeed shine! but isn’t isolated whatsoever.

Now, remember when I said Sans saying “my dear wingdings” instead of “my dear brother” was important? well, he acknowledges that he is still Wingdings’ brother, despite everything. So he signs off as “your brother” but… He’ll always try to remember Wingdings fondly…but…he’s unsure if he considers Wingdings his brother anymore- just because of how much they’ve changed. Thats why the whole thing is called Dear My Dear.

the radio + letter remains there in the end. I briefly played with the idea of having them disappear as the sun came out, implying that Gaster took the radio and reas the letter, but that was before I realized it was much better for this to be for Wingdings specifically, not Gaster/Wingdings/whatever.

FINALE!!! PLUS SOME BEHIND THE SCENES INFO!!!

weeps pitifully this was probably the most fun i’ve had with a project/the most happy i’ve come out of one. Learned lots about my process’ and what works! so thats awesome It took a while to make, so theres a lot of stuff I changed or ideas I scrapped that I find interesting, so im gonna show some of that on my side/shitpost account, @o-sunny-day

also isnt this so awesome???? I got a computer so I got to post more images than just 10, THIS IS SO AWESOME!!!

Have a Merry Christmas, and a Happy New Year! Heres to being a bigger, better, and different person this year! except not really because despite everything its still you.

un-unless you…got shattered across time and space…. then you’re-

well I mean that-….. hm…

does that…? hmm, well….

[after-witch]

Horrorfest: Apples [Yandere Shinigami Light Yagami x Reader]

Title: Apples [Yandere Shinigami Light Yagami x Reader]

Synopsis: The inhuman thing that calls itself Light Yagami won't leave you alone.

For Horrorfest request: Reader thats haunted by Shinigami Light Yagami please!

Word count: 800ish

Notes: yandere, stalking

“Leave me alone.” 

The words come out bitter and soft, like a piece of fruit that’s been sitting at the bottom of the fridge for far too long. They smush inwards like overripe flesh underneath your thumb, from the weight of the creature hovering in front of you, the inhuman thing that refuses to go away for good.

Sometimes he leaves for a few days, a week, even a month or two. Long enough that you think he’s finally gotten bored or died–can Shinigami even die?--and you’ll never see him darken your doorway (literally and otherwise) again.

But then he’s there, an unwanted flicker. Standing by your bed. Sitting on your professor’s desk, a prim smile on his face. Waiting behind a shelf at the grocery store, in the gap between open boxes of cereal. Intruding on your everyday life with his awful extraordinariness. 

“Aren’t you even the smallest bit grateful?” He asks, not for the first time, shifting towards you. He’s too close. When he speaks, his breath hovers, smelling of apples and rot. 

You press further away, tucking yourself into the corner between your bed and the wall. The edge of your nightstand digs into the flesh of your upper arm. 

“I don’t want you to follow me,” you say, pathetically, stupidly, because you know it will change nothing. It hasn’t before. It won’t know. “Find someone who will be grateful, if it matters that much to you.”

That’s your dream, really. That he will find someone else to follow, to obsess over, to whisper awful things to in the night; dreams of a reinvisioned world, remaking the world of mortals in an image that suits him. You’ll be there, too. Forever, he says, even if he hasn’t figured out how just yet. 

But no matter how much you plead, how much you try to make yourself unappealing, this thing–it calls itself Light Yagami, and isn’t that awful, to give itself a human name?--won’t leave you alone. 

A clawed hand reaches out and you squeeze your eyes shut. It’s easier not to see him when he touches you. That much you’ve learned. Because when he does, the look on his face gets too tight, too manic. His eyes go a touch red and there’s something inside them that is too awful to bear.

The claw drags down your cheek, resting underneath your chin and tilting it up like a lover would. It makes you sick, this gesture; it’s too practiced, too human. How did a Shinigami know what might make someone go weak at the knees?

And you do–you do–for all the wrong reasons. 

“You can learn to be grateful,” he whispers, voice going low, almost gray. “I’ll even teach you how to use my notebook properly.”

Oh, that fucking notebook. It’s what started this whole mess. It was just sitting there, on the park bench. You’d walked by that bench a million times and nothing was ever out of place, but the one day there’s something new–it’s something that’s condemned you to this.

To him.

All you’d done is pick it up. Touched the edge of it, wondering if some kid has left it behind. But instead of a name written on the front, there was only an odd title. 

“Death… note?” You’d read–and by the time you glanced back up, he was there, suddenly, in a blink.

Smiling politely and introducing himself, as if he wasn’t some creature that had popped up out of nowhere. Came from nowhere a more accurate statement, if his brief descriptions of his world were anything to go by–a vast gray rotting wasteland.

“You wouldn’t like it there,” he told you once, musing more to himself, you thought, than actually speaking to you. He liked to hear himself talk. “That’s why I’ll remake this world instead.” As if he did anything for your benefit, and not his. 

If only you’d passed on by the bench, by the notebook, that day.  You might be free from all this. 

But you’re not free. You’re here, in your bedroom, trapped between the wall and a god of death.

“Open your eyes,” he says, just tightly enough that you know he’s approaching the edge of his patience. It was much harder to be around him, when he was genuinely angry with you.

Weary, tired, your eyes open, slow and sluggish. You give in, like you always do. What other choice do you have? 

“There you are,” he says, claw tracing your cheek, just underneath your eye. “Much better.” 

His other hand reaches for yours, covering it with his own, gripping tight.

“Are you ready to write a name in my notebook now?”

[burningembers91]

Back Alley Bar - Seong Gi-Hun x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Seong Gi-Hun has given up on life, given up on himself. But for some reason, the pretty girl who serves him drinks still thinks he can be saved.

Seong Gi-Hun was a typical example of “like father, like son.” He was unreliable, he was selfish, he was sneaky and a liar. He was the spitting image of his father, and his father before him; a complete and utter lowlife. His marriage had crumbled, his wife and daughter had left him to start a new life in America, and his mother was recently deceased. She’d passed away on the floor of their living room while Gi-Hun gambled away the money he could have used to save her life. 

He didn’t deserve to live, didn’t deserve to still be breathing when his mother wasn’t. She had given everything to her son, forgiven him time and time again. She had been the epitome of patient, always giving him another chance to redeem himself. Gi-Hun didn’t deserve redemption, and while he waited for the devil to collect his dues, he would slowly drink himself into the abyss. 

That was where he’d met you, in some dive bar in a back alley, slumped over the bar with a whiskey in his hand. You were there working part time, using the cash to pay for a university degree. Every shift you worked, Gi-Hun was there, drinking himself into a stupor. Most nights you’d call him a cab home, but some nights you’d drive him home yourself, idly making conversation as you drove through the dark Seoul streets. He rarely responded, but you never gave up. You’d seen more than your fair share of shit in your time as a bartender, but you’d never seen anyone as broken as Gi-Hun. Whatever had happened to him, it must have been bad. You weren’t even sure if he knew who you were; he was so drunk most of the time it was miracle he could remember anything about the previous night. But he knew who you were; you were one piece of light in his dark, dark world. 

He knew you thought he wasn’t listening when you chatted to him in the car on the way home. But he remembered everything you said to him. How you were bartending on top of working full time as a teacher to save up to go back to university. How you’d just broken up with your boyfriend, but you didn’t really mind because he’d been a prick anyway. How your dream was to become a historian, but you were worried you were too old to change career. 

“Why do you do this?” He mumbled one night, as you walked with him to your beaten up, rust bucket of a car. 

“What do you mean?” You asked, throwing your bag into the back before climbing into the drivers side. 

“Why do you help me? I’m no one. I don’t deserve your kindness.”

“You are not no one.” You turned to look at him in the passenger seat, resisting the urge to touch his cheek. This man was so broken, and you had no idea how to help him. 

“I’ve done bad things,” he whispered, “I’ve hurt people. I’ve stolen, I’ve lied, I’ve cheated.”

You took a deep breath, staring out of the windscreen as rain began to fall, battering the concrete around you. 

“It’s never too late to make a change,” you said, although you knew all too well how that was easier said than done. 

Gi-Hun laughed bitterly. “Changing now won’t bring my mother back from the dead. It won’t bring my daughter back from America. It won’t make my wife come back to me.”

You didn’t know what to say, so you stayed silent. How did you help a man who was so broken, so beyond repair? 

As you dropped him off outside his dilapidated apartment, you called to him through the sound of the pouring rain. 

“I’m not giving up on you, Seong Gi-Hun!” You smiled at him, and even through his drunken haze he could tell what a beautiful smile it was. He would never understand why you helped him, would never understand why you’d decided he was worth saving. Everyone had given up on him, but for some reason you wouldn’t. 

A woman like you didn’t need a man like him. You needed someone who could care for you, who wouldn’t leave you broken into pieces as he’d left everyone he’d cared about. But your words echoed in his head as he drifted off to sleep. “You’re not no one. It’s never too late to change.”

Maybe you were right; maybe there was still time to atone for his sins.

[the-modern-typewriter]

Hellooo may I request an MLM fairy tale-esque story of a knight trying to save a prince from a sorcerer's spell, but the cunning sorcerer tries to enthrall him as well? ✨️✨️

"Why did you come?"

"Where is he?"

"Duty?" the sorcerer offered.

"Where. Is. He?"

"I hope it was not love," the sorcerer said. His head tilted. "You once vowed you'd never fall in love with someone like him. A parasite of royal blood."

He's different. But there was no good way to say that, not to them.

The knight came to a stop before the twisted imitation of the throne. It was closer to smoke and dreams than the gold plated seat in the grand hall that he knew so well these days, but the sorcerer lounged upon it as if it were all the same. Just as real.

"It doesn't matter why I'm here." The knight drew his blade, heart hammering. "I'm here. I'll cut you through to get to him, if that is what it takes."

The sorcerer's lip curled. "Spoken like a true knight."

"Well, you steal princes like a true evil sorcerer, so I suppose we both know our roles these days."

"You have either forgotten yourself or betrayed yourself," the sorcerer said, "and I'm truly not sure which possibility is worth."

It stung. Maybe it was even true.

"The kingdom needs him. Let him go."

"You are enthralled in the services of a man who loves you like a tic loves blood." The sorcerer's gaze drilled into the knight. "How else could he or any of them ask you to fight me for them? To die for him?"

The knight took a step closer, then another, and it felt too easy to press the silver shine of the blade against the sorcerer's throat. "Let. Him. Go."

The sorcerer smiled. "Why did you come?"

"You know why." The knight's voice cracked.

The sorcerer was quiet for a moment, before they offered more of their throat to the blade. "Then spill my blood across the floor and claim your prize, knight. You know how to break an enchantment, don't you?"

The knight's eyes narrowed. The sorcerer's gleamed in the moonlight, haunted and haunting, enchanted and enchanting - nothing like the world beyond the castle, where day still shone and princes were missing.

They were still, despite everything, not something that the knight wanted to kill.

"Go on." The sorcerer's voice lilted through him, sweet and cruel as a childhood memory. "Do your duty. You know it, don't you? Why cling to this small fragment of who you used to be, to me? You are his now."

His. For him.

The knight's head felt misty, like the fog of magic, of the whole cursed place, was seeping into them like damp.

He slit the sorcerer's throat.

Then, in an instant, it was not the sorcerer in front of him at all. It was the prince, his prince. An illusion shattered, blood-choked, familiar eyes filling with colour as the thrall of enchantment cleared from them.

"No!" The knight lunged for him, to catch him, to somehow reverse what he had unknowingly done. He peppered kisses to the prince's sweaty hair, exposing himself utterly, as his love and his duty looked at him with the sort of pleading that could have been it's okay or I forgive you but was ultimately far more terrible than how could you. "No," the knight said. "No, please. I'm sorry - I didn't - I thought -"

The sorcerer laughed. They appeared from behind the throne, winding out of the mist like a serpent. The magic changed the palace to an altar, as shadowy as the last setting had been but for the stained glass vibrant and bloody behind them.

The prince whimpered and crumpled on nothing, on air, landing on his knees. He clutched at the knight's hands. He squeezed, some morse code that wouldn't make it past his cleanly ruined throat.

"Now," the sorcerer murmured, "tell me what you would do, my knight, to save him?"

The trap was clear enough, but still the knight said it. "Anything."

"You would give yourself to me instead?"

"Anything. Just let them go, unharmed."

"I would enthrall you. Turn you inside out until I can see all the stitches of you and rework them in my image."

The prince shook his head against the knight's neck. He wheezed. His weak grip flexed and tightened.

"I said anything," the knight spat.

"Then everything," the sorcerer said, "I will have."

As the magic slid over them all, the knight had just enough in them to register one final command, to feel their true surroundings come into focus beneath the spell of it all.

"Put our prince in the tower, my knight," the sorcerer said. "I'll let him go, unharmed....eventually."

The knight did as he was told.

He did his duty.

[pukefactory]

May I ask for hcs of white lily x shy and sweet reader hcs? I am just in love with her and I know I'd be shy at first lol!

❀•━━━• GILD THE LILIES •━━━•❀

✿ Summary: A Compilation Of Headcanons Featuring White Lily X Shy But Sweet Reader

✿ Character(s): White Lily Cookie (Cookie Run Kingdom)

✿ Genre: Headcanons, SFW

✿ Warning(s): None - Completely Safe!

✿ Image Credits: @candy--hrts & @wrbbnrse

✦ At first, you couldn’t look at her directly. Not out of fear—no, never fear—but reverence. She stepped through the moonlight like a poem forgotten in the folds of an old book, all quiet dignity and aching remorse. You’d fidget, glancing up only when her back was turned, watching the way her braid swayed like a pendulum of a time you couldn’t touch. She noticed. She always noticed. But said nothing, save for a gentle, “You may look, if you wish. I do not mind being seen.”

✦ When you offered her flowers—softly, nervously, petals trembling in your hands—White Lily paused. Not because she was surprised, but because she was unsure she deserved them. “These… are lilies.” Her voice cracked with something she refused to name. “You… remind me of them, you know. Quiet, and beautiful, and always reaching toward the sun. Even if no one sees.” You couldn’t answer. Your heart was too loud. She smiled, as though she heard it anyway.

✦ You tended to follow her like a shadow in the Faerie Kingdom, often silent, often trailing just a few steps behind. She let you. She wanted you there, even if you said little. “I used to walk alone,” she told you once, her staff casting specks of light against the overgrown ruins. “But it is… different now. Softer. I do not feel as though I am lost when you are with me.” You didn’t know what to say. You didn’t need to. She reached for your hand first.

✦ You cried in front of her once. Not loud. Not messy. Just soft, shuddering hiccups that spilled out when the weight of the world pressed too hard against your shoulders. You’d meant to hide it. But she found you. And instead of words, she simply sat beside you in silence, arms loosely around your trembling frame, her lily-scented hair brushing your cheek. After a time, she whispered, “I do not believe kindness must always be loud. Your softness… it is its own strength.”

✦ White Lily often asked you questions—not intrusive ones, but careful, thoughtful inquiries. “Do you like the stars? Is the rain comforting to you? What colour do you see when you dream?” You always stammered your answers, flustered by how intently she listened, how her fingers brushed her chin in reflection. Then she’d nod. “I only ask because… I wish to know you as you are. The real you. Not the one who hides behind kindness.” And somehow, you felt… known.

✦ When she had nightmares, she never said so. But you knew. You’d find her outside, bare feet in the dewy grass, staring up at the moon as though it owed her something. You didn’t speak. Just wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and stood beside her. After minutes, she would murmur: “The truth keeps me awake sometimes. But your presence… reminds me I still have the chance to choose the right path. Thank you… for not asking questions.” You never did. But you stayed.

✦ She once cupped your face in her hands when she thought you were asleep, brushing her thumb across your cheek with unbearable tenderness. “So fragile,” she whispered, “and yet… you choose to care for someone like me. Even after everything I’ve done.” You weren’t asleep. But you kept still. Because hearing her say that, even if she thought you couldn’t hear it, was enough to keep your heart warm for centuries.

✦ You admired her from afar before you ever dared speak. When you finally worked up the courage, your voice cracked. You apologized—again and again—but she only tilted her head with quiet wonder. “You are not the first to tremble in my presence,” she said, reaching out to fix the fold of your collar. “But I would never ask you to be anything but yourself. Even if all you can do is whisper… I will listen.”

✦ White Lily would sometimes leave you handwritten notes. Not because she didn’t want to speak—no, she loved your company—but because she knew you found comfort in the written word. Little parchment scrolls tucked under stones or inside lily buds: The forest is blooming. I saved a blossom for you. Or, I dreamed of you. You were laughing in the rain. You kept every one in a box under your bed. You think she knew. You think she hoped you did.

✦ Eventually, when you finally took her hand in public—small, trembling fingers weaving into hers—she paused. You immediately pulled back, cheeks burning with apology. But she caught your wrist, gentle but firm, and held it close to her heart. “No more hesitating,” she murmured, voice as soft as snow. “I have walked through too many shadows. Let me walk in the light with you.” And she didn’t let go.

[sweemmy]

Darkness had never been a problem for Vi. She had grown up in it, embraced it as both a refuge and an ally in a world that gave her no quarter. But now, the darkness within her is different. It suffocates, ravenous—a beast that feeds on her deepest thoughts, on her obsession with you.

You are a glimmer in her shadowed world. At first, you seemed to bring a fragile light to her broken life. But that light didn’t heal her; it didn’t soothe. It was a spark that ignited everything she had left intact within herself. Vi knows this isn’t love in its purest form—love shouldn’t hurt like this. It shouldn’t burn through every fiber of her being. But what else can she call it when her entire existence revolves around you?

Sometimes, when she’s alone, her mind drifts back to the past. She sees herself as the girl she used to be—a girl with hope, with unyielding morals, with a sense of justice that brought meaning to her chaos. Those images feel so distant now, as though they belong to someone else. But they weren’t always this blurred. Vi remembers how she clung to that version of herself, struggling to reconcile her principles with the choices she made for you. Until one day, she stopped trying.

“Look at what I’ve become,” she thinks bitterly, staring at her hands, hardened by fights and scarred by the things she’s done in your name. Her knuckles, always marked, tell stories of the lines she’s crossed, of the faces she’s struck simply for coming too close to you.

The first time she stepped over the line, it was almost accidental—a punch thrown harder than it needed to be, a moment she couldn’t take back. But the effect was instant: a surge of power mixed with a dizzying rush that left her trembling. After that, it became easier, darker. Each decision pulled her further away from the Vi who once vowed to protect Zaun, the Vi who believed in something greater than herself.

But it’s not the actions that haunt her the most. It’s the constant thought, the unrelenting mantra she cannot silence: “I would let the world burn for you.” It plays in her mind like both a prayer and a curse. Because she would. Because she is. Every choice, every sacrifice, every boundary she’s destroyed has been for you, and she knows she’s losing herself in the process.

The darkness isn’t just in her mind—it follows her like a living shadow. The nights are the worst. When silence fills the room, the endless hum of her thoughts becomes unbearable. Every shadow on the wall seems to mock her helplessness, her lack of control. She dreams of a world without you, where she might find freedom again, but those dreams are fleeting and bitter. Because even in her fantasies, your absence feels like an abyss she cannot escape.

She watches you from a distance, trying to understand how someone like you can hold so much power over her. Sometimes, your words confuse her. “You don’t have to do this,” you say, but the smile on your lips betrays the truth. You enjoy being the center of her universe, though you’d never admit it. And Vi, caught in the web of her own obsession, can no longer tell if what she feels for you is love or self-destruction masquerading as something else.

Vi fights it sometimes. In rare moments of clarity, she tries to reason with herself, to remember who she was before you. But even those memories are fading, because everything that came before now feels insignificant. She wonders if her obsession began as love or if it was always this destructive force wearing the mask of something pure. But it doesn’t matter anymore. She doesn’t know how to let you go, how to tear you from her chest without bleeding out completely.

Every time she looks at you, she feels that toxic mix of devotion and despair. You are her salvation and her damnation, the anchor keeping her afloat and the chain dragging her down. And Vi, so proud, so stubborn, doesn’t know how to ask for help, how to admit that she’s losing this battle within herself. That her love for you isn’t saving her—it’s destroying her.

In her mind, the scenes replay: the faces of those who fell beneath her fists, the chances she missed to do what was right, the Vi she might have been if she’d never met you. But those images fade quickly, consumed by the fire burning in her chest. “It doesn’t matter,” she tells herself, “as long as you’re with me.”

When she closes her eyes, she sees it all burning: Zaun, Piltover, the entire world consumed in flames. And at the heart of that inferno, there you are—untouched, existing solely for her. The smell of smoke, the searing heat, the ash choking her lungs… all of it vanishes when her gaze lands on you. She knows there’s no turning back. Her love for you is her undoing, and though it hurts, though it scorches her to the core, she wouldn’t change it.

Sometimes, she imagines a different ending—one where she lets you go, where she finds redemption, where she becomes more than the chaos she’s created for you. But those fantasies are fleeting. Because at the end of the day, the truth is she doesn’t want to let you go. She can’t.

This love has turned her into someone she barely recognizes. But if that’s the price of having you, she will pay it without hesitation.

[rivatar]

Can I make a request for dilf!JakexFemale! Omatikaya!reader?

While Neytiri is out hunting with the kids, jake makes his way to readers hut. And let’s just say reader is shorter than Neytiri so size kinkkkk🤭

Guilty Pleasure

MDNI!🔞

Pairing: Dilf!Jake!Sully x Fem!Omatikaya!Reader

Warnings/content: SMUT, jake cheating(sorry Neytiri), size kink, stalking/obsessing, some roughness/power over reader, oral/face sitting (Jake being a pussy eating king), p in v, cream pie, dirty talk, a sprinkle of angst at the end

W/c: 3.2k (holy shit-)

A/n: thank you for this request anon!!💖 I am a SUCKERRRR for dilf Jake! I got a lil carried away heheh but I hope y’all enjoy this! Comments, likes, and reblogs are SO appreciated! Muah 😘

“We will see you later, ma’Jake,” Neytiri sweetly said while motioning for the kids to go out of the hut, holding up the flap of fabric for them to walk by. Neteyam and Lo’ak went first, throwing a hand up and bidding a short “Bye, dad,” with their bows in hand.

“Come with us daddd!” Tuk whined and ran up and clung to his side. He chuckled at her.

“I’d love to, kiddo, but I gotta take care of something. Ya know, all my boring adult responsibilities,” He smiled gently.

She frowned up at him but had no choice but to accept he wasn’t coming.

“Bring me back a big ‘angtsìk(hammerhead titanothere)!” He joked while bending over and ruffling her short braids in an attempt to cheer her up. She giggled at his absurd request and ran off to catch up with Lo’ak and Neteyam.

Kiri came moping out and rolling her eyes like usual, she was not excited that she was being forced to go hunt with them. It just wasn’t her thing. She gave Jake a quick “Bye” and walked out without looking at him.

“I love you too!” He laughed, “You’ll do great!” He cupped his mouth and shouted to her. She looked over her shoulder and couldn’t suppress her small little grin of amusement. She pretty much always blatantly disrespected him but he loved her to death.

Neytiri smiled one last time at him before ducking under the flap, following her kids to go off to their hunt.

Jake’s smile faded from his face once they were out of sight.

He had a lovely wife and an amazing family—everything he could ever want and dream for. But unfortunately for him, his heart yearned for someone else. Someone who occupied his thoughts day-in and day-out, consuming his entire being.

He started to resent you for how bad he wanted you. But how could he blame you? You’ve done nothing. Nothing but just be utterly and effortlessly perfect. He felt like you casted a spell on him, damning him to be desperate for you. You were quite the sight to see; young and beautiful in all your glory. He could worship your body all day— the stunning curves of your hips and the rounding of your breasts. You were short in stature, not tawtute short but very much on the short side for a na’vi girl. But that just made Jake be drawn to you even more. During his endless daydreams involving you, he would have some particular thoughts of you. Images flooded his mind of getting to manhandle you around. He was bulkier than the average na’vi due to the combination of his human DNA, so he had no doubt in his mind he could toss you around effortlessly in several different positions. He also inevitably thought about how much tighter your smaller pussy probably was. And fuck, it wasn’t just your stunning appearance— it was also the way you were so damn sweet and compassionate to others. You never did anything wrong, it was like you really were perfect.

He longed to touch you and pleasure you, he would die a happy man if he could just watch you cum for him. It wasn’t even that he wanted the pleasure for himself, more than anything he wanted to pleasure you. So many scenarios have ran through his mind of imagining how your pretty face would scrunch up as an orgasm wracked through your petite body. He felt like he was loosing his mind, he hasn’t had this many vulgar, horny thoughts constantly since he was probably 17. It was like you made him young again. He wanted to show you how good he could make you feel. After all, he was experienced. Whether it was keeping Neytiri’s needs satisfied or previous lessons from his sexual partners back on earth, he’s learned a thing or two over time. He wondered if you’ve let any of the omatikaya boys fuck you. He hoped not, but he was sure they were all throwing themselves at your feet. I mean who the hell wouldn’t?

Jake had been stalking you for quite some time now. He pretty much had your daily schedule memorized and he’s even learned all your little mannerisms. Like how you looked down at the ground when you laughed, or how you quietly hummed to yourself when you were weaving. Sometimes throughout the day you would make eye contact when passing by each other. He noticed you would give him a little smile. It was like you knew you were torturing him.

But watching you from a distance and stalking you wasn’t cutting the mustard anymore for him. Sure, it satisfied the itch at first but it left him only wanting more. And stroking his cock to you felt good, but not as good as your soft, dainty hand would feel doing it.

He knew Neytiri was taking the kids hunting today to let them practice. And at this time of day, you were usually in your hut. He decided there wouldn’t be a more perfect time than now to approach you. He couldn’t let this keep eating him alive, he had to do something about it. So, he gathered up the courage to start his way over to you.

…

You were in your hut, cooling off a little. It was a hot, sunny day in Pandora and you always take a midday break around this time. Right before you were going to sit down, you seen a figure in your peripheral vision. It was… Jake?

“Jake.. I-I wasn’t expecting to see you here,” you stuttered and shifted to face him respectfully, caught off guard by your leader entering your hut. “Is something wrong?”

He stood confidently, almost like he owned the place— I mean he was the Olo’eyktan. Which was why you felt concerned and surprised to see him, surely it must be something important if he took the time to come here.

He surveyed you as you stuttered and slightly fidgeted with a hint of amusement in his eyes. His piercing gaze burned right through you, making you feel small and embarrassed. But he was the one coming into your home, so why were your cheeks heating up in embarrassment?

He finally broke the silence and breathed out a sigh. “Yeah, I’m afraid something is wrong,” he spoke with that low, sultry voice of his and once again burned holes into you with his eyes. He took slow steps towards you, casually.

Your heart dropped to your stomach and the blood left your face. “W-What is it? I’m sorry if I’ve done something wrong, sir-“

“Don’t play dumb and innocent. You know exactly what it is.” He cut you off sharply.

You were taken aback, eyes widening in offense. “Excuse me?” You scoffed.

He kept inching closer and closer to you and you backed up in return, scowling at him. But unfortunately you backed up against the wall, having no more room to back up.

He was eyeing you down fiercely, power and authority exuding from his aura. But you weren’t a pushover, and you gave it your best effort at holding his eyes and not cowering.

He swiftly grabbed your wrist and shoved your hand on his hard erection covered by his loincloth. You gasped, once more taken aback.

“Understand?” He quipped.

You snatched your hand back and hissed at him. You were unable to form any words, so shocked at this predicament. Your scowl deepened and your breathing picked up, feeling the intensity in the atmosphere.

He let out a single chuckle of disbelief and shook his head.

“You do this to me. It’s your fault” he snapped, “You’ve been torturing me night and day and you know it” he accused with his pointer finger in your face.

Your mouth dropped a little, eyebrows scrunched in anger. “What?? I’ve done nothing! You’re fucking crazy!”

“You are such a little brat. Sounds like you need that attitude fucked out of you,”

You couldn’t help the coil that twisted in your stomach to his words. The obscenity of them made your body react with a mind of its own. Slick trickled out of your hole, making a little wet patch in your cloth.

His nose twitched and he grinned menacingly at your new smell of arousal. “Is that right? The lil’ slut needs her pussy stuffed with cock?”

Your cheeks heated up, making a purplish color on your face. You were losing this battle quickly. You blamed your body for betraying you so shamefully.

“Fuck you!” You finally said. It was your last attempt at trying to get the upper hand.

“Yeah,” he laughed, “That’s the plan.”

You scoffed again, still trying to make it seem like he was crazy and you didn’t want this. But in reality, you don’t think anything has ever piqued your interest more.

He put his fingers inside the band of your loincloth, tickling the soft area below your belly. Your heart thudded hard inside your chest and more waves of arousal coursed through you.

He slowly and lightly teased the area, making your breath hitch slightly.

“Not stopping me, I see,” he quietly mocked.

Your let your eyes fall to his chest which was right in front of you. You didn’t want to see the smug grin on his face.

“Now what if I touch your little pussy? Is she gonna blow your cover?” He taunted some more. You swallowed roughly as his fingers traced further and further down into your cloth until he got to your soaked cunt.

He ran a finger up your slit, eyes dilating as he basked in the incredible feeling of your slick pussy. Your legs parted on their own, giving him easier access and you whined softly, leaning your head back against the wall.

“Fuck…” he breathed out, seemingly losing his control.

Your half lidded eyes met his again as he ran his fingers through your folds. You knew you were at the point of no return.

“Please..” you mewled quietly.

Trying to regain control of the situation, he straightened up and cleared his throat, still continuing his touching. “Oh so the brat has manners now?”

“Mhmm” you hummed shamelessly, pride be damned.

He licked his lips and looked down at your pretty lips, just waiting to be kissed. But he had other things in mind.

He yanked down your loincloth and it fell to your ankles then you kicked it aside. Then suddenly he knelt down and hitched one of your legs over his muscular shoulder, much to your surprise. You gasped hard at the first stroke of his tongue on your pussy lips.

“Oh!” You cried

You grabbed his dreads for support because your knees already felt weak. Looking down at him, the sight was purely sinful. He lapped, licked, sucked, and kissed all over your cunt, slurping up all your juices and making a complete mess on his face. He hummed and moaned on it, creating vibrations which elevated your pleasure.

He pulled back only for a second, your juices falling down his chin and painting his blue skin with white and clear shimmer. “You taste so fucking sweet, even better than I imagined,” he groaned in near disbelief. Then he continued working his mouth on your pussy.

You felt so good, feeling the most ecstasy you’ve ever felt. You’ve had a few partners and of course masturbate when needed but nothing and nobody has ever felt like this. He knew exactly where to go and how much pressure to apply and suck at.

He stuck a finger in your hole while he continued lapping on your clit. You moaned and fought to keep yourself standing up. He caught onto your struggle and swiftly moved to reposition you both. He laid himself back against the ground and had his hands hooked around you, bringing you down with him to then plop you right on his face.

Sitting on his face was much more comfortable and you tried to hold yourself up to hover some, but he grabbed your ass and pushed all your weight down on him. You switched between watching him do his thing and throwing your head back, closing your eyes and welcoming all the sensations. All his sounds were muffled but looking behind you and seeing his still rock hard erection and watching his feet curl and his legs dance around told you that he was very much enjoying himself.

You knew your orgasm was about to come. The pleasure was coming to a peak and you relaxed and let it happen. You came with a loud and drawn out moan, thighs shaking from the intensity. His humming got louder as he licked up all your essence, drawing out your high but letting off before you got overstimulated.

You rose off and scooted back a little to sit on his chest, looking down at his absolutely soaked face.

“Holy fuck,” you breathed out roughly, trying to catch your breath, “you didn’t tell me you were a pussy eating expert”

He chuckled with that deep voice of his, making your pussy flutter. “You thought the old man wouldn’t know how to eat pussy? Baby girl I am very experienced,” he winked.

You rolled your eyes at his cockiness, trying not to smile. Before letting you fully catch your breath, he sat up and effortlessly carried you with him, you were like a little rag doll in his huge, bulky arms. He hung you over one of his shoulders, ass up in the air. He smacked it and you let out a little yelp of surprise and smacked his back in return.

“You are so tiny, ya know that?”

You rolled your eyes once again. “Yes, everyone loves telling me how short I am” you complained.

“Mhmm well I think it’s hot as fuck”

He set you down on the table and you were facing him, legs spread out and pussy on full display. His eyes drank in the sight of your most intimate part, being fully captivated by you. You then took the reigns and slipped off your skimpy top, leaving him even more speechless. You smirked in satisfaction at how pussy whipped he was already.

He didn’t fail to notice your shit-eating grin and quiet laugh. “Oh yeah? You won’t be laughing much longer,” he threatened while untying the strings of his loincloth, letting it fall to the floor.

And it did in fact shut you up. He was huge. Your jaw hung low like an idiot and he laughed at you.

“You’re not that big. I’ve had bigger.” You lied, trying to sound confident.

He narrowed his eyes and felt a pang of jealousy at the thought of someone else getting to fuck you. “That so? Well then you should have no problem taking me,” he taunted.

You were nervous about how it would hurt but you put on a brave face. You spread your legs wider and gave him doe eyes as an invitation to go ahead.

His bigger body hovered over your small frame as he positioned his cock at your entrance. He teased your folds and your opening, making you buck your hips up in an effort to get him inside of you. His cockhead breached into your hole and you gasped in unison. He was so thick and girthy, the stretch against your walls was one you’ve never experienced this intensely.

He sank in deeper, thrusting a little to help break it in. You winced and moaned but stayed relaxed and let him keep going. He finally bottomed out. Then pulled back and started thrusting.

Your eyes widened and your jaw fell slack. The drag against your walls and the pressure his dick provided on your cervix made you nearly see stars, clouding your vision in a bit of a haze.

“Mmmm!! ‘s so good!” You slurred drunkenly, choking on your moans and cries.

He grunted and moaned above you, keeping a steady rhythm as his balls slapped against your ass.

“Holy shit” he gritted between his teeth, slightly baring them at you while he got caught up in the passion. He squeezed his eyes shut and his head slumped down, hanging from between his shoulders. “You’re gonna make me cum too quick” he panted.

You moaned in response, loving how you were breaking him. He cupped both your tits and gave them a squeeze, edging both of you on more.

“More!! Please!” You didn’t really know what you were asking for but he seemed to know right away.

He pulled out quickly and swiftly flipped you over, pulling you from the hips to scooch your ass up against him. He entered you again easily and plunged all the way in making you moan loudly.

“Cum on this dick, baby,” he grunted as he then started a fast and hard pace, increasing it from the previous pace.

His dick was now reaching so far up into you and satisfying all your sweet spots. He was fucking into you like a bunny in heat, hiking up one of his legs and placing his foot on the table to have a better grasp on you and a better angle to fuck you.

“Fuckkkk!” You screamed, getting your cervix pounding into over and over again. You felt your walls convulsing around him and knew you were getting close.

He pushed your head down into the table, his enormous hand pretty much engulfing the entire size of your head. Your hair fell around your face and was scattered in a complete mess.

“Shit baby, you’re close, huh?” He groaned.

“Yesss! Don’t fucking stop!” You begged and whimpered.

And then you felt your coil snap. The waves of sweet release spread throughout your whole body. Your pussy’s grip on his dick tightened, making him cum right after you.

“Nghh- gonna fill you up” he moaned while still bringing your ass back to meet his hips, slowing down and milking out both your orgasms. His hot cum spurted into your womb, filling you up just like he said.

He finally stopped his slow thrusts and pulled out gently making you whine as you felt some of his cum seep out.

He stepped back to admire his work, taking a mental screenshot of your cream pied cunt. He used his thumb to gather what had dripped and pushed it back into you.

“Your pussy looks best with my cum in it,” he admired.

You rolled over to your side, completely exhausted. You looked at him expectantly, wanting him to lay with you now.

He got your message by the look in your face. “I’m sorry baby but I gotta leave now. As much as I’d rather be stuffed inside you, I gotta get back to my place before my-“ he paused, looking physically pained, “before my family gets back home.”

Of course, you thought to yourself, how the fuck could you forget? Guiltiness flooded your heart, making it physically ache for his wife and kids. You felt terrible. You never liked a homewrecker and now you were a complete hypocrite and felt like a whore.

“Yes, o-of course… I’m sorry,” you offered weakly.

He weakly smiled as a response, pain still in his eyes as the post-nut clarity washed over him and guiltiness attacked his conscious as well.

“I’ll see you later, y/n.” And with that he left your hut.

Taglist: @neteyamssyulang @bambithewriter @professional-yapper @anemonelovesfiction @property-of-neteyam @luvv4j4ybe11 @loakstahni @fluorynn @zafrinaxyz @live-laugh-neteyam @nonamevenus @inolaphoenix @ladykat73 (if you wanna be added or removed, just lmk!)

[jjwolves]

VACATIONS ‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿‿︵‿︵

A biiiiiiig thank you for @master-eclectic for commissioning this piece ^_^ I hope it lives up to expectations!!

What: 5 Headcanons of Mermaid ENA the Worker X Reader

Who: ENA the Worker from ENA Dream BBQ (by Joel G)

How Much: ~1000 words, ~5 mins

Credits: Image Banner -> Joel G, Divider -> @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

Warnings: None

You’ve known ENA for a while—ever since you cast a hook into the Blood Lake and reeled in an odd-talking businessperson instead of the coffin of your employer. You’d never met anyone quite like the mermaid you discovered that day—red, white, double-minded. One moment she’s trying to sell you various pieces of treasure from the bottom of the lake, the next she’s yelling about how annoying the motor in your boat is. “Well, if it isn’t one of my repeat customers! In the mood to make a deal?” You’re the only one who usually comes to this lake, but you don’t mention it. You don’t want her to get mad—more mad than usual, that is—since she’s one of the few companionable entities that you know. She swims to the other side of the boat. “Could you at least keep it down?! Some of us are doing important work in this lake!”

She interrupts your fishing frequently. There is never a day that goes by on the lake where ENA doesn’t emerge to disturb your silence in the only way that you’d ever find yourself enjoying. Sometimes she idles near the front of the boat, sometimes she asks for a hand and you help haul her in. This continues for a while, but one day ENA is acting a little different than usual. “Say, why do you invest so much into this boat? Why don’t you sell your stocks and plunge into the icy lagoon? Wait, I didn’t pitch that very well. Why don’t you come swim with me? That’s better.” Normally you’d be hesitant to leave the safety of your boat, but if ENA was going to eat you she probably would’ve done it already. Before you have the chance to change your mind, you crawl over the side of your boat and start swimming in the lake next to ENA. The chill of the water runs through you. ENA’s color is a little chillier, too. “It’s a good thing you know how to swim. I’m nobody’s life raft!”

One day, you’re reeling in a fish and it’s a lot stronger than you anticipated. The thing must be huge! The struggle is short-lived and the fishing rod is yanked out of your hands, sinking into the lake. Dang it. A few moments later, a ripple in the water is broken by a bi-colored face belonging to someone you’ve found yourself enjoying the company of quite a bit. She gracefully pivots to the side of the boat and leans a red arm on the rim, her lowered hat making her look a little more conniving than usual. “You look despondent, chum. Tell me, what’s stricken a nerve?” Still gazing at the water where your tool was stolen, you explain that you lost a fight with an exemplary aquatic warrior. ENA pretends to ponder for a moment. “Hmm. I see… Well, how about a deal—a real one? I can offer my services in order to retrieve your fishing device.” You trust ENA, but you ask about what her price is anyway. “To be determined and then paid in full. Here I go!” ENA went under and the lake went silent for a few minutes. The calm was short-lived as the polygonal hybrid returned with your fishing rod—in perfect condition, as well. You thanked her. You didn’t notice that she never brought up payment.

As the days go by, ENA begins construction on a strange new routine where she does little favors for you in exchange for no payment. “Here you are. A magical whirlpool is sure to put all of your business targets in one place. We’ll put it on your tab.” “An air net would be most categorically helpful, I imagine. It’s on the house.” “What ever caused your boat to shake so much? You’re lucky my services were quickly delivered or you’d be sleeping with the fishies.” You always thank her. She always says, “How will you ever pay me back, I wonder?” At first you thought of it as a harmless tease, ENA letting out some of her capricious energy—but now the words are sobering to you. How could you pay her back? You had come to care for her a great deal, but people who cared for each other had give and take, right? It was a two-way street. Were you capsizing in an ocean you didn’t even know you were sailing yet?

One night (or sixth season, it was hard to tell here), you sat on the edge of the boat with your feet dangling off of the side, brushing the surface of the water. Stars and dreams followed the subtle wakes formed by your boot, all dispersed into formless noise as a white claw emerged and gently squeezed your foot. Your strange friend lifted her head out of the water and hovered near your leg, quiet as if she could sense your hesitation. “Do you ponder your payment plan often?” You did, but how could you convey it? You spoke, explaining that the days that you had known her were some of the higher quality ones spent in this world. In all honesty, you continued, ENA did so much for you even outside of the little favors she had meticulously performed—simply spending her existence with you was nurturing. So, you said—perhaps jokingly, perhaps despairingly, that only ENA could decide how much you owe her. You looked back at her, taking in a shocked expression before it cooled into something more contemplative. ENA pulled herself onboard and sat with you before she spoke her piece. “You really shouldn’t leave your debt up to my imagination. But if you’re offering, I’d say that we can start your repayment… with a kiss. Perhaps? If that’s a good deal to you?” You didn’t listen to any more backpedaling. Two hands rested on either side of ENA’s face, gills creating an odd sensation, as you delivered an eager kiss. You knew it didn’t really repay anything, but it was a start. Maybe you could build some credit. As you two parted, ENA grew pale like the froth of the lake’s waves and growled, “No no no! Don’t stop, moron!” as she returned the kiss with the force of a tidal wave.

[randomdwellerr]

Hi Denim! I love ur post! Can u write yandere Zhongli alphabet using letter B, L, P, and Y?? Thank u

A/N: Hi Anon! This is lowkey perfect cuz I have a Sugar Daddy Zhongli fic in the works! Zhongli is just so sexy bruh.

Zhongli Yandere Alphabet B, L, P, and Y.

Warnings: Dub con if you reaaaally squint, mentions of kidnapping.

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

Zhongli is literally the Geo Archon. Which means he won the archon war, which also means he’s killed multiple Gods.

What’s a human or two? Or three… or four…?

Zhongli DOES care about the Liyue and its People after all, he spent thousands of years protecting it. But his love for his darling is on a deeper level than that.

He wants you to be happy always, so if someone is harming you in any way, Zhongli will get rid of them.

Even if they weren’t really even hurting you greatly. Maybe someone just bumped into you but didn’t apologize or stick around to help you up. Zhongli will make mental image of their face and what direction they went in so they may be dealt with after he is done spending time with you.

Love Letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

Two scenarios! One of his darling returning his affection and one of the darling not.

If his darling returns his feelings he will treat you like a true queen. Zhongli knows a lot about human relationships and how to broach them, even though he has never had one himself, so affection is not lost on him.

Zhongli will make your dreams come true. A lot of partners promise to give their love the stars but Zhongli can actually make that happen. He only wants to see you at your happiness so whatever brings a smile to your face, he will do.

Now, if darling doesn’t return his feelings.. Zhongli will definitely be confused! What’s there not to love about him? He works, likes tea, he’s Morax (even if you don’t know it). So why are you rejecting him?

It’s fine though. If Zhongli is determined to have you he will, so honestly, it’s best if you go willing. Zhongli is not a mean deity, he wants you to be happy, but he knows your happiness will eventually be with him.

If he isolates you from everyone and everything you love, you’ll soon come to crave his presence, his love, his intimacy.

Even if you don’t want it at first, Zhongli will be gentle. He’ll be patient, that’s what 6000 years does to someone like him. A 1000 years ago he might’ve been rough and broken you, but not now. Zhongli will teach you everything. How to be happy around him and how to please him. Those are things simply taught. Of course you’ll mess up, you’re just a human, you’re not as capable as him or his Yaksha, but he’ll be there to guide you. If soft instruction doesn’t work, he might have to become harsher, just give in to him. It’ll be much easier that way.

Oh yeah, you won’t be human much longer anyway. How can you both remain together forever if you are? Oh don’t cry, this is good! He can finally take your lessons up a notch. Zhongli is patient but, he can only hold back his draconic instincts for so long, and he has been more then indulgent with you.

Patient: How patient are they with their darling?

As I said before, Zhongli is really patient. He doesn’t rush or force you into sex… often. He also doesn’t expect you to be perfect, you are human, and because of that you are naturally flawed.

Zhongli will teach you everything. He expects you to do this, this, and this, like this, at this time type of training.

You'll start to wake up when his does, your body will start to call out to him whether you want it to or not.

Zhongli is patient, or he likes to believe himself to be. But he’s still a dragon. He’s primal, he’s rough, he’s territorial. Its all his nature too, so don’t hold it against him if he takes what he wants from you after all while. So try not to deny him for too long. Just as you have your nature, he has his.

Yearn: how long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

I feel like I already addressed this so I’ll kinda reiterate.

Zhongli will hold off for WHILE as long as you don’t reject him. Take as long as you like to confess you feelings, time is of no essence to Zhongli. But If you say no his advances, all bets are off the table, he won’t wait to kidnap you from your life.

You’d think he planned it with how fast he snatched you up. And maybe, it was. Maybe he anticipated your response and planned accordingly.

Zhongli wasn’t a fool, he could tell if you didn’t like him romantically but it was nice to pretend while it lasted. Too bad you’ve ruined and had to be taken. You could have continued to live your life, the unwilling wife of Morax.

[cressidagrey]

Ok so I love the chapter so much. Here’s a little bit of my thought process.

What got me thinking was maybe when Charles was younger he did feel concern for his sister but the gaslighting and manipulation of only his dreams matter got into his head leading him to believe that only his career matter and that slowly slipped into him having main character syndrome along with him being the gold child of the family. I think he could have suffered emotionally with the pressure of making things work or otherwise his parents have spent all this time and energy on someone who’s failed.

I think personally Charles doesn’t intentionally chose to forget his sister he’s just so used to be the main person of the family that’s it’s clouded his judgement and made him forgetful and I think he gotten so used to having his sister do everything that it threw him for a loop when she started pulling back and it confused him and he didn’t know what to do because he’s never know what to do when he’s put in situation where he has to think for himself and I think that really shows in these past few chapter that he’s lost without someone helping him or just doing it for him. He’s gotten so used to everything being handed to him he’s lost when he has to do it himself.

I think in this chapter he’s projecting his insecurities of not knowing his sister as well as he thought on everyone else and doesn’t know what to do when he’s confronted with that reality. And he’s projecting because he scared to get his head out of the fog because then that means the reality he’s always had in his head of what he knows about his sister isn’t true any more and he hates that feeling so much.

I think the person who really cracked him was fred. Fred didn’t hold back in telling him he failed as a driver brother but also as someone who can’t keep their emotions in check when confronted with a situation he’s clueless on how to proceed with. I think that conversation with Fred was needed for Charles to finally get his head out of the fog and really think really look at the situation from someone else’s perspective and think wow I’ve been horrible this entire time for the majority of their life and now I get to watch from the sidelines as she moves on with her life and I’m not in it. I think that was something Charles needed to hear very badly.

Which leads me into my next thing. I don’t know if my previous message sent or not but I was right about Arthur being the first one to make steps into trying to change his behavior and actually see his sister for who she is and understand it’ll take time for her to forgive him for what he and everyone else did but I think it’s good he’s making and effort to change his behavior.

The next person I think she’ll forgive next is Lorenzo. He’s the big brother and I can see he’s really beating himself up for not realizing a lot sooner what was going on and that he could have done something for her. I also see that it may finally click with Lorenzo when his girlfriend/ fiancée Charlotte sits him down and explain she doesn’t want the kids they may have grow up in a broken household where one is ignored for another’s dreams. She’ll want her kids to have an equal opportunity to strive for their dreams and have a chance at those dreams unlike how Lorenzo has grown up. I think that conversation will make it click so much better

Charles may take awhile but I see them making up in the future but on belles terms and Charles really really making amends for what he’s done and understand his sister is a person who’s made her own decisions and he has to accept those decisions and work on himself first before he comes back.

With the mom it’s past the point of no return. Regardless or not if she changes it’ll take a lot longer for belle to forgive her mother and make amends with her. But that’s if belle decides to let her back in.

Now onto the topic of children I totally see a little boy who’s a spitting image of his dad but loves horses like his mom and is okay at karting.

Sorry if this is a long post I had to get some things off my chest.

First of all — this analysis is phenomenal. The way you’ve unpacked Charles’ character arc, emotional blindness, and the psychology behind his behavior is so insightful and layered, it honestly reads like a thesis in the best way. You absolutelygot to the heart of what’s been driving him this entire time: the emotional coddling, the pressure to succeed, the blindness to Belle’s humanity, and now the disorienting fallout of being forced to see it all unravel.

You're absolutely right — it’s not always malice behind Charles' behavior. It’s entitlement, yes, but it’s also conditioning. The guilt he’s avoiding, the projection of his insecurities, and the deep fear of admitting that the narrative he’s built his life around might not be the truth — all of that is real and crushing. Your point about him being "used to someone doing it for him" and now being completely lost? That’s exactly it. Belle stepping away is his wake-up call, and the Fred conversation was very deliberately meant to be a very real shake — where somebody he needs to listen to truly says, “You were wrong. You failed.” Not gently. Not in passing. But directly.

I also love your analysis of Arthur and Lorenzo. Arthur is the youngest, and in many ways, the least emotionally formed — but that doesn’t make him incapable of growth. The fact that you picked up on how his guilt is different, how it’s rooted in immaturity and ignorance rather than ego, is spot on. And your read on Lorenzo being the one who reflects hardest through the lens of potential fatherhood via Charlotte? Chef’s kiss. That dynamic — realizing he wouldn’t want any daughter of his treated the way Belle was — could absolutely be a turning point.

And Pascale? You’re dead-on. Forgiveness there is a mountain with no peak. Belle may not want to climb it, and that would be valid. Love that is conditional, or that only acknowledges your worth when it fits a role — like the "good daughter" or “selfless sister” — can be more damaging than outright neglect. Belle has learned to build a life without her mother’s approval, and it may stay that way.

Also — your little Verstappen boy headcanon is so soft and sweet, I can’t even handle it. A mini Max with Belle’s love of horses? Obsessed. And the fact that you added “okay at karting” like it’s just a side hobby? Perfection. You really get it.

Never apologize for a long message like this — it was thoughtful, moving, and brilliantly written. You absolutely nailedso many threads, and honestly, you could be writing critical character essays.

[theamityelf]

For my last ask I think it would be funny if it was all the different soulmate ways so makoto is going through a bunch of stuff and is also maybe trying to hide it and if you include Izuru it could be something he finds interesting about makoto as maybe no else has had so many soulmates

(previous post re:Makoto and his class)

(original Makoto soulmates post)

Oh my gosh, then I definitely think Makoto would be shy about showing skin.

He walks into Hope's Peak discreetly checking the timer on the back of his hand, which is now down to less than three hours until he meets one of his soulmates. On the back of the opposite arm, there's a sentence he's had memorized for years now: "So, we arrived at the same time!" It's hidden by his sleeve. He has the image of a microphone on the back of his neck, hidden by his hood. The image of a Yoshi (or Galaga sprite) on his bicep, hidden by his sleeve. The image of a half-peeled orange right beneath his collarbone– or maybe there used to be a half-peeled orange there, but now it's just an oddly-shaped scar. That change happened within the last year.

He can't see colors (and he's been told his shoes don't match his hoodie?). Last night, he had a dream that he was a girl named Kyoko, meeting her dad for the first time. This morning, he saw through Junko's eyes while she was getting dressed, and he's barely stopped blushing about it.

He's trying to live in the moment and appreciate the amazing place and all the amazing people, but in truth, he's pretty stressed about how he's going to explain his situation to anyone. Based on his timer and the glimpses he's seen of Junko's letter, he's going to meet at least two of his soulmates here. He's never heard of anyone having as many soulmates as he apparently has. When someone turns out to have two or three soulmates, it's considered unusual and potentially problematic, but usually they meet at different points in life. One in youth, one in old age. Something like that. But two at the same school?

"So, we arrived at the same time!"

Three?!

Makoto turns to see the person who just reached the gymnasium door at the same time as him.

"Nice to see someone else who appreciates the value of punctuality," the tidy young man commends.

Makoto clears his throat. "Uh, yeah. I guess I was just...worried about being late."

And the young man's expression changes to one of astonishment, because as expected, he has Makoto's first words to him on his arm, too. The timer on his other wrist still says a little over two hours, and he can suddenly feel Junko looking through his eyes.

Makoto levels with his new...friend. "Listen, I'm really glad to meet you, and we should definitely have a conversation about this, but maybe not...right now? Can we talk at lunch, maybe?"

The guy remains astonished for a second before he recovers with an affirming, "Of course! School comes first. If we're in the same class, might it be prudent to introduce ourselves?"

And Makoto smiles. "Yeah. I'd like that."

His first in-person soulmate is Kiyotaka Ishimaru. Taka.

As more of their classmates start arriving, Makoto feels more and more of a complicated mix of excitement and anxiety. He introduces himself to a well-dressed, bespectacled guy named Byakuya, and the second they make eye contact, Makoto can suddenly see in color. Byakuya's expression of snobby disinterest drops into one of ill-disguised shock, and Makoto hasn't explained the situation to Taka yet, his timer says he has like an hour and a half until he meets another soulmate, Junko isn't even here yet, and now he has to get used to colors!

And wow, his shoes really don't match his hoodie.

He definitely needs to explain things to Taka and Byakuya before Junko gets here, because despite never having met her in person, he knows that she's a lot. And he'd hate for anyone to learn that he has multiple soulmates from anyone but him.

"Well?" Byakuya says, having returned to snobby disinterest. "Tell me your name already so we can be done with these ridiculous introductions."

Okay, rude. But that's fine. "I'm Makoto Naegi. I'm the Ultimate Lucky Student, and...I hate to tell you this bluntly, but I think I kind of need to hurry, so..." He draws in a breath. "I have multiple soulmates...here. Kind of...a few...here."

Byakuya loses his facade of indifference, looking at Makoto again with narrowed eyes. "Excuse me?"

"I know, we should definitely discuss this, but I need to tell Taka, too, before he finds out in a worse way."

And Makoto runs off and explains the situation to Taka (WHOA! Taka's eye color! He is going to have to get used to eye colors.), who is surprised and maybe (almost definitely) disappointed, but he's very polite about it. Makoto promises that they'll talk again at lunch.

He checks his timer again. An hour and twenty minutes.

"Hey."

He pulls his sleeve down to cover the timer, looking up to see who's addressed him, and Oh, you've got to be kidding me. Kyoko?! From his dreams?!

"Makoto, right?"

"Y-Yeah. Kyoko?"

She doesn't say yes or nod or anything. "How many?"

"Huh?"

"How many do you have? I saw the timer on your wrist, and your reaction to Togami. Ishimaru keeps glancing at you. How many do you have?" At least she doesn't seem upset. Though she has completely busted him.

"I don't...know, for sure. I have a few soulmate marks, I just saw color for the first time, I share dreams with you and see through someone else's eyes occasionally, Taka's first words to me are on my arm..."

"Is that your talent? Are you some kind of soulmate anomaly?"

"Oh, no. I'm here as the Ultimate Lucky Student."

"I don't know that I would consider your situation here a lucky one. If breaking things to Togami and Ishimaru has you this nervous–"

He sees a flash of the school from outside and knows that Junko is here.

"I'm sure it'll be fine," he says, with forced optimism. "I mean, once I explain the situation to everyone, I'm sure we can all get past how weird this is. I'm glad to finally meet you, Kyoko."

"Hm. Don't worry; I'm not here to socialize anyway."

She slips away before he can say anything else, and then he hears the door open, and Junko's here!

[lowkaylove]

Anything Less Than, Everything & More

Pairings: Sylus x MC

Please be kind. This is my first ever fic.

CW: SPPOILERS for Sylus’s myth, Angst, MC remembers everything, comparing herself to past!MC, hurt/comfort, Sylus’s horns make an appearance, Mephie is the best boy, PTSD, feelings of survivor’s guilt/shame, references to Dragon!Sylus’s death, please let me know if I’m missing any tags (I’m bad at this)

Notes: not beta read-we explode like Josephine. Not really edited as I have never written anything before in my life. I’m not creative, I’m just hyperfixated on fictional men that a girl can only dream of.

Prompt: You remember everything. And Sylus couldn’t be happier. You both could finally move forward and conquer the world like you were always meant to do. The problem is…you realize that you’re not her…and you never will be. She was enough for him to sacrifice his life for. Who the hell are you to deserve that kind of devotion from a man like Sylus? Honestly, who are you to demand anything from him after everything he went through to find her, only to end up with your version of the woman he loved. The one who showed him nothing but undeserved hatred and disgust in the beginning. A fucking rookie hunter with a mediocre evol at best. Someone who was useless to him from the beginning.

Why couldn’t you just be her? Doesn’t Sylus deserve to be happy? Maybe…if you can’t be her…maybe there’s a way to become useful and worthy of a little more of his time, however short it will last.

Prologue

I barely make it to my bed after an exhausting day.

It’s been almost nonstop missions for the last month, one after the other. And when I’m not on a mission, I got a second job at a boutique thanks to a recommendation from Rafayel to the owner. Damn, I still need to figure out a way to pay him back for his help.

For now, I’ve tried my best to be less of a brat when I work for him and will cater to his every whim so he’ll hire me for more bodyguard gigs.

Truly, nothing has exhausted me more physically. But it’s nothing compared to everything I’ve done to Sylus in every life I’ve known him. And the physical p

Sylus is counting on you, and you won’t fail him this time.

2 months ago

It happened all at once.

Sylus had taken you to a field of flowers to watch the sunset. A perfect date as you two grew closer.

After settling down on the hillside, you couldn’t take your eyes off of the beautiful flora that surrounded you. Bold and intimidating red flowers blossomed all around you. The air felt familiar. Sylus felt a little too familiar and yet you swore you’ve never been here before.

After enjoying a small picnic, you stand up to stretch your limbs, gazing out towards the horizon. “It’s really beautiful out here, Sylus. I’ve never seen these flowers before, but the sunset makes the hills looks like they’re covered in rubies.”

“A fitting description, sweetie. The hills are bathed in rubies as far as the eyes can see.” But Sylus’s gaze rests on your silhouette turned away from him, his eyes filled with longing and devotion like no other.

Your heart clenches at his words. A sudden pang sends a tremor through your body. You’ve heard those word before…where have you heard them before?

“Sweetie?” Sylus calls out to you, concerned.

You turn to find him with one leg bent, arm resting on the knee. The other leg is stretched out. He removed his leather jacket and looks comfortable in is burgundy sweater and black denim. His eyes are full of worry though.

Then, images flash before you. Sylus, sitting the exact way he is now, but something is off. This Sylus is different. Black scales adorn his skin. His outfit does little to cover his chest and abdomen, a red gem rests in the middle of his chest.

This Sylus has horns. A tail.

This Sylus isn’t a human.

He is a Dragon.

My dragon is gone.

All of a sudden, an entirely different life floods your vision. You’re there, and so is Sylus. But it’s somewhere you’ve never been. The flowers on the hill shine under the sun. An organ plays beautifully in the distance. A beautiful Dragon carries you across vaguely familiar lands. It’s so beautiful, but all too much at the same time.

Pain sears through your head and you cry out. Your hands move to your temples as you land on your knees. They cover your ears as you moan in pain.

“Kitten!” Sylus rushed to you, he places his hands over yours then trails them down to your elbows and up to your shoulders. “Sweetie, what’s happening?”

It felt as if your head was splitting open. Your eyes were clenched shut but the visions were clear behind your eyelids.

Stayrus? …Can I call you a name that sounds similar? How does Sylus sound?

“Sweetheart, please…look at me…” You faintly hear Sylus’s voice break as if he’s in pain as well.

Sing that song again.

You feel the world spinning as this other Sylus rolls the both of you down a hill of flowers.

Only you and this flower can touch me here…

Your lungs are heavy with exhaustion as you feel your throat tighten. Tears run down your face as you finally look up at Sylus.

“S-Sylus…it hurts…” His eyes widen in panic before checking you over for an injury that isn’t there.

Taurus City can have flowers bloom everywhere…as far as the eye can see…

“You’re okay, sweetie…is it your heart? The Aether core?” Vermillion eyes scan over your face in worry.

But only for one person.

A kiss that never happened. It was all in your head. An illusion the both of you conjured to survive the pain and loss of each other.

You reach up, your shaky hands hovering over Sylus’s head…where his horns should be.

You must press on.

Pain sweeps over your entire body in waves. Your eyes clench shut again. Bile rises in your throat. You know exactly what happens next. You’ve lived this before. You were the one who committed this sin against your beloved.

Sylus won’t stop saying your name, desperate to grab your attention away from the pain your feeling. You faintly hear him shouting in the distance. “Luke! Kieran! Get a doctor to meet us at the base!” The twins respond from a speaker, likely Sylus’s phone.

Because…if you don’t…there’s no going back…

He’s gone. You’re alone in the field this time. You killed your Dragon, and now he’s gone. You remember the agony tearing out of your throat as you wail into the air, mourning the wonderful life you had lost, and the one you never got to have with your dragon.

And then…silence.

Air fills your lungs again. Your entire body goes slack and falls into Sylus’s embrace. You cough and choke on the oxygen overwhelming your senses. The tears don’t stop falling. The tremors do not leave your hands. And Sylus…oh Sylus

Labored breaths rack your entire body. Pain and relief clash together as you try to get your bearings.

“Kitten…are…are you okay?” His voice is shaky, as if he’s hopeful, yet afraid the agony isn’t over.

As you continue to breathe heavy and gasp for air, whimpers escape your lips as you nod weakly.

“I-I think I’m okay.” Your breathing eventually evens out.

Sylus takes this as a sign that he can touch you without causing any pain. His hands cup your cheeks as he lifts your gaze to his.

“We need to get you home. There is a doctor waiting to check over you. Can you walk, sweetie?” His eyes search your tear-filled ones.

“Wait. Sylus-”

“If not, I don’t mind carrying you. I just don’t want to cause you any pain if I touch you.” Sylus is desperate, frantic to get you somewhere safe. What if he loses you again? He can’t risk that.

A faint smile lifts the corners of your mouth. A sob escaped your lips as you really look at this beautiful man worrying over you.

“Sylus…you could never hurt me. How could you ever think that?” Your hands are hovering over his head again, as if searching for the horns. Maybe they’re hidden by his evol. Maybe he doesn’t have them in this life.

You can only pray that, if he still has them, he didn’t cut them off again like countless times before.

Your voice trembles. “Oh my Dragon…” another sob escaped your lips as Sylus’s heart stops beating for a moment. “I’m so…I’m so sorry.”

Everything stills in the world. Carmine eyes turn glassy as they peer into your very soul. His breaths quicken.

“What…what did you say?” He can’t believe it. He wouldn’t dare hope. This is a trick. Someone has trapped him in an illusion where you remember him. His heart will surely break beyond oblivion. Cursed by his beloved or not, he would not come back after this. This death will be absolute.

“Sylus I-I’m so sorry. You have no idea how sorry I am. For what I did to you then and in this life.” You can’t stop crying.

A slight mist rolls over Sylus’s eyes. Deep vermillion turns into shining garnets as one tear, then another, and another makes their way down his face. A look of hope and despair is all you can see. He then whispers your name so softly you thought you imagined it.

“How…how did you-? Do you…remember? You remember me? Us?” Sylus releases short and shaky breaths with his words. A man of calm and collection and dignity has never looked so terrified and unsure and small.

You’re afraid to answer, but he deserves that at the very least from you. You took everything from him in his last life and condemned him in this one. You owe him this.

You slightly look at your surroundings. “Today is the most I’ve felt at peace in a long time. You gave me that. And in a field of datura flowers no less.” Your gaze lands on him, a small reassuring smile graces your lips.

“You gave me everything I could have ever wanted. You fulfilled every desire I craved. You…you protected me when we were ripped apart.” Your voice breaks on that last word.

A hand cups your cheek. “Sweetie, tell me…please. I need to know.” Sylus knows he sounds desperate, and he doesn’t care. This was everything. And he’ll be damned if this moment is gone before he loses you again.

Your arms wrap around his neck as you tackle him in an embrace. Truly giving yourself to this moment, you leave no room for any misunderstandings.

“I remember everything, Sylus. I remember giving you your name. I remember the mark you left me. We conquered enemies together. We took what was ours and fed into each other’s desires. I remember singing for you. I remember…” Your arms wind tighter around him.

“I remember being ripped apart from you. I remember the datura field. I…I remember being reunited with you once again only to take away everything from you. I remember the…curse I gave you…” Your crimes against him hit you hard.

You suddenly back away, already missing his comforting touch. But you don’t have that right or privilege anymore. You can no longer claim him as yours now that ignorance is out of the question. You remember everything. And now it’s time to repay for your crimes.

Your hands hover in front of you, palms forward in a surrendering position.

“And I’m so sorry, Sylus. I’m so sorry for everything I did. And for all of the pain I caused you. You have no idea how much I wish it was me instead of you…”

Your eyes remain on his as you vow to him, “I swear on this life and every one after that I will make things right. I will do anything you ask. Anything you command of me. I will accept any punishment you demand. Whatever penance you desire to inflict upon me. I swear it…” A small glimmer in your eyes begs Sylus to have mercy, but it is immediately shadowed by all of the guilt. You don’t deserve all of this kindness he’s shown you again. Why hasn’t he tossed you to your demise after all of this? What could you possibly have done to be shown his mercy?

Sylus doesn’t move except for the inhale and exhale movements from his chest.

“Darling…do you swear this isn’t a dream? Do you really remember everything?”

You nod, the lump in your throat makes it difficult to formulate words.

Suddenly he’s right in front of you. His movements are frantic again. Tremors run through his hands as they trail up your arms to your shoulders and up your neck to cradle your face again.

“My Sorceress. My beloved…I have waited so long to find you again. You’re as beautiful as that day in the datura fields of Taurus City…I finally got you back…” he breathes out the last words with a smile.

“And you are my everything, I wouldn’t dare let any harm come to you. You have nothing to apologize for. I knew that…I knew I was losing myself. If you hadn’t done it, I would’ve…” His voice is choked.

He pressed his forehead against yours, and you bask in his embrace. The warmth from his breath, the soothing touch of his hands, the piercing gaze he has over you make you want to melt in his arms.

“I would’ve done something I’d never forgive myself of. Trust me, my love, the sword going through my chest was the better option.”

Although I feel a semblance of relief from his words, it doesn’t shake away the guilt I feel for cursing him.

“But I cursed you, Sylus. You’ll never truly be free. You’re forever chained to me. And I’m not…I’m not her. Not really. All the possibilities of who I could be in the next life and the next…it’s not fair to you.” My gaze drops in shame.

Sylus’s face turns into one of resolve. “Look at me.” He uses his evol to slightly jerk my head up and look into his eyes.

I start pleading again. “I promise I’ll fix ev-”

“You will do no such thing.”

My watery eyes widen in confusion. “I don’t-I don’t understand…”

He gives me his signature smirk. “My love, I’m a little heartbroken. Even after remembering everything, you still don’t get it.”

“You will do nothing of the sort. I am not chained down to you. I am not here unwillingly. From the very beginning, I swore to move mountains for you, crush your enemies, and give you everything you desired. That hasn’t changed…and it never will.”

After all this time, Sylus finally has you back. And he couldn’t be happier. Everything working up to this moment was worth it.

Externally, your eyes shined with relief that his love for you has held strong all these years. You were beyond elated that you have returned to each other.

Internally, you knew what had to be done. You knew that you had to make things right. You weren’t good enough in this life to deserve a man of Sylus’s caliber. He deserved his Sorceress.

Now you just needed a plan on how to become her, or at least anything better than what you are, before Sylus realizes just how much you pale in comparison to the woman he loved in Taurus City.

Sylus would never accept anything less than her.

[sherewrytes]

ꜰʀᴀᴄᴛᴜʀᴇᴅ Gojo x Black Fem reader

↳ Satoru Gojo x f! black reader

In Tokyo's underground music scene, Exxor is on the verge of global fame, but beneath the glitz, emotions run wild. Lead singer Satoru Gojo shines in the spotlight, while bassist Suguru Geto battles his dark past and unspoken love for Y/N, a rising fashion designer. Their shared history is fraught with tension, especially now that Y/N is falling for Gojo. As her career catapults her into the global fashion arena, old feelings resurface, threatening to unravel the band and their fragile friendships. Can they navigate the chaos of fame, or will their secrets tear them apart?

Genre: Romantic Drama, Psychological Fiction

Content warnings:

Substance Abuse, Toxic Relationships, Unrequited Love, Mental Health Issues, Slight drug use

Previous

Chapter 2: Better days

   The hazy memory of university days began to take over his thoughts as his eyelids grew heavier. It wasn’t long before sleep claimed him, but his dreams weren't peaceful. They were filled with flashes of your face, the laughter the three of you shared with Nanami, and the chaotic, vibrant days that felt so far away now.

But it wasn’t just nostalgia that pulled him under—it was the ache of something long buried. The first time he’d realized he was in too deep, the first time he had truly looked at you and seen you—not just as someone to pass the time with, but someone who made his chest tighten in ways he couldn’t explain.

The flashbacks came in waves—images of university dorms, late-night walks through the streets of England, secret meetings in hallways and lecture rooms. They all tangled together in his mind, each moment a thread in a tapestry he couldn't unravel. He hadn’t expected to fall for you. He hadn't planned it, but somewhere along the way, somewhere between stolen kisses and half-hearted promises, it happened.

And when it did... he had never been able to let go.

Suguru’s POV

he wheels of my skateboard clattered against the uneven pavement, a rhythm I’d memorized over countless afternoons. The streets here always smelled like rain, even when it hadn’t poured. Or maybe that was just me romanticizing London again. Why do I do that? Romanticize things that don’t need it. Like this place. Like people. Like her.

Y/N stood a little ahead, leaning against a low brick wall, her arms crossed casually. The sun caught on the honeyed sheen of her braids—they always looked freshly done, like she walked out of a magazine shoot every damn day. You don’t notice this stuff about anyone else. Not like this.

Her skin was warm and rich, almost glowing under the sunlight. I’d caught myself watching her more than I should’ve lately, tracing the way her cheekbones curved just so, or how her full lips twisted into a smirk that could cut sharper than any insult. I knew that smirk well because it was usually aimed at me.

You’re staring again.

I kicked the board up with the edge of my sneaker, catching it mid-air. “You’re blocking the view, Y/N,” I said, my voice lazy enough to sound indifferent. She rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitched. That little twitch had me grinning before I could stop myself.

“Blocking the view of what, Geto? This masterpiece of London architecture?” She gestured around dramatically. The wall she leaned on was covered in graffiti, some of it halfway decent, most of it trash.

“Nope. Blocking the view of Nanami busting his ass back there.” I jerked my thumb over my shoulder, and right on cue, Nanami stumbled off his board with a curse. Perfect timing. Thank you, Kento.

Y/N threw her head back and laughed, this deep, melodic sound that I always wanted to bottle up and keep for bad days. Her braids swayed with the motion, some of the golden beads at the ends catching the light. How did she make something as simple as laughing look like art?

I didn’t realize I was grinning like an idiot until her sharp gaze cut back to me. “What?” she asked, one brow arched.

Say something cool. Or sarcastic. Anything but the truth.

“Nothing.” I shrugged, letting my board drop back to the ground. “Just thinking how Nanami should stick to books instead of boards. You ever seen him try to ollie?”

She didn’t respond right away, just kept watching me like she was trying to figure something out. That smirk from earlier was back, softer now. Almost playful. “You talk a lot for someone who wipes out at least twice a session.”

“Twice is generous,” Nanami muttered, finally catching up with us.

“See? Even Kento knows.” Her grin widened as she pushed off the wall and grabbed her board. “Now, are we skating or standing around admiring each other all day?”

She started down the street before I could answer, her movements fluid and confident. God, she’s good. Too good.

“Not admiring,” I muttered under my breath, even though no one could hear me. But my chest ached with the weight of the lie. Liar.

Nanami, determined as hell, was back on his board, his posture stiff but improving with every try. It was almost painful watching him, like watching a newborn deer try to walk. Except this deer had way too much pride to let anyone help him. Honestly, it’s kind of impressive. Man doesn’t quit.

I dropped my board again, kicking it into motion. “Alright, Nanami. Let’s see that ollie one more time.”

“Shut up, Suguru,” he muttered, but he lined himself up, bent his knees, and gave it a go. This time, he didn’t wipe out. He actually landed it—clunky, sure, but he landed it.

“Whoa!” Y/N clapped her hands together, her braids swinging as she bounced in place. “Look at you, Kento! One step closer to joining the X Games.”

Nanami rolled his eyes, but I could see the hint of a smile. “Not all of us have raw, natural talent,” he said pointedly, giving her a look.

“Oh, I’m talented and humble,” she shot back, sticking her tongue out. And gorgeous. You forgot that part.

Not wanting to get shown up, I set my sights on a kickflip. I’d been trying to nail one for weeks now, but it was like the board had a vendetta against me. Today’s the day, though. Got Y/N watching. Can’t screw this up.

“Alright, watch this,” I said, hyping myself up as I lined up the board. I popped it up, flicked my foot, and— Nope. The board spun weird and smacked the ground sideways, almost taking me out with it.

Y/N doubled over laughing, her voice echoing in the park. “Suguru, you’re lucky you’ve got a pretty face because you’re not making it as a skater.”

I brushed myself off, trying to hide my grin. “Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up. It’s all part of the process.”

Nanami snorted. “Your process looks painful.”

“It’s about the journey, not the destination,” I shot back, rubbing the back of my neck. Then, as if on cue, the thought popped into my head. You know what would make this whole thing better?

“I’m gonna grab some supplies,” I said casually, brushing imaginary dust off my jeans.

Y/N side-eyed me immediately, her lips twitching. “Just say weed, Suguru.”

I snorted, throwing her a grin. “Fine. I’m grabbing weed. Happy now?”

She laughed, this low, warm sound that made my chest feel tight. “You’re such a weirdo, man.”

“I try.” With a salute, I kicked off and rolled toward the group of regulars at the park. The guys over there always had something good, and they never minded sharing.

The familiar smell hit me before I even got close, a mix of grass and faint cologne. I made small talk, passed around a joint or two, and ended up buying my own baggie. Nothing crazy, just enough for today. They tossed me a pack of papers, too, and I shoved everything into my pocket before heading back.

By the time I rolled up to Y/N and Nanami, she was sprawled out on the grass, her board resting under her legs. The sun caught her face again, her dark skin glowing with a light sheen of sweat, and her lips parted slightly as she sipped from a water bottle. You’d think she was posing for a damn painting.

I plopped down beside her, pulling the baggie and papers out of my pocket. “Miss me?”

She raised an eyebrow, looking at the weed in my hand. “What’s that, a party favor?”

“Something like that,” I said, pulling a paper free and starting to roll. My hands moved automatically, years of practice making the task feel as easy as breathing. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“For what?” she asked, her voice laced with amusement.

“For keeping this party going.” I finished rolling, licked the edge of the paper, and sealed the joint with a flourish. Smooth as hell. She’s gotta be impressed.

She leaned over, resting her chin on her hand as she watched me. “You’re way too proud of that little joint, Suguru.”

“And you’re way too interested,” I shot back, lighting it with a smirk.

Nanami groaned, standing up and dusting off his pants. “I’m going to skate before I get a second hand high from you two idiots.”

Y/N laughed again, and I couldn’t help but join in. She had this way of making everything feel lighter, even when I didn’t realize I’d been carrying weight. As the smoke curled into the air between us, I leaned back on my hands, feeling the tension in my chest ease just a little.

Yeah. Today’s a good day.

I took a long drag from the joint, the smoke swirling around my head as I leaned back against the pavement. Nanami, still working on getting the hang of his ollie, was shaking his head at us, a little bit of a smirk on his face. I passed the joint to Y/N, who was still lounging, her legs stretched out in front of her.

"Don't lie like that, you smoke with us all the time, bro," I said, giving Nanami a pointed look. Honestly, I don’t know why I even care. It’s just Nanami.

He rolled his eyes, his expression almost too nonchalant for my liking. "Yah, whatever," he muttered, adjusting his stance on the board.

I turned back to Y/N, who was still fiddling with the joint, trying to get it just right, and couldn't help but laugh. "No offense, love," Nanami said, shooting her a grin, "but you roll like shit."

My heart stopped, just for a second, the words sinking into my chest before I could register what he had said. Love? Did he just call her... love?

Y/N didn’t seem to mind. She just smirked back, letting out a soft laugh. "I’ll have you know, my joints get the job done, alright?" she replied, rolling her eyes.

But it wasn’t her response that had my brain short-circuiting. It was Nanami’s use of the word love—casual as ever, like it didn’t mean anything at all. My chest tightened, and for a moment, I forgot to breathe. Was I imagining things? Did Nanami just slip up?

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Nanami glance at me, a knowing look crossing his face, like he was aware of the thoughts racing through my head. Oh, he definitely knows. He’s been watching me like a hawk.

His lips curled into a smirk as he met my gaze. "Get a grip, Suguru," he said, his tone light but carrying that undertone that made me feel like I’d just been called out.

I swallowed hard, my brain scrambling to catch up. "I’m good," I said, forcing a casual tone, but my voice came out rougher than I intended. Was that jealousy? Nah, I’m just overthinking it. He didn’t mean it like that.

But deep down, a tiny part of me knew that Nanami wasn’t just calling her “love” out of habit. He’d never done that with anyone else. Damn.

Y/N didn’t seem to notice the silent tension hanging between us, still working on her joint as if nothing had happened. She passed it to me without a second thought, and I took it, trying to push the thoughts out of my head.

I tried to focus on her, on the way the sun made her skin glow, on the way her braids framed her face. She’s here with me, Suguru. Don’t be a damn fool.

But the word love echoed in my mind, over and over, making everything feel a little heavier than it had before.

I took another hit, the smoke filling my lungs as I watched Y/N struggle with the joint, trying to get it just right. I could tell she was frustrated, and for a moment, it was almost cute how she focused on it like it was the most important thing in the world. She’s got her own style, always trying to make it perfect. I kinda like that about her.

But Nanami, ever the perfectionist, couldn’t let it slide. He reached over, snatched the joint from her hand, and expertly fixed it before handing it back to her. Dammit, Nanami. Always showing off.

Y/N smiled, the glow of satisfaction in her eyes as she lit it up, taking a slow drag. Then, she shot me a quick smile that made my chest tighten, and I couldn't help but return it.

But then, without another word, she grabbed her board and skated off, leaving me and Nanami to exchange glances. No one tells me anything. She just leaves?

Kento, always the observant one, didn’t waste any time calling me out. He smirked, taking a long drag from the joint before exhaling slowly. "First, could you be any more obvious?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at me, as if the answer wasn’t written all over my face.

I exhaled, blowing out the smoke in a lazy ring. This fucking guy. "You’re imagining things," I muttered, trying to deflect it, but Kento didn’t drop it. He leaned back, watching me with that knowing, almost amused expression.

"You wanna ask, or should I just answer for you?" He smirked, his voice low, almost taunting. "Better yet, let me save you the trouble... I’m not interested in Y/N like that."

For a second, the words didn't register. What? What the hell does that mean?

I glanced at Nanami, who was too busy watching Kento’s every move to notice my confusion. His expression wasn’t as readable as usual—he was somewhere between intrigued and defensive. I stayed quiet, the weight of his words lingering like a bad taste in my mouth. I didn’t want to react too fast, but damn if it didn’t twist something inside me.

Kento gave a half-shrug and passed me the joint, his eyes not leaving mine. Fuck, am I supposed to believe that?

I took it, fingers tight around it, but my mind was elsewhere. I wanted to believe him, but something about the way he said it didn’t sit right with me. I need to keep my cool. Don’t let this shit get to you.

As I passed the joint back to Nanami, I couldn’t help but feel a little… unsettled. Am I really that obvious? And if I am... what does it even matter?

Kento’s voice cut through the haze, sharp as ever. "You gonna do something or keep staring at her like a lovesick weirdo?" His smirk was there, playful and biting, but it hit a little too close to home.

I let out a sigh, the weight of his words sinking in. Fuck, why does it feel like everything is a joke to him?

I didn’t want to bare my heart out like that, not here, not now. There was too much I hadn’t figured out yet, too much that felt... complicated. So instead, I said nothing, just took another hit off the joint, letting the smoke cloud my mind for a moment longer. I didn’t want to face it. I didn’t want to deal with it.

But Nanami wasn’t as subtle. He shot a glance at me, his eyes narrowing as if reading something I hadn’t said out loud. "I can see this becoming a problem for the foreseeable future," he said, his voice flat, almost like a warning.

I turned my head slowly to meet his gaze, and for a moment, I thought I saw something flicker in his eyes. Nanami’s not one to speak unless he means it. Is he serious?

It wasn’t like he was wrong, though. I’d been skirting around the issue with Y/N, with how I felt about her, but every time I got close to figuring it out, I backed away. She’s not mine to claim, not like that. And yet… here I am, acting like she is.

Kento took a drag from the joint, as if he hadn’t just dropped a bomb on me. "You’re making this harder on yourself," he said, almost in a tone of amusement, but there was a hint of something else there, something like concern. Is he... trying to help me? Or is he just fucking with me?

I leaned back against the edge of the skate ramp, the cool air biting at my skin, trying to focus. The only thing I could hear now was the thrum of my own thoughts and Nanami’s heavy silence next to me.

I shouldn’t have let this get to me. Y/N’s just a friend, right? Why am I even overthinking this?

But as I glanced toward the park, where Y/N was skating with that effortless grace, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Nanami might be right. This was gonna be a problem. But I’ll deal with it... eventually.

I lay in bed now, phone still in my hand, and I can’t help but chuckle at how true Kento’s words were back then. “I can see this becoming a problem for the foreseeable future.” Hell, he was right, wasn't he? I’d been trying to deny it for so long, pushing the thoughts of Y/N away when I knew damn well what was happening. But the truth is, I’m just as much of a lovesick idiot now as I was back then.

I glance at my phone again, scrolling through old photos from that day at the park. Y/N laughing, her braids flying behind her as she skated past, the sunlight catching her skin in the most beautiful way. I let out a sigh, smiling to myself despite everything. Why does this have to be so complicated? Why does she have to be so... her?

I remember how she made me feel back then, so damn confused but so alive. She was just being herself—fun, carefree, bold—but I couldn’t stop myself from wanting more. And that’s the problem, isn’t it, Suguru? You never knew how to just keep it casual with her.

The screen lights up with a notification from her—just a message, nothing big. My thumb hovers over it, but I hesitate. Should I even open it? Is it a bad idea to keep this... whatever this is... going?

I chuckle again, bitter this time. Like I’ve ever been good at making decisions.

I think back to that day, Nanami’s words echoing in my mind. “Are you gonna do something, or keep staring at her like a lovesick weirdo?” How many times have I been caught in that exact situation since then?

Another message from her pings, and this time, I tap the screen without thinking.

"Hey, Suguru... you good?"

I stare at the message for a long moment, letting the words sink in. Damn it, I should be better at this. She deserves someone who knows what they want, not someone who’s stuck in their own damn head all the time.

I roll over onto my back, the weight of everything pressing on me. This thing between us? It’s a mess. But hell, maybe I wouldn’t want it any other way.

The sudden buzz of my phone makes me jump, and I glance at the screen to see Gojo’s name lighting up. I let out a frustrated breath before answering, knowing exactly what kind of conversation this is going to be.

"Suguru! Man, I need your help," Gojo’s voice practically bursts through the phone. I can hear the excitement in his tone, but it doesn’t ease the knot in my stomach. "Tell me everything you know about Y/N. Favorite food, places she likes, what’s her favorite color? Anything! I want this date to be perfect."

I exhale slowly, holding the phone to my ear, trying to calm myself. This is what I signed up for, right? You knew this would happen sooner or later.

I feel this weird pang in my chest as I respond, trying to keep my voice steady. "She’s got a thing for spicy food. Her favorite is Jamaican jerk chicken, but she also loves Italian food. As for colors, she’s all about deep earthy tones—forest greens, rich browns, and golds."

I pause, biting my lip. God, why does it hurt to say that? Why does it feel like I’m giving him the most intimate parts of her?

Gojo doesn’t notice my silence, though. He’s too busy scribbling notes or whatever he does when he’s excited. "Hell yeah, man, that’s perfect. I gotta get everything right. Can’t mess this up."

I take a deep breath, my heart heavy. "Why are you asking me all this? She just texted you, didn’t she? Agreed to go on a date with you?"

He laughs, but it’s more nervous than anything. "Yeah, she did. But I wanna make sure I’m doing this right. I’m not exactly the ‘romantic’ type, you know?" His voice drops a bit as he adds, "I just wanna make her feel special."

I want to be happy for him. He’s my best friend, after all. I should be excited that he’s finally stepping up, that maybe something real is happening between him and Y/N. But the truth is, there’s a part of me that’s... not happy at all.

I push the feeling down, trying to keep the edge out of my voice. "You’re gonna do fine. You’re Gojo Satoru, man. There’s no way she won’t be into it."

He doesn’t hear the hesitation in my voice, thankfully, and continues rambling about plans for the date. But in the back of my mind, I’m still wrestling with the emotions swirling inside me. I want Y/N to be happy, to be with someone who deserves her, but... is that really him?

I swallow hard and force myself to focus. "Is that all? You got everything you need?"

"Yeah, yeah, I think that’s enough for now. You’re the best, Suguru." He pauses, sounding a little more serious. "I know this is weird, man, but I really appreciate you helping me out."

I want to laugh it off, but instead, I just say, "Don’t mention it."

I hang up without another word, my thoughts racing. I want to be supportive of Gojo. I really do. He’s my best friend. But damn it, the thought of him going on a date with her? It stings more than I thought it would.

I stare at the ceiling for a while, my mind a mess of conflicting feelings. Why does it feel like I’m losing something? She was never mine to begin with.

I grab my phone again and look at her last message, wondering if I can just push all this down and be the friend she needs me to be. I’ll figure this out... I have to. For her.

I lean back against the pillows, the weight of my phone in my hand making my chest tighten. I glance at the screen again, seeing her name pop up in my messages, but I don’t open it right away. She used to be mine. In a way.

The memory hits me—those late nights when it was just the two of us, no commitments, no expectations. Just... whatever we wanted to be. The way her laughter would fill up the room, the warmth of her touch, and the way her body would fit perfectly against mine, like it was always meant to be that way.

But I ended it. I called it off. Ten months ago now. I was the one who pulled away, who cut the cord, even though I knew it wasn’t what I wanted. Not really. I wasn’t ready for it. I couldn’t handle it, not then.

I’d never told her the real reason—how much it hurt to see her with other people, even if it was just casual. How it felt like I was barely holding myself together when she’d smile at me like nothing was wrong. How much I wished I could just tell her the truth—that I was falling for her, and I was terrified of how much it was consuming me.

So, I just stopped. Stopped texting as much, stopped showing up uninvited, and slowly pulled myself out of her life the way I always knew I would.

But then, there’s the tattoo. Her name, right under my heart. A constant reminder that I’ll never be able to forget her, no matter how much time passes. It was a stupid decision. A rash thing I did without thinking, but it’s there now. Forever. It’s a part of me.

I rub the tattoo absentmindedly, wondering if she even remembers it. How could she forget? She’s the one who suggested we get them, after all. Matching tattoos, like we were a pair. I want to laugh, but it comes out hollow.

And now Gojo... I just have to let him have her, don’t I?

I close my eyes, trying to suppress the feeling in my chest. She deserves to be happy. She deserves to be with someone who isn’t as messed up as I am.

The sound of Gojo’s voice echoing in my head doesn't help. "Tell me everything, Suguru. I want to make this perfect." I can't help but feel like I’m just giving him all the pieces of something that should’ve been mine.

But maybe that’s what I’m supposed to do now. Maybe I’m supposed to help him, to push through this, even if it kills me.

I let out a long sigh and stare at the ceiling again, letting the silence of the room swallow me whole. It’s a strange feeling, knowing something is slipping through your fingers and having no choice but to let it go.

But damn, it still hurts.

I hear the front door creak open, then the sound of it closing, followed by soft footsteps down the hall. I don’t need to look up to know who it is. Kento.

Sure enough, the door to my room swings open, and there he is, standing in the doorway, looking at me like he’s already figured everything out. His sharp gaze catches me, and without missing a beat, he says, “Next time... remove your spare key from where you keep it.”

I blink at him, not even bothering to hide my surprise. “You’re just gonna walk in like that?”

He doesn’t answer. He just stares at me for a second before the tension breaks with a casual exhale. “How long ago was it?” He asks, his tone cool, but the question feels loaded. I know exactly what he’s asking, and I don’t want to answer, but I do anyway.

“Ten months,” I reply, my voice flat, though it’s hard to hide the bitterness that’s crept into my chest. Ten months since I pulled away from her. Since I made the decision to stop everything before it got even worse.

Kento doesn’t say anything for a moment. He just gives me this look, like he’s trying to piece something together. “Okay,” he says, dragging out the word. “Now, how long has it really been, Suguru? Truthfully.”

I can’t stop myself from groaning, dropping my head back against the pillow in frustration. “You’re making her sound terrible, Ken,” I mutter, closing my eyes.

He crosses his arms over his chest, his expression unreadable. “I’m not making her sound anything. I’m asking you, because I sure as hell know how you are when it comes to her.” His voice is low, but the underlying challenge in it is clear.

I feel my chest tighten. He’s not wrong, and that’s what pisses me off the most. He’s right. I’m still running. Every time she texts or calls, there’s a part of me that wants to drop everything and go to her, to be there the way I used to. But I can't. Not now, not after everything I’ve already put her through.

“Does it matter?” I ask, my voice suddenly quieter than I want it to be. “I told you, I’m done. It’s been ten months.”

Kento doesn’t respond right away. He just stares at me, like he’s trying to read through all the shit I’ve buried. “Yeah, well... I’m not so sure you are.” He lets out a sharp exhale, then stands up straight, rubbing a hand through his hair. “Anyway, Shoko’s downstairs. Get your shit together, man. You’re better than this.”

I don’t say anything as he walks out of the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts. What’s worse—running back to her when I know it’ll just make things worse, or letting her go for good, even though every part of me is screaming not to?

I pick up my phone, looking at her name again, but I don’t answer. I can’t. Not yet.

I get off the bed, rubbing my eyes, trying to shake off the weight of Kento’s words. The familiar thrum of frustration pulses through me. But as I move toward the door, I catch Kento's gaze. His eyes narrow, scanning my chest, and I freeze.

“You still haven’t gotten that covered up.” He says it like a statement, but there’s an edge of disbelief in his voice, like he can’t fathom why I’d still keep it.

I glance down at the tattoo, her name right under my heart. Her name. It's like a constant reminder, a mark I can never really erase. No matter how much I try to distance myself, that damn tattoo will always be there.

“It’s been almost eight years, Suguru,” Kento continues, his voice softer now, almost tired. “How long are you gonna keep doing this to yourself?”

I don’t answer him immediately. How can I? He’s right. It’s been a long time. Eight years of highs and lows, moments I can never forget. But the tattoo? That’s a whole other story.

I keep walking, but Kento isn’t done. He steps forward, crossing his arms. “Satoeru just met her tonight, and she’s already more serious with him than she ever was with you. You see that, right?” His voice has this frustrating edge, like he's trying to break through the walls I’ve built around myself.

I feel my stomach churn, my jaw tightening. Yeah, I saw it. I saw the way she looked at him. The way they talked, the way she smiled at him. It was like everything we used to have was... gone.

He sighs, shaking his head. “Y/N is our friend. She’s not terrible, Suguru. But when this shit blows up... the way you’re acting now? It’s going to hurt her. You’ve gotta get a grip, man.”

I swallow, the knot in my throat tightens, but I don’t say anything back. Kento’s right. He’s always been the more logical one, the one who can see things I can’t. But this... this is different. She’s different. And I can’t just turn my feelings off.

Kento lets out another exhale, softer this time. “We have practice tomorrow. Don’t bring this shit into the band, alright?”

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. Instead, I walk past him, grabbing my hoodie off the back of the chair. He watches me, but I don’t make eye contact. I can feel the weight of his gaze, but I know he’s right. I just don’t know how to fix any of it.

How long can I keep running from this?

But for now, I push it all back down, stuffing it somewhere deep inside where I don’t have to think about it. Tomorrow’s another day. Another day closer to pretending this doesn’t hurt.

I head downstairs, trying to shake off the tension in my chest, but the moment I step into the kitchen, I hear Shoko’s voice from the fridge.

"Damn, you eat good over here," she says, pulling open the door and eyeing the contents. "I might need to come over more often."

I roll my eyes and reach for a bottle of water, trying to ignore her. I don’t feel like entertaining her today, not after everything. But then she hits me with it, the thing I’ve been trying to avoid.

"So, are you gonna spill me the tea on you and Y/N, or am I gonna have to drill Kento for it?"

I freeze mid-sip, the water almost spilling out of my mouth. Shoko knows?

I set the bottle down, trying to act nonchalant. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Shoko raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “First, you’re friends with Y/N—the designer. A thing only you and Kento seem to know. Blondie over there told me you three went to university together in England too, so there’s that." She pauses, walking over to lean against the counter, her arms crossed. "And then the way you were acting when Satoru was all over her? Yeah, I want the tea now."

My heart skips a beat, my jaw tightening. She really caught that? How could she not? The way I’ve been acting... it’s so obvious, even to someone like Shoko.

I turn toward her, my hands resting on the counter, trying to keep my cool. “What do you want me to say, Shoko? Y/N’s been a part of my life for a long time. We used to... be close.” I almost choke on the words, feeling the weight of them. "But things changed. She... she's doing her thing now, and I'm just... trying to figure it out."

Shoko doesn't miss a beat, her eyes narrowing as she studies me. “You don’t have to play it off, Suguru. I can see it. I know you’re still into her, even if you’re trying to act like you’re not. But you’ve gotta realize that it’s not just about you anymore. Satoru’s in the picture now, and if you keep acting like this, you’re gonna push her away for good.”

I look away, running a hand through my hair. I don’t need this right now.

Shoko’s right, though. I can feel it. The way my chest tightens every time I see Satoru getting close to her, the way I can’t stop thinking about everything that’s happened between us. But it’s not just about me anymore.

“I’m not trying to mess things up, okay? I just—” I stop myself, trying to find the right words. “I don’t know what to do.”

She smirks, clearly not buying it. “Well, you’ve got to figure it out fast. Otherwise, you’re gonna find yourself on the outside looking in while Satoru moves in on your girl.”

I grimace, the idea of that hitting too close to home. "I’m not... I’m not going to do anything stupid, okay? Just... leave it alone for now."

Shoko raises her hands in mock surrender. "Fine, fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you." She turns back to the fridge and grabs some leftovers. “I’ll be over more often, though. Gotta see if I can snatch some of your good food when you’re not around. "I try to shake off the tension, but I know it’s not going to be that easy. It never is.

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