#people are even getting angry at those who just expressing their feelings.

[roigami]

(Really rushed y’all… really rushed) The first time you saw Satoru, it hit you like a wave. You couldn’t quite put it into words at the time, but there was something about him that made your heart skip a beat. He was stunning in a way you hadn’t expected—like a burst of sunlight breaking through a clouded sky. His hair was messy, fluffed up in that effortless way, as though he had just rolled out of bed but still looked better than anyone else. His smile, lazy and self-assured, was both inviting and exasperating all at once. And the way he carried himself—like he didn’t have a care in the world, like he didn’t owe respect to anyone, especially those who were supposed to command it—was so far removed from your own nature. Everything about him was an unspoken challenge, a stark contrast to your quiet, controlled existence.

And maybe that’s what drew you in.

It was as if he lived in a world you couldn’t even touch. Your world was about duty, about tradition, about what was expected of you. Love wasn’t something you sought—it was something arranged, planned, calculated, like everything else. You didn’t want to have these feelings for him. You didn’t know how to handle it. Crushes were something you didn’t get. They were for others, people who had the luxury of indulging in their emotions, not someone like you.

Every time you tried to hold his gaze, you found it impossible. His eyes made your heart race in ways you couldn’t explain, until you found yourself smiling without meaning to. That made you panic even more, because smiling felt like weakness—something you couldn’t afford to show. So, you did the only thing that felt safe: you faked a frown. It was your armor, the one you knew how to wear, even if it didn’t quite match the fluttering in your chest.

You hated it. You hated feeling this way. You couldn’t tell anyone; you had no one to tell. Not your friends, not your family. Who could understand? Who could possibly get it when your world was already written out for you, and love wasn’t supposed to be part of it?

And yet, every time he walked by, your heart betrayed you. Every time he smiled, so effortlessly, so carelessly, you felt your walls crack, just a little bit more.

——————

Gojo couldn’t quite figure you out. He had never met anyone quite like you, someone who existed in the periphery of his life, who didn’t seem to fit in but still lingered in places where he couldn’t ignore you. The way you carried yourself—quiet, composed, distant—always caught his attention. It wasn’t like you were shy; no, you had this quiet strength, this undeniable presence that stood out even in a room full of people. You spoke with respect, even when it wasn’t deserved, and your words were always measured, never sharp. And yet… there was something about you that made it impossible for him to place.

Around him, you were frowning. It wasn’t that you seemed angry, but your expression was always steeped in something heavy— You never smiled. Never laughed in the way his friends did, never seemed to lighten up like the others. It wasn’t even as if you were a stranger to him. You’d tagged along on missions, hung out with his friends, and somehow fit in without really being in. You were like a shadow, constantly present but never quite seen. You only spoke when spoken to, offering no more than the bare minimum, always on the sidelines, always observing.

And that bothered him. It got under his skin more than he cared to admit. Gojo was used to people being drawn to him, engaging with him, enjoying his presence. But you? You made it clear you didn’t need him, didn’t want him, or anyone else for that matter. It ticked him off, this indifference of yours.

But Gojo wasn’t someone to let things slide, not when it came to his ego, not when it came to understanding people. He started to wonder: Was it just a mask? Nobody, not even someone as enigmatic as you, would walk around with a frown on their face all the time. It didn’t make sense. There had to be something else behind that expression, something deeper. And if it wasn’t a mask, if this was truly who you were, then maybe you were just miserable on purpose. Maybe you were someone who sought to suffer, to shut out the world for reasons he couldn’t quite understand. Or maybe… just maybe… it was him you didn’t like. The thought stung more than it should have, but it kept gnawing at him. He remembered the way your frown deepened every time your eyes met, as if you were unable to hide the disdain you felt for him.

He couldn’t help but dwell on it. But… maybe he was wrong. Maybe it wasn’t dislike at all. Maybe it was something far more complicated. Maybe you liked him. That thought, for some inexplicable reason, dug at him. The idea of you being silently affected by him, of you possibly harboring feelings for someone like him—an egotistical jerk—bothered him in ways he didn’t care to explore. And that upset him more than he wanted to admit. So, naturally, he decided to talk to Geto about it.

Geto, ever the voice of reason, listened to him with that patient, knowing smile that irritated Gojo more than he cared to admit. When Gojo had shared his suspicions—half joking, half serious—Geto’s response was enough to make his blood run cold. “Maybe it’s the opposite,” Geto had said, his voice almost teasing. “Maybe you like her.”

Gojo had scoffed, immediately dismissing the idea. That’s complete bullshit. He barely knew you. Sure, you were attractive, but looks weren’t enough for him to call it “like.” It wasn’t just about physical attraction. It wasn’t even about the shallow interactions that might have suggested something more. No, it was about who you were, and he couldn’t figure that out. The quiet, withdrawn nature you exuded made it hard for him to place any of this.

But curiosity gnawed at him, more and more each time he saw you, each time you spoke those few words. He couldn’t help but be drawn to you, to the way you seemed so completely unaffected by him, yet at the same time, always so close, always so present in the spaces he inhabited. And deep down, he wondered—maybe, just maybe, that was the most intriguing thing about you.

His ego, ever his guide, whispered that he couldn’t like you. Not in this situation, not now. He told himself that, over and over. That’s what his pride demanded. That’s what his ego insisted. But even then, in the back of his mind, he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something more to you—something that called to him, even if he refused to admit it.

—————

“Just ask her if she hates you.”

“Do you hate me?” Satoru asked suddenly, his voice slicing through the comfortable silence. You froze mid-step.

“What?” you managed to say, confused by both his tone and his question.

Satoru turned to face you fully, crossing his arms with a dramatic sigh. “It’s weird,” he began, eyes narrowing slightly, “because every time I’m near you, your frown deepens by, like, a millimeter. Do you know how insulting that is for someone of my charm and good looks?”

His deadpan delivery made your head spin. Were you frowning at him? Did your face have a vendetta you weren’t aware of?

You felt a twinge of panic rise in your chest. It wasn’t that you hated him—quite the opposite, actually. But apparently, you were giving him the worst signals in the history of mankind. If there was an award for unintentional mixed signals, you’d win gold every time.

While Satoru stood there, waiting for your response, he didn’t seem inclined to stop talking. “Seriously, you’re always looking at me like I’ve done something horribly wrong. I mean, I’m amazing, so it can’t possibly be my fault, right? Maybe it’s you? Are you allergic to people who are this good-looking? Or maybe—”

You tuned him out for a second, mentally slapping yourself. You waited until he finally ran out of breath, his hands gesturing wildly as if proving some unseen point, and then calmly said, “I don’t hate you.”

Your words landed with a thud, and for a moment, there was blessed silence. Satoru blinked at you, his head tilting like a curious puppy. “You don’t?”

“Nope.”

“Hmm.” He squinted, suspicious. “Are you sure? Because the frowning thing really had me convinced. Like, I was about to write a thesis on how much you secretly despise me.”

You shook your head. “I’m sure.”

His eyes lit up like someone had just handed him his favorite dessert. “Well, why didn’t you say that in the first place?!” he exclaimed, his grin so wide it could’ve powered a small city. “You had me worried for no reason!”

Before you could respond, he spun on his heel and started skipping away from you down the street. Yes, skipping. He was practically glowing, and you swore you saw actual sparkles radiating off him like some sort of anime protagonist.

————

You guessed that’s when it all started. When he really started to speak and see you more.

The sun beats down relentlessly, its heat pressing into your skin like a heavy hand. You walk along the street, feeling each step drag beneath the oppressive warmth. But then—thankfully—you spot a vending machine. A savior. You eagerly shove money into the slot and press the button, waiting for your drink to fall with a sigh of relief.

And then, a voice cuts through the quiet hum of the afternoon, pulling you from your thoughts. “You’re really quiet.”

You flinch slightly, turning to face the voice you already know well. Gojo Satoru stands there, looking as effortless as ever. His white hair gleams in the sunlight, and his usual confident, amused expression is plastered across his face.

You bow, a reflex, and immediately hear the soft sigh he lets out. His gaze is already rolling, and you can practically feel his exasperation “Can you get me a drink too? This heat is killing me!” He says dramatically, fanning himself, though there’s no sign of sweat. Maybe he’s just blessed with not feeling the heat the same way.

You shrug and reach into your pocket, pulling out another coin. “What drink?” you ask, your gaze cool as you meet his. He pauses for a moment, as if trying to decide, before muttering, “I guess, any.”

With a slight tilt of your head, you grab the drinks from the machine, handing him one without much thought. The lychee flavor.

“Hm?” He looks at the drink in his hand, an eyebrow raised. “How’d you know this was my favorite?” His teasing tone is there, but his glasses slip down his nose, and you catch the playful gleam in his eyes.

Your words quiet but clear. “Whenever the group hangs out, I always see you ordering lychee. And you always stare at lychee-flavored drinks when we try to order something else like Sprite.” Your voice is as steady as ever, unaffected by the fact that you’ve just revealed something Gojo didn’t know.

For a split second, he freezes, his lips parting slightly in surprise. And then, the most charming smile spreads across his face. It’s bright, almost blinding.

“Ah, I see.” He chuckles softly to himself, turning his back to you as he takes a sip of the drink. You watch him, your head tilted in quiet curiosity. Is drinking that private to him? But then you notice the faint redness creeping along the tip of his ear. It must be the heat, you reason, but somehow, it’s endearing.

“Goodbye,” you say softly, preparing to leave, but as you start to walk away, you feel him behind you, just a little too close.

You stop, turning your head. “Why are you still following me?” You can’t help the small bite in your tone. Isn’t he bored yet? All you are doing was walking.

He catches up, leans in slightly, and you feel his presence beside you like an unspoken weight. “Because I’m not sick of you yet,” he says, his voice low and warm. There’s something soft in his tone, something genuine—maybe he’s not entirely teasing, after all.

Your steps slow, heart beating a little faster, as the distance between you both closes, and for the first time, you let the silence between you feel like something more than just an awkward pause. Something familiar. Something you might just want to keep.

————

The group meandered down the lively street, their laughter and casual chatter mingling with the bustling sounds of vendors calling out and the sizzle of food being cooked on open grills. The scent of roasted chestnuts and skewered meat wafted through the crisp evening air, but your attention was elsewhere.

You were trailing behind the others with Satoru, who seemed unusually content staying close by your side. His hands were shoved in his pockets, and his usual carefree demeanor was only slightly overshadowed by the way he kept glancing at you.

When your gaze caught on a bright, retro-looking machine, curiosity flickered in your eyes. It was old-fashioned, boxy, and decorated with neon lights.

Satoru noticed your intrigue immediately. “Oh! It’s a Photo Booth!” he exclaimed, his voice filled with excitement.

Before you could even process what he said, he grabbed your hand, his warm fingers wrapping around yours, and tugged you toward the machine. The group called out after you, confused about your sudden departure, but Satoru didn’t even turn around.

“We’ll catch up!” he hollered over his shoulder before turning back to you with a mischievous grin.

The booth was cramped and a little dusty, but Satoru paid no mind as he dug out some coins and inserted them into the slot. He held the curtain open for you, and you ducked inside hesitantly, feeling a bit awkward about the whole situation.

“Let’s just snap a few pictures,” Satoru said, crouching slightly to get a better look at the buttons on the machine. “How does this thing work again…?” He frowned in concentration, poking a few random buttons until the countdown suddenly began.

“Three… Two…”

The numbers flashing on the screen triggered a burst of panic in both of you. You scrambled to get into position, barely managing to sit up straight and look at the camera as it clicked. The result was… less than flattering.

Satoru groaned loudly, looking at the preview. “Ugh, we look so stiff. Let’s be more… comfortable,” he said, glancing at you from the corner of his eye with a teasing smile.

He hesitated for a second, then moved his arm as if to drape it around your shoulders. But before he could, the camera flashed again, catching him mid-action.

“Shit!” he whispered, his hand retreating quickly as though burned.

“Two more!” you muttered, glancing nervously at the screen.

Satoru didn’t waste time. This time, he grabbed your shoulders firmly and grinned brightly at the camera. His confidence was infectious, and you couldn’t help but manage a small, tentative smile just as the next flash went off.

“Alright, one more,” he said, shifting gears entirely. He threw up a peace sign at the last second, his expression effortlessly goofy. You instinctively copied him, feeling the tension ease. The final flash went off, and the booth chimed to signal the end of the session.

Satoru leaned over to retrieve the printed photos from the slot, and as soon as he saw them, he burst into laughter.

“They caught me looking so ridiculous in the second one!” he said between laughs, showing you the strip. “And look at you—you’re so awkward!”

He handed you a copy of the photos, still chuckling to himself. You stared at them, cheeks burning slightly at how unpolished you looked in the first two shots.

“…I’ll do better next time,” you muttered under your breath, more to yourself than to him. Satoru immediately stopped laughing. “Oh? Next time?” he asked, his tone playfully curious.

You froze, realizing what you’d just said. “yeah, next time.”

His grin widened, and he leaned closer, his teasing eyes sparkling. “I’ll hold you to that,” he said, his voice low and amused.

Before you could respond, he turned back to the others, waving the photos in the air as he called out to Suguru and Shoko. “Hey! Look at these masterpieces! We’re basically models!”

As he walked ahead, your eyes drifted down to the photo strip in your hand. Despite the awkward poses and mismatched expressions, there was something undeniably warm about them.

Next time didn’t sound so bad after all.

————

You both entered a small store, the warmth inside immediately thawing your frozen limbs. Satoru, of course, had made a beeline for the snacks, grabbing armfuls of chips and sweets while you followed, shaking your head. At the register, you pulled out your wallet to pay for his haul.

“Really? You’re paying for me?” he teased, leaning against the counter with a smirk.

“I’m feeling generous,” you replied as the cashier handed over the change.

Back outside, the air hit you like a wall, the cold sharper now as the sun fully dipped below the horizon. You pulled your scarf tighter around your neck, snuggling into its soft fabric as your breaths came out in puffs of white.

The silence between you was comfortable, the crunch of your boots against the snow the only sound until thick flakes began to fall from the sky. It started softly, a gentle flurry that quickly turned into heavy snowfall, the world around you blanketed in white.

“You cold?” Satoru asked, tilting his head as he looked at you. His blue eyes sparkled, even in the dim light.

You nodded, unable to properly respond as the cold numbed your lips and cheeks. He stopped walking, and before you could question him, he stepped closer, pulling his hands from his pockets.

Suddenly, his hands were on your cheeks, and you flinched at the unexpected warmth. He had heating pads tucked beneath his gloves, the heat seeping into your frozen skin.

“Warm up,” he said with a lopsided grin, his voice soft despite the teasing undertone.

You fluttered your eyes closed for a moment, letting the warmth soak in. “Thanks,” you muttered, your voice barely audible over the sound of falling snow.

“Not a problem,” he replied, his grin growing wider. His hands lingered a moment longer before dropping back to his sides. He seemed pleased with himself, his expression bright despite the freezing air.

By the time you reached the meeting point, Shoko and Suguru were already there, waiting under the awning of a convenience store. Shoko was lazily sucking on a lollipop, while Suguru leaned against the wall, arms crossed.

“What took you two so long?” Suguru asked, raising an eyebrow as he straightened up.

Before you could explain, Satoru grabbed your arm, leaning against you dramatically as a mischievous smile spread across his face.

“On a date, kind of!” he chirped, his tone entirely too casual.

“What?!” Shoko nearly choked, her lollipop falling from her mouth as her wide eyes darted between the two of you.

You immediately shook your head, stepping away from Satoru’s grasp. “We were just running errands,” you said quickly, your voice firm as you glared at him.

“Oh, okay,” Shoko replied, visibly relaxing. She bent down to retrieve her fallen candy, though her smirk told you she wasn’t entirely convinced. “Good. If Satoru got a lover before me, I’d actually die.”

“Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?” Satoru shot back, crossing his arms in mock offense.

“It means you’re insufferable,” Shoko quipped, sticking her tongue out at him before popping the lollipop back in her mouth. Suguru chuckled, shaking his head. “You really know how to stir things up, huh, Satoru?”

———

The stars were faint tonight, their shimmer dulled by the glow of city lights. The group had decided to spend their evening lounging at a nearby park, the cool breeze and faint rustle of leaves creating a sense of calm. But for Satoru, it was anything but peaceful. He sat slightly apart from the others, slouched on a bench with his sunglasses perched low on his nose. His usually vibrant energy felt dimmed, weighed down by the unresolved mess of thoughts swirling in his mind.

He sighed heavily, his fingers idly tapping against the bench as he stared into the distance. The chatter and occasional bursts of laughter from his friends blurred into white noise. He zoned out, his mind wandering aimlessly, until he felt someone settle beside him.

He assumed it was Suguru or Shoko, their usual presence comforting in its familiarity. Without looking, he started to speak, his voice low and uncharacteristically vulnerable. “…I’ve been hella bummed out lately,” he admitted, rubbing his temples as he took off his sunglasses. His fingers lingered on the frames, his gaze fixed on the horizon. “I think—”

His words faltered when he turned. Your gaze was steady, unflinching, but there was a softness in your expression that made his chest tighten. Satoru blinked, his usual confidence temporarily erased as his jaw slackened. For a moment, he forgot how to breathe.

“Oh, hey,” he finally managed, his voice lacking its usual cocky edge.

You didn’t respond immediately, your focus entirely on him. Your eyes lingered on his face, studying him with an intensity that made his palms sweat. Finally, you spoke, your voice soft but cutting through the quiet.

“Your eyes are pretty.”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. Satoru froze, his mind scrambling to process what you’d just said. The breeze carried a few strands of your hair across your face, framing you in a way that felt almost cinematic, like a scene pulled straight from a dream.

“Yeah, uh… a signature trait of the Gojo clan,” he replied, a weak attempt to regain his composure. His usual pride crept into his tone, but his heart was beating too fast for him to fully pull off the nonchalance.

You nodded, a small, thoughtful movement. “I know,” you said simply, your voice calm as you turned your gaze forward, leaving him to process the weight of your observation.

Satoru, however, couldn’t look away. His eyes lingered on your side profile—the gentle curve of your cheek, the way your hair danced against your skin in the breeze. The streetlights cast a faint glow over you, and for a moment, he thought you looked ethereal, like something he wasn’t entirely sure he deserved to sit beside.

“Sorry,” he spoke again, breaking the silence. His hand reached up to rub the back of his neck, an uncharacteristic gesture of nervousness. “I must be bumming you out, huh?”

“You aren’t,” you replied, your voice quiet but resolute.

It was a simple statement, but it hit him harder than anything else that night. His heart fluttered, his chest tightening as though he’d heard the most beautiful melody in the world. How could two words, said so plainly, hold so much power?

Satoru fell silent, his usual quips and bravado forgotten as he looked at you. For the first time in a long while, Satoru Gojo felt seen—not as the strongest sorcerer, but simply as Satoru.

————

Amanai’s mission

————

The mission was grueling, a constant haze of tension as you protected Riko, the Star Plasma Vessel. It left you drained—physically, mentally. But for now, there was a fleeting moment of quiet. The halls of the building you were staying in were dim, shrouded in the soft, bluish glow of moonlight filtering through the windows. The darkness outside seemed vast, like it could swallow you whole. You yawned, padding silently through the corridor, your destination the kitchen. Maybe a glass of water would help you sleep.

But as you neared the dimly lit room, you noticed you weren’t alone. A tall figure, familiar even in the faint light, stood by the counter. Gojo Satoru. He wasn’t exactly someone you expected to see here at this hour. His white jacket was gone, leaving him in a simple black shirt, his usually perfect hair a little disheveled. For a second, you debated slipping away unnoticed, your feet shifting carefully on the wooden floor.

“You walk loud,” his voice rang out suddenly, startling you. He turned around, his piercing gaze meeting yours, a faint smirk playing on his lips despite the exhaustion in his eyes.

Caught, you gave him a small bow. “What are you doing up so late?” you asked, tilting your head slightly, trying to mask your own unease.

He shrugged, leaning casually against the counter, though his posture betrayed a weariness he rarely showed. “Not tired,” he replied simply.

You frowned slightly at his vague answer, your concern flickering to life despite yourself. “I have sleeping pills,” you offered, stepping closer.

“They don’t work on me,” he said with a dismissive wave, though his voice lacked its usual playful edge. There was something off about him tonight. He seemed… different. His usual overconfidence and cockiness had dulled, replaced by something quieter, something heavier.

You sighed softly, unsure of how to approach him in this rare, unguarded state. Comfort wasn’t exactly your forte, but before you could overthink it, his voice cut through the silence again.

“Can you stay?” he asked, almost too softly for you to believe it was him.

You blinked, turning to face him fully. “What?”

“Company would be nice,” he repeated, his tone light but sincere. “I don’t mind if you fall asleep. Just… stay.”

Something in the way he said it tugged at you. With a small nod, you crossed the room and sat down on the couch near the corner, one seat away from him. You didn’t want to crowd him, but you also didn’t want to leave him alone. The silence stretched between you for a moment, but then, to your surprise, he shifted. Slowly, deliberately, he slid closer, shortening the space between you.

“I’m just watching over,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a murmur. “Can’t get distracted. Anyone could show up.”

His words made sense, but the exhaustion lining his features made your chest tighten with something you couldn’t name. “You need rest too,” you said, your tone soft but firm. “I can watch over for a while.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head, his voice steadier now. “I can deal with it. I’m the strongest, after all.” There it was—his trademark ego, though it felt more like a mask than a truth tonight.

You deadpanned at him, unimpressed. “You’re weirdly stubborn, you know. Just because you’re the strongest doesn’t mean you have to handle everything alone.”

He turned his head slightly, his pale lashes lowering as he studied the floor. “It’s not that simple.”

“It is,” you countered, your voice quieter now. “I’m here.” The words slipped out before you could stop them, and they hung in the air between you, heavier than you intended.

His head tilted toward you, his expression unreadable in the dim light. For a moment, he didn’t respond. Then, he chuckled softly, the sound more subdued than usual, almost self-deprecating.

Before you could react, he leaned into you, resting his head lightly against your shoulder. The gesture was so uncharacteristic, so vulnerable, that it rendered you momentarily speechless. His hair was soft against your neck, and you realized with a start that his infinity was off.

“Satoru?” you whispered, the surprise evident in your voice.

“Just until the clock strikes five,” he murmured, his voice low, almost drowsy.

You wanted to protest, to ask him what was weighing on him so heavily that even Gojo Satoru, the strongest sorcerer, sought solace like this. But you stayed quiet, letting the moment settle between you. Despite his words, you knew he wasn’t sleeping. His breathing was too steady, too measured. Whatever was on his mind, he wasn’t ready to share it.

So, you stayed. The minutes ticked by in silence, the faint hum of the clock the only sound in the room. His presence, though unexpected, wasn’t uncomfortable. It was warm, grounding, a quiet reminder that even the strongest among you weren’t invincible.

“I’m tired,” Satoru muttered, his voice unusually quiet. He leaned against the counter, his usually perfect posture slightly slouched. It was such a simple statement, yet it felt heavy, as though the weight of the world rested on his shoulders for once.

You studied him carefully, your brows furrowing. “I have sleeping pills,” you said, your tone steady as you tried to offer a solution.

He glanced at you, his lips twitching into a faint smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Don’t work,” he replied, dismissing the idea with a lazy wave of his hand.

“They’re specifically made for sorcerers,” you added, your voice soft but insistent.

His head tilted, the faintest glimmer of curiosity crossing his face. “They really made that?” he asked, his tone laced with genuine surprise.

You nodded, your lips curving into a small smile. The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable—it felt… peaceful. The usual tension between you had dissipated, leaving behind a quiet stillness that neither of you rushed to fill.

After a moment, Satoru let out an exaggerated sigh, breaking the calm. “Sometimes I feel like you hate me,” he said, his tone light but tinged with something else, something harder to place.

Your head snapped toward him, your eyes widening. “What?”

He pouted, his lips curving downward in an almost playful expression. “You won’t even try to push the answer out of me,” he muttered, his gaze shifting away from yours as if he were embarrassed.

You blinked, caught off guard by his sudden vulnerability. “I just didn’t want to be a bother,” you admitted quietly.

His gaze returned to you, sharper now. “So… do you hate me?”

The question hit you like a physical blow, your heart skipping a beat. Hate him? The thought was absurd. If anything, your feelings leaned far in the opposite direction. But how could you admit that to him now, here, when his usually impenetrable confidence was already fraying at the edges?

“Well, I don’t,” you said finally, your voice steady despite the nervous fluttering in your chest. “Honestly, despite your ego and occasional… disrespect, you still care about people. Don’t think I missed the way you saw Riko’s sad expression and decided to add another day to this vacation. Even if you’re the strongest, we’re friends, aren’t we? To me, you’re just Gojo Satoru.”

His expression softened, his lips parting slightly as if he were about to say something. But you kept going, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “Your heart is pure, Satoru. I don’t hate you. In fact, I think that you’re—”

The sentence died in your throat as your eyes locked with his. His expression was completely unguarded, his usual cocky smirk replaced by something raw, something vulnerable. He looked at you as though you’d said the most earth-shattering thing he’d ever heard.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The air between you felt heavy, charged, as though the slightest movement might shatter whatever fragile thread was holding it together.

Finally, Satoru let out a soft chuckle, his voice trembling slightly. “I’m not getting ahead of myself, am I?” he asked, his tone lighter now, though there was a trace of nervousness behind it.

You shook your head slowly, and that small gesture was all he needed.

He leaned forward, his movements slow and deliberate, as though giving you every opportunity to pull away. But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

When his lips met yours, it was soft and tentative at first, as though he were afraid to break you. But then the kiss deepened, his hand gently cupping your jaw while his thumb brushed against your skin. He tasted faintly of sugar, and the warmth of him against you sent your heart racing.

It wasn’t just a kiss—it was an unspoken confession. The teasing, the stolen glances, the quiet moments where his guard slipped—it all made sense now.

————

“Satoru,” you started, concern lacing your voice. His eyes flicked to yours briefly, soft yet unwavering. Before you could finish your thought, chaos erupted.

The attack came out of nowhere, swift and violent. Your instincts kicked in as you reached out, shouting, “Satoru!” But he was already moving, stepping in front of you like a wall. He raised his hand, palm out, as if to shield you from more than just the physical threat.

“I’m fine,” he said, his voice calm, almost infuriatingly so, as he glanced at you. His usual playful arrogance was replaced by something far more serious. “Get Amanai to Master Tengen’s place. Immediately.”

You hesitated, your heart thundering in your chest. The thought of leaving him here, alone, against—it made your stomach churn. “Satoru, I—”

“I’ll be fine,” he interrupted firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. His eyes, impossibly blue and still alight with that maddening spark, locked onto yours. “He has to be stopped by the strongest, and… I’m the only one who can do it.”

You clenched your fists, your nails digging into your palms. “You always think it’s your job to shoulder everything alone—”

“Because it is,” he said, cutting you off again. This time, his voice softened, as if he was letting you in on a secret. “It’s what I was made for.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, but your voice cracked when you finally spoke. “I’ll come back for you. I promise.”

He rolled his eyes, but the faintest flicker of something—gratitude? relief?—flashed across his face. “If that’s what you want,” he said, his smile quirking up at the edges in that way only Satoru Gojo could manage, even in the face of danger. “Thanks.”

You gave him one last look, your gaze lingering, trying to memorize every detail—the tilt of his head, eyes swirled around his silhouette, the resolute strength that seemed so unshakable.

————

That’s where it all went wrong.

The last clear memory you had was the bitter cold biting at your skin and Satoru’s voice ringing in your ears—calm, steady, and so sure of himself. “Get Amanai to safety. I’ll handle this.” Then chaos. A sharp pain searing through your skull. And then—nothing.

When you woke, the world felt… dimmer. You blinked, groggy and disoriented, only to realize you could only see out of one eye. Panic clawed at your throat as you sat up, heart pounding, reaching up to your face only to feel the bandages covering the gaping absence where your left eye had once been.

You had questions. So many questions. But the answers never came.

Satoru was the first person you thought of. Surely, he would explain what happened, right? But every time you asked, he brushed it off with an infuriating shrug and a nonchalant, “What’s done is done. You’re alive, that’s what matters.”

It pissed you off.

You were his friend, weren’t you? You had fought beside him, trusted him with your life. And yet, now it felt like there was this invisible wall between you—one you couldn’t break through, no matter how hard you tried.

Geto wasn’t much better. He was quieter than usual, his sharp edges dulled by something you couldn’t quite place. His frame seemed thinner, his eyes darker. He avoided your gaze during the rare moments you saw him, always in passing. You tried to connect, to figure out what was wrong, but he slipped through your grasp like smoke.

And as for Shoko—she was the glue holding everyone together, but even she seemed stretched too thin. Her humor became brittle, her smiles forced. The four of you, once inseparable, were now like scattered fragments of a mirror, each reflecting a distorted version of what you used to be.

It all came to a head when Geto finally snapped.

The news hit you like a freight train. The murders, the defection, his complete rejection of everything he once stood for—it was almost too much to process. You couldn’t believe it. You didn’t want to believe it.

But Satoru? He knew. He must have known.

You saw it in the way his posture slumped ever so slightly when he thought no one was looking, the way his usual bravado felt more like a mask than ever before. For once, Satoru Gojo—the strongest—looked fragile.

You tried to talk to him about it, but he shut you down every time. “It’s not your problem,” he’d say, his voice clipped and distant. And maybe he was right—maybe it wasn’t your problem. But it was his.

And that made it yours too.

The bond between all of you, once unbreakable, had splintered beyond repair. Missions and eye check-ups consumed your time, leaving you no room to breathe, let alone process everything that had happened. You felt like you were drowning, and no one—not even the people you cared about most—could throw you a lifeline.

The days blurred together, and you found yourself wondering if things had ever truly been as good as you remembered. Or if you’d just been too naive to see the cracks forming from the very beginning.

If only you had stayed with Satoru during the attack.

The thought haunted you, replaying in your mind like a broken record. You had trusted him, as you always did, to be the strongest—to handle everything alone. But what if you hadn’t? What if you had stood by his side, fought with him, and shared the burden instead of leaving him to carry it all? Maybe things would have been different. Maybe he would be different.

But Satoru never let you find out.

He shut you out, retreating into himself like a shell snapped shut. Every attempt you made to reach him was met with indifference—an impenetrable wall of silence. His once vibrant personality, the one that lit up every room, now seemed dimmed, guarded, and distant.

You told yourself it wasn’t your fault, that he was grieving in his own way—over Suguru, over Amanai, over everything that had gone wrong. But guilt sank its claws deep into your mind, whispering relentlessly. You should have stayed. You should have fought harder to help him.

You drowned in that guilt.

And while you struggled, Satoru disappeared into his work. He buried himself in missions, dedicating every ounce of his being to the world of sorcery, leaving no space for anything—or anyone—else. When you tried to talk to him, you were met with clipped tones and hurried goodbyes.

Until one day, there were no goodbyes at all.

No calls. No texts. Nothing.

It was as if he had vanished entirely from your life. And just like that, 12 years slipped through your fingers, passing as swiftly as a winter breeze. Time dulled the pain but never truly healed it. Your first love didn’t work out, but you were glad he was the first man you fell in love with.

You had left Jujutsu High not long after Suguru’s betrayal, unable to stomach the memories and the lingering fractures of your once unbreakable bond. The world outside sorcery offered no solace, but it was quieter. You tried to move on, tried to forget, but the echoes of those days followed you like shadows.

Years passed. The simplicity of a normal life wasn’t sustainable. Low pay and rising expenses forced your hand, and eventually, you returned to Jujutsu High. The halls felt colder than you remembered, the laughter of younger sorcerers ringing hollow in your ears.

It was strange being back, stepping into a world that once felt like home but now felt alien. Satoru’s name was on everyone’s lips, his legend only growing in the years you’d been away. But to you, he wasn’t a legend. He was the man who had once smiled at you like you were his whole world, only to shut you out when you needed him most.

And now, here you were—older, wiser, but no less haunted by the ghost of him. Would he still be the same Satoru you had known? Or had time changed him just as it had changed you?

You weren’t sure if you wanted to find out.

————

A deep, involuntary sigh escaped your lips, the frustration of being caught between duty and your own growing hesitations bubbling to the surface. It had become routine: kill, eliminate, destroy. But this time felt different. It was always different when there were no clear lines to cross, no simple black and white.

Stepping out for a moment to breathe, you wandered into the open air. The sky was turning a shade of purple, its glow reflecting the storm inside your mind. The dusk painted the world in a hue of melancholy beauty, and for a moment, you simply watched, trying to ground yourself in the sight of it.

“It’s pretty.”

The voice cut through the air like a soft breeze, familiar yet foreign. You turned swiftly, your eyes locking onto him before your mind had even fully processed the sound. Your heart skipped in that fleeting moment, and your breath caught. There he was. Satoru.

It was as if time had shifted. He stood before you, older now, his blindfold hiding whatever secrets lay behind his eyes. Gone was the reckless, cocky persona, replaced with something quieter, more thoughtful. The aura around him was different, subdued in a way that didn’t match the memory of his youthful arrogance. And yet, he still exuded power, a quiet storm that seemed to whisper of years gone by.

You stood there, frozen, unable to look away. You’d barely noticed the way he tilted his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. But you noticed it now. The change, the growth. It was like staring at a ghost of the person you once knew, yet not knowing if you could still reach them.

“I’m telling you, the old man is just stupid.” His voice was casual, but you could hear the underlying urgency in it. The underlying plea. He didn’t need to say it outright—you knew exactly what he was asking. He wasn’t telling you to defy orders. He was asking you not to carry out the mission. Not to destroy the kid.

Your mind reeled. The old man’s orders were clear. You couldn’t just ignore them.

But then, the storm inside you churned. You met Satoru’s eyes—no, not just eyes, but his very soul seemed to be laid bare. It was as if he were pleading for you to see him for who he was now. The same person who once seemed invincible, but now seemed fragile, vulnerable in a way that felt so far removed from the confident, untouchable figure he once was.

“Gojo,” you whispered, your voice calm but steady despite the turmoil. “I can’t disobey orders.” There it was, the wall you’d built to protect yourself. The truth you couldn’t escape from.

His expression softened, his steps drawing nearer. The weight of his presence was undeniable as his hand lightly rested on your shoulder, the warmth seeping through your skin, through your defenses. “I know you,” he murmured, voice lower than before, with a sincerity that almost broke you. “You’re better than this.” His words were a quiet plea, a confession of sorts, as if he was hoping you would remember who you were before the world had scarred you.

And then, his voice, tinged with vulnerability, cracked through the air like a fragile promise. “I guess I’m not worthy, but I’ll ask this one last thing of you.”

You could feel it. That raw, unspoken emotion between the two of you, a fracture that never quite healed. It lingered in the spaces between your words, in the silence that stretched between your breaths. This wasn’t just a mission anymore. This wasn’t just about a cursed kid. It was about you, and him, and everything that had ever been left unsaid.

“… I guess you finally learned how to not deal with the burden yourself,” you whispered, more to yourself than him. The words felt like a release, the truth that you had been holding back for so long. There was a shift in the air, a heaviness that you couldn’t quite shake, but his low chuckle met you nonetheless.

As he turned and walked away, leaving the space between you cold and vast once again, you stood frozen, your heart heavy with what could have been and what never was. It wasn’t just the kid you had to decide about. It was everything. The past. The present. The tangled threads between you and Gojo Satoru.

And just like that, he was a stranger again.

————

You walked into your office, the familiar scent of paper and ink hanging in the air. The desk was cluttered with scattered papers, the endless work that always seemed to pile up. You glanced over the mess, letting your gaze linger on the various stacks, files, and forgotten notes. It was a typical day—nothing out of the ordinary. Yet something felt different.

As you moved further into the room, your eyes were drawn a bright yellow lily, placed on a stack of papers. Its petals were wide, almost regal, their golden hue catching the light from the window, casting a soft glow over the surrounding chaos.

You paused, the sudden appearance of the flower stirring a mix of curiosity and confusion. You leaned closer, inhaling the subtle fragrance that filled the air—a sweet, almost intoxicating scent that seemed out of place in the otherwise sterile, work-heavy atmosphere.

You pursed your lips “geez, I wonder who this is from.”

————

Too lazy to write this but just imagine you got into a deadly fight before the Sukuna vs gojo and boom into a coma.

————

You slowly began to wake from the depths of slumber, your mind groggy but slowly regaining consciousness. The familiar warmth of the bed you were lying, you blinked, trying to adjust your senses to your surroundings. Something was off. The room you found yourself in was so strikingly familiar. An old, worn room, the kind that held fragments of your past—your student days at Jujutsu High. The walls were lined with memories you had long buried.

With a sudden jolt of recognition, you flung yourself out of bed, your heart racing as the weight of nostalgia crashed down upon you. You rushed to the mirror, practically stumbling in your haste, your breath quickening in anticipation. As your eyes landed on the reflection before you, the reality settled in with a shock. It was you—young, untouched by time, and whole in a way you hadn’t felt in years.

There was no trace of the fatigue and scars that had marred you over time. Your eyes, now shimmered with a hopeful innocence, almost as though you had forgotten how to carry the weight of your own choices. Your skin was smooth, without the burdens of experience. You leaned closer, your fingers trembling as they brushed against the surface of the mirror. The reflection of your younger self stared back at you, still so full of promise, so unaware of the pain and regret that would soon mark the years ahead.

Your heart swelled with an aching kind of longing, yet the joy was quickly tainted by a creeping bitterness. Your hands fell to your sides, and you couldn’t stop the rush of memories that hit you like a wave. Was this a gift or a curse? A dream too detailed to be one, a mirror into the past so perfect and raw that it hurt to look. The weight of what you had lost pressed down on you with suffocating force. You had so much ahead of you then, so many chances. You could have chosen differently—could have stayed with Gojo, could have acted faster, been quicker. If only…

A sharp pang of regret twisted your gut as you stared down at the floor, your body tense with frustration. You could feel your chest tightening, your breath shallow. What if you had been there when Gojo needed you most? If you had made the right choices, where would you be now? The bitterness of your thoughts threatened to choke you. The future, the path that was now set before you, had been shaped by your own faults. If only you had chosen differently.

And then, as if in response to your spiraling thoughts, the sharp ring of your phone cut through the silence, jarring you back to the present. Startled, you fumbled to unlock it, the screen flashing to life. A message from Gojo.

—

(Cn: idk what messages looked like back then. Pls don’t come after me.)

—

With a shaky breath, you pushed the overwhelming emotions aside. There was no time for dwelling in sorrow. You had a choice now—an unexpected chance to relive a moment from the past. You shook off the melancholy, forcing your mind to focus on the here and now. You stood up from your reflection, pulling yourself together as best you could. Your gaze swept across the room, the walls adorned with photos, clothes, and memorabilia—each one a reminder of who you once were. The nostalgia hit you hard, but you couldn’t let it pull you under. You were here for a reason, even if you didn’t understand it fully yet.

You hurriedly gathered your things, slipping into your clothes as memories of laughter and camaraderie flooded your mind. The clothing you once wore felt oddly familiar, almost too fitting for a time that felt so distant. Your heart quickened as you finished preparing, the excitement of the amusement park trip creeping into your thoughts. A taxi ride later, and you arrived at the park, your breath catching in your throat. You stared at the entrance, the sounds of distant rides and laughter filling the air. A lump formed in your throat as you approached the gates, your heart hammering with both anticipation and fear.

Would you burst into tears as soon as you saw them? Would they be the same people you once knew, full of warmth and life, or would this dream only amplify the aching void that existed without them? You couldn’t be sure, but the possibility of seeing them—of reliving even just a sliver of those happier times—was too much to deny. Steeling yourself, you stepped forward, your breath shallow, each step a struggle between hope and the reality you knew you would eventually have to face.

The air was thick with excitement, the sound of laughter and chatter filling the space, but it wasn’t the noise that caught your attention—it was a voice, sharp and familiar, cutting through the crowd like a beacon.

“Over here!” The voice called out, and you turned instinctively toward it, heart racing, only to find Suguru, standing with a mischievous smile playing on his lips.

Suguru… The bastard who betrayed Jujutsu society, who killed thousands without hesitation, the man who tried to take your life and the lives of your students. The one you couldn’t save.

For a moment, the memories rushed back—the bloodshed, the betrayal, the silent screams of everyone who had fallen to his hands. He looked so different now. He stood there, as young as he had been in your past, yet there was a softness in his expression you hadn’t remembered. This Suguru was not the man who had tried to destroy everything you held dear, nor the person who had walked away from everything for a cause that seemed too foreign to understand. No, this Suguru seemed almost… like the version you once knew—the friend you never thought you’d lose.

“I’m sorry, Suguru. I’m sorry for not noticing how you felt sooner…” The words formed on your lips, but they stayed silent, trapped beneath a weight you couldn’t shake.

You stepped forward, caught in the whirlwind of conflicting emotions, and just as you were about to close the distance, to reach out as if nothing had changed, another familiar face emerged from behind him. Shoko. She popped her head over Suguru’s shoulder, grinning playfully, and as always, sucking on a lollipop.

“I’m here too!” she said, her voice full of warmth. She was trying to hide it, but you could tell she was still battling her smoking habit—just another small, bittersweet reminder of the time you’d lost, the years that had passed in between. She looked the same, but different. It was almost as if nothing had changed, yet everything had.

A sharp pang of sorrow gripped your chest as you smiled back, the tears you’d been holding back now threatening to spill. But there was no time to reflect on that. The noise of the crowd, the joy that should have felt comforting, now felt like a cruel reminder of everything that had gone wrong.

“Hey!”

The voice sliced through the air, too familiar, too personal. Satoru’s voice. You froze, a cold shiver running down your spine. The man who had once been your closest friend, your confidant, the one you had been so painfully distant from. He was the one who always stood by you, who never let go, even when you shut him out. The one you had betrayed in the worst way.

No… You didn’t have the right to even think about him like that anymore. You were the reason everything had gone wrong. You were the reason he had been forced into isolation, into being the man who wore a mask for the world—a mask you had helped build, one that only showed the strongest version of himself. He had once been like you—open, raw, vulnerable—but through your decisions, he had become as closed off as you had been. You were the mirror that reflected the worst of him.

And now, standing there, watching him, all you could think of was how you had failed him. The guilt twisted inside you, suffocating you with every breath you took. You wanted to reach out, to apologize, to make everything right again. But all you could do was stand there, watching him as he approached, a warmth in his expression that didn’t match the ice in your heart.

“Heyyy?? You were totally zoned out!” His voice broke through the fog in your mind. His hand waved gently in front of your face, a gesture that should have been teasing but only made you want to collapse in on yourself.

“…Hey.” The word escaped you in a barely audible whisper, and your gaze fell to the ground, ashamed, unable to meet his eyes. You could feel his gaze on you, though, and you wanted to scream in apology. He didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve you.

You couldn’t even look at him—Satoru, the man who always gave you that goofy, carefree smile, even when you didn’t deserve it. Even now, despite your coldness, despite the way you had distanced yourself from him, he was smiling at you. His smile was so bright, so effortless, that it made your chest tighten with an unbearable ache. He had always been there for you, and now, you couldn’t even be there for him.

The guilt that swirled within you grew heavier, suffocating you as you forced yourself to look at him. His smile remained, but there was something softer about it now—something that made your heart break even more. You wanted to tell him everything, apologize for every wrong you had done. But instead, you just looked away.

Satoru didn’t seem bothered by your lack of response, his hand falling back to his side as he shrugged it off, turning toward the entrance of the amusement park. “Guess we should go inside, huh?” His voice held the same lightness as always, despite the heaviness in your chest.

Suguru and Shoko followed behind, the four of you walking together like nothing had changed, but everything had. You trailed behind them, your heart in your throat, the weight of your past mistakes pressing down on you with every step you took. You wanted to collapse, to apologize, to make up for everything, but you knew you couldn’t. Not yet. Maybe never. But for now, you just had to walk beside them, pretending as though this fragile dream wasn’t unraveling in your hands.

—

“Let’s get some plushies!” Shoko exclaimed with uncharacteristic enthusiasm, her eyes lighting up as she darted toward one of the claw machines. Without a moment’s hesitation, she pulled out a few coins and popped them into the slot. “Watch and learn,” she declared, gripping the joystick with determination.

The machine whirred softly as the claw descended, brushing against the edge of a plush panda before slipping away empty-handed. Shoko let out a frustrated groan but quickly tried again. And again. And again. Twenty attempts later, she was clutching her head, biting her lollipop like it had personally offended her.

“What the fuck?! This isn’t fair at all!” she yelled, stomping her foot in frustration. Her usually calm demeanor had evaporated, replaced by the fiery temper of someone truly defeated by a claw machine.

Suguru, leaning casually against the machine next to her, chuckled under his breath. “Move over, rookie. Leave it to the masters.” He flicked his hair over his shoulder with mock arrogance, a playful smirk tugging at his lips.

“Oh, please,” Shoko scoffed, stepping aside begrudgingly. “Let’s see you do better, Mr. Master.”

Suguru slid a few coins into the slot, cracking his knuckles as if gearing up for a monumental task. “This is about precision,” he said, his voice dripping with faux seriousness. “Focus. Strategy.”

The claw descended, snagged the plush bunny by its ear, and for a fleeting moment, it seemed like he might succeed. Then, the bunny slipped through the claw’s grip, tumbling back into the pile below.

Suguru stared at the machine in stunned silence. “What?”

Shoko burst out laughing, pointing at him. “Master, huh? You’re no better than me!”

“Alright, amateurs, step aside,” Satoru interjected, pushing past them with his signature cocky grin. “Let me show you how it’s done.” He cracked his neck for dramatic effect, drawing the attention of a few passersby.

“You’re just going to fail like the rest of us,” Shoko muttered, rolling her eyes.

“Bet you five bucks I won’t,” Satoru shot back, sliding his coins into the machine.

The claw descended under his control, shakily grabbing hold of a bright yellow duck. For a moment, it seemed like he had succeeded. But as the claw ascended, the duck slipped free, tumbling back down just like before.

“WHAT?!” Satoru exclaimed, pressing his face against the glass of the machine. “This thing is rigged!”

Suguru snorted. “You were saying something about being a pro?”

“Shut up,” Satoru snapped, popping in another coin.

Before long, the three of them were caught in an endless loop of failure, shoving each other out of the way to claim the joystick for another turn.

“You’re hogging it, Satoru!” Shoko yelled, trying to pry his hand off the controls.

“I’m the only one who came close!” Satoru argued, his voice rising in indignation.

“By ‘close,’ do you mean failing slightly less spectacularly?” Suguru quipped, earning himself a half-hearted shove from Satoru.

Their bickering grew louder, each of them trying and failing to best the cursed claw machine. Their laughter and animated arguing filled the arcade, drawing stares from strangers.

You stood off to the side, arms crossed, watching the chaos unfold. Like little kids, they were utterly absorbed in their futile mission, completely unconcerned with how ridiculous they looked. It was almost embarrassing how they were acting up in public.

But then again, their childish giggles and fiery bursts of frustration brought a bittersweet warmth to your chest. These moments, fleeting and full of life, reminded you of why you loved being with them. It wasn’t about the plushies or the competition. It was about this—this messy, chaotic joy that only they could bring.

—

The three of them had finally scored plushies after what felt like an eternity. Suguru held up his monkey with quiet satisfaction, its stitched-on smile mirroring his own subtle grin. Shoko smirked as she turned her smoking egg plushie over in her hands, clearly amused by the absurdity of it. And then there was Satoru, smugly twirling a gray plush rock between his fingers like it was the most priceless treasure in existence.

You couldn’t help but notice how everything about these three—their chosen plushies, their demeanors—felt like echoes, reverberations of something deeper. Memories bubbled to the surface, threatening to drown you. Was it coincidence? Or was the past merely a map of the future yet to unfold? You stared down at the ground, lost in the maze of your thoughts, lips pressed tightly together.

“Hey,” Satoru’s voice cut through the haze, snapping you back to reality. His gaze was sharp yet playful, the trademark gleam in his eyes. “Where’s your plushie?”

What? This never happened … but dreams aren’t specifically supposed to be accurate…

You opened your mouth to answer, but the words stuck. He didn’t wait for you to respond anyway.

“I got this,” he announced with that unshakable confidence of his, already making his way to the claw machine. “Watch and learn the ways of the strongest.”

You watched as he squared up to the machine, his shoulders rolling back like he was about to take on some ancient curse. His eyes locked onto the prize with laser focus, a pink bear nestled just within reach. His tongue poked out slightly in concentration, and his fingers worked the joystick with expert precision. He hit the button. The claw descended, brushed against the plushie—and missed.

Satoru froze. His expression didn’t falter, but you could sense the simmering disbelief as he fed another coin into the slot.

Again, the claw moved. Again, it missed.

It became almost comical as the cycle repeated. Five times. Ten times. By the fifteenth attempt, Suguru had slumped against the machine, barely holding back laughter, while Shoko lit an imaginary cigarette in mock frustration. Satoru’s face, meanwhile, remained fixed in a look of determined fury, the joystick now an extension of his will.

“Come on,” he muttered, brows furrowing as he lined up the claw for the twentieth attempt. The plushie wobbled but slipped free. He let out a loud groan of frustration, clutching his head dramatically. “Gah! What’s wrong with this thing?! All my money’s gone!” He patted his pockets in disbelief, as if a miracle coin might magically appear.

But you weren’t paying attention anymore. Somewhere in the midst of Satoru’s theatrical tantrum, the world shifted. The lights of the arcade flickered, the noises dulled, and the air thickened with an unnatural heaviness. You blinked, and suddenly, you were surrounded by shadows. A voice, deafening yet indistinct, cut through the silence.

“Change the future.”

It wasn’t a plea—it was a demand, suffocating in its intensity. The words echoed in your mind, but the speaker remained faceless, nameless.

“You think this is a dream, hm?” the voice said, softening just slightly.

You gasped, a sharp intake of breath that pulled you back to reality. Satoru’s face was inches from yours now, his crystalline eyes scanning your expression with uncharacteristic worry. “Hey… [Name]? You okay?”

You blinked at him, still shaken, his words barely registering.

Before you could spiral further, Satoru straightened up and gave a little cough, trying to regain his usual swagger. “Anyway,” he began, pulling something from behind his back, “my money’s gone, but I got you a present.” He held out a plushie—a butterfly, its wings soft and delicate, its stitched antennae slightly crooked.

“Sorry if it’s not what you wanted,” he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck. “I just—”

“Thanks,” you interrupted, the word tumbling out before he could finish. You reached for the plushie, your fingers brushing his for a moment. It wasn’t the butterfly itself that struck you—it was the gesture, the effort behind it.

Satoru’s grin returned, a little lopsided but no less radiant. “Of course,” he said simply.

You clutched the plushie tightly, its soft wings grounding you as your thoughts crystallized. You didn’t know what the voice meant, or who it belonged to. But as you looked at Satoru—his unshakable confidence, his occasional vulnerability—you felt the weight of your decision settle in your chest.

—

The sky turned a deep shade of indigo, stars just beginning to peek through the encroaching darkness. Neon lights from the food stands illuminated your surroundings in bursts of color, their glow reflecting off the shiny wrappers and paper trays strewn across the ground. The lively chatter of the crowd buzzed in your ears, but you barely noticed. Your gaze was fixed on the backs of your friends—Suguru, Shoko, and Satoru—who were engaged in their usual playful bickering. You’d been zoning out all day, a heavy cloud of unease clinging to your thoughts.

“We went everywhere,” Suguru groaned, his shoulders slumping dramatically. “My pockets are empty. Absolutely cleaned out.”

“Same here,” Shoko agreed, lazily flipping through her wallet as if hoping to find some forgotten cash hidden in its folds. “Not even a coin.”

“Speak for yourselves!” Satoru chimed in, his tone both smug and exasperated. “I said we should’ve skipped that overpriced cotton candy, but nooo—‘it’s a carnival, Satoru,’ ‘you’re too uptight, Satoru.’ Now look at us.”

Their banter drew a soft chuckle from you, but the sound barely reached your lips. You were too preoccupied with the lingering thought that had been eating away at you all day.

“[Name]?” Satoru’s voice broke through your thoughts, pulling you back to reality. His crystalline blue eyes locked onto yours, a playful tilt to his lips. “You got any money for the roller coaster?”

You blinked, startled, before nodding quickly. “yeah, hang on.” You rummaged through your bag, finally pulling out a few crumpled bills and handing them over. Before you could process what was happening, Satoru casually announced, “I’ll be with [Name].”

That stopped you in your tracks. You stared at him, momentarily stunned, as Shoko and Suguru exchanged glances. There was a split second of silence before the two of them burst into barely contained snickers.

“Thanks for the donation, [Name],” Shoko teased, snatching the money from your hand before you could react.

“Yeah, much appreciated,” Suguru added with a grin.

Before you could protest, they were already walking off toward the line, laughing together like they’d just won the lottery. You turned back to Satoru, your heart hammering uncomfortably in your chest. Alone. With him. On a roller coaster. The thought filled you with unease, and not because of the ride itself. Guilt for the future you knew was coming pressed down on you like a weight, making it hard to breathe.

“You okay?” Satoru’s voice was softer now, his teasing edge gone. You hadn’t realized your eyes were glued to the ground until he stepped closer, his hand snaking around yours. His touch was warm, grounding, and it made your breath hitch.

“Let’s get going,” he said, his smile brighter than the carnival lights around you.

You managed a weak nod, letting him pull you toward the line. It wasn’t long, thankfully, but the time it took to move forward felt eternal. Each step closer to the ride amplified the lump in your throat. How could you face him? How could you sit beside him, knowing what you knew?

—

You finally reached the roller coaster, the hum of the machinery and the chatter of excited riders filling the air. As the two of you stepped into the car, Satoru slid into his seat first, his trademark grin in place. He patted the spot next to him with an almost hopeful air, the blue of his eyes sparkling with expectation.

But you hesitated. That tiny flicker of warmth in his gaze made your chest tighten, and you turned away, pretending not to notice. Instead, you slipped into the seat directly across from him. You could almost feel the confusion radiating from him as his smile faltered, his brows knitting together ever so slightly.

“I wonder if Suguru and Shoko are having fun,” he murmured, his voice quieter than usual, his gaze drifting toward the window. His tone was casual, but there was something else—something unspoken. He didn’t look at you.

You nodded stiffly, not trusting yourself to speak. The tension between you was almost suffocating, an awkward silence that settled like a weight on your chest.

Guilt clawed at you, burrowing deep into your thoughts. It overshadowed everything else, refusing to let go. You couldn’t meet his gaze, couldn’t face him with the same ease as before. How could you, knowing what the future held for him? The burden he would bear. The loneliness. Every single struggle he faced, he carried on his own. And you—you hadn’t been there for him. Not when it mattered. Not like he had been for you, time and time again.

The knowledge of your failure stung like an open wound. You hated yourself for it, hated the ache that came with the realization. But even as the guilt threatened to consume you, a flicker of hope sparked deep within.

Maybe… just maybe, I can change it.

That fragile thought lingered for only a moment before reality came crashing down, crushing it into dust. Changing the future would mean rewriting everything—every memory, every bond. The people you had met, the connections you had formed—they would all disappear, erased from existence. And no matter how much you tried to convince yourself otherwise, a tiny, selfish part of you refused to let them go.

Your thoughts tangled in knots, and when your eyes finally found Satoru’s, something inside you stilled. His gaze was steady, searching, as though he could see through the barriers you had put up. His expression softened, and for a fleeting moment, the world seemed to shrink to just the two of you.

And in that moment, you admitted the truth to yourself.

You would be okay with losing everything if it meant he could smile without that weight pressing down on him.

“Is something wrong?” Satoru asked softly, tilting his head like a curious child. His crystalline blue eyes studied you, their usual mischief replaced with something softer, more vulnerable. His confused expression only made your chest tighten further. You quickly shook your head, the tension in your shoulders refusing to release.

“No, nothing’s wrong,” you replied, but your voice wavered ever so slightly. The silence between you stretched once again, fragile and heavy, like a glass teetering on the edge of a table. You glanced down at your trembling hands, your lips quivering as unspoken words clawed their way up your throat.

“Satoru,” you murmured finally, barely above a whisper.

His attention snapped back to you in an instant, his brows furrowing slightly. “What is it?” he asked, his voice as steady as ever, though his posture straightened. He was worried now.

“Thanks.” The word slipped out before you could second-guess yourself, and his reaction caught you off guard. He blinked, his mouth parting slightly as if he hadn’t heard you right. For a moment, he looked almost… stunned.

Then that familiar grin crept onto his face, lighting up his features like a dawn breaking through the dark. “For what?” he asked, his tone light but tinged with genuine curiosity. His hand moved to the back of his neck, scratching it almost sheepishly.

“You know… for everything,” you said, your gaze firmly fixed on the ground. You couldn’t meet his eyes, not when you felt this raw. “All the times you helped me, all the times you stood by me, even when I didn’t deserve it.” Your voice cracked slightly, but you pushed through. “I never really said it before, and I should have. I should’ve said it a long time ago.”

The silence that followed felt unbearable, and you bit your lip, already second-guessing yourself. Of course, it’s not enough. It’s such a small thing to say after everything he’s done. He probably thinks I’m ungrateful. You braced yourself for some teasing remark, some cutting joke to lighten the tension.

But it never came.

Instead, you felt a warmth spread through your hand. His. At some point, he’d moved to sit beside you, so close you could feel the faint heat radiating from him. His hand rested gently atop yours, grounding you, steadying the storm inside you.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice carrying an uncharacteristic weight. “You know, [Name], you’ve made me happier than you’ll ever know.”

Your breath caught, and your eyes snapped to his. The sincerity in his smile was almost too much to bear. “Satoru…” you whispered, but he pressed on.

“I mean it,” he continued, his hand squeezing yours. “You’ve been there for me, even when you didn’t realize it. You’ve helped me through so much—more than I’ve ever let on.” He paused, his smile faltering just slightly as his eyes dropped to the space between you. “I want to be with you. The real you.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and unyielding. “And I’ve been trying to hard to find you.”

You swallowed, your voice barely audible. “But I’m right here.”

But he shook his head slowly, almost sadly, his gaze flickering away. “Yeah, but…” His voice trailed off, and for a moment, you thought he wouldn’t finish the sentence. Then, as if the weight of it all became too much, he leaned forward, his arms wrapping around yours. His head found your shoulder, his breath warm against your neck. In the distance, you heard the faint crackle of fireworks, their vibrant light illuminating the night.

“Satoru?” you asked softly, your own voice trembling now.

“Just… just until the ride’s over,” he murmured, his words so quiet they were almost drowned out by the fireworks.

You let him stay there, the closeness both comforting and terrifying. Did you disappoint him? Did your answer fall short? Your thoughts were a whirlwind, but then you felt his vulnerability, the way his weight leaned into you as if he couldn’t bear to hold himself upright anymore. His infinity was off, something you hadn’t experienced in the future. Slowly, tentatively, you reached for his arm, pulling it from your lap and intertwining your fingers with his.

“Satoru,” you said again, firmer this time. He turned his face slightly, his eyes meeting yours, questioning. “Hey… seriously,” he began, a small, almost nervous smile tugging at his lips. “Am I getting ahead of myself here?”

Your heart ached at the sight of him like this—so unsure, so unguarded. You smiled gently, and that was the answer. Your eyes softening as you leaned in closer.

His breath hitched, and before either of you could overthink it, the distance between you disappeared. His lips brushed against yours, tentative at first, as though testing the waters, but when you didn’t pull away, the kiss deepened. The world around you dissolved, the fireworks bursting louder and brighter as if celebrating this fragile, precious moment.

When you two finally pulled away, Satoru’s smile was a bittersweet thing, the curve of his lips that only made the pain in his eyes more apparent. They were red-rimmed, exhausted, as if he’d been crying for a long time without letting anyone see. He leaned in, his breath shaky, his voice a quiet whisper —

“Whatever happens,” he said, his tone something vulnerable. “Don’t blame yourself.”

His hands found your shoulders, pushing you gently but firmly. The world tilted as you were shoved back, stumbling helplessly, your heart racing with the terror of knowing the finality of it all. Desperation flooded your veins as you reached out, fingers stretching, aching to grasp him, to stop him from slipping away.

“Satoru!” Your voice cracked, torn between the need to hold on and the brutal reality that was unfolding before you.

And then, the ground gave way beneath your feet. The world around you shifted, falling—sinking—until it felt like nothing but darkness wrapped around you. Trying to catch anything to stop the fall, but there was nothing to grab. Only the fading echo of his name in your chest.

You jolted awake with a sharp gasp, your body drenched in sweat, the cool hospital sheets tangled around you as your heart thudded in your chest. The monitor beeped rhythmically beside you, you reached up instinctively, your fingers pressing against your throbbing temples as the remnants of the nightmare clung to you, twisting around your thoughts.

Your eyes drifted to a TV screen next to you. Live streaming a horrid thing to wake up to.

Tears started to spill from your eyes, hot and relentless, as they tracked down your cheeks. They fell in a rush, like a sudden waterfall, unstoppable and full of grief. The sobs tore through you—broken, desperate, full of everything you couldn’t bring yourself to say. You could feel the weight of it all in the pit of your stomach, gnawing at you, sinking deeper into your soul.

The dream—the dream—had been a desperate, aching hope. A desire for something that could never be. You had wished for it, longed for it, but deep down, you knew. You knew that no amount of yearning could change the cruel, inevitable truth of what had happened. The future was set, and the pain of that truth was something you would have to carry forever.

I’m so sorry, Satoru.

————

This was so rushed and that’s why half the parts make no sense. The parts are extremely fast paced so I’m super sorry , and there would be more angst and yearning if I was more locked in… a lot of Clerith inspired scenes in there but anyways !!

#lazytown😜😜

[yuujiheart]

Okay, so I am seeing this too much on my tl so I genuinely want to know like is it wrong if I felt sick to see juju high casually discussing about taking over gojo's body after his death and it's yuta who readily agrees and convinces everyone and except kusakabe no one actually points out how inhumane it is..

Like I very well understand the reasoning behind it and they had no choice but to go for it and that gojo also consented to it.. And that's how the system actually exploits everyone. I am not even blaming yuta or anyone... But does that make the act itself less vile? Especially when it's done by one of its students.. I legit never expected yuta to be the one doing that..

I am not even a gojo fan but this is what I felt after reading chap I mean that's what the chp was supposed to make you feel after all.. So why suddenly it's being treated like crime .. Like will we be doing the same thing if it happens with other characters ... Are we not supposed to feel anything if yuji, megumi , maki dies? Should we repeat the same line that this is jjk and how it happens in it.

Some people are being so ass about it like I get it sometimes people actually do not read or mischaracterise their fav too much but that does not mean readers are supposed to not express how they feel... good or bad.. Are we now going to tell them to control their feelings... Yes some takes are really really stupid but then just target them no?

And yeah I know this is manga no need to take it seriously but then what's the point of reading it if we can't even immerse ourselves into it.. We are not machines but what we do need is to remind ourselves that this is fiction and we don't hurt anyone else for any reason ..

[crownedwille]

I've come to the conclusion that loving young royals doesn't mean I can't be critical about it, maybe especially bc I love the show so much I have such strong feelings about it, good and bad and I can love parts of canon and agree with it and appreciate it but I don't have to love it all. I have accepted that it's okay if I don't accept the ending and I don't have to force myself to support it. It's okay to not agree with all of canon and it's okay to not side with all of the creators' intentions/views. Loving a show doesn't mean you have to take everything the writers say on face value and that's the only version that is allowed to exist. Canon isn't everything and fandom is about curating your own experience that makes you happy and not miserable. You don't have to dismiss canon in every aspect and ignore it entirely, that's certainly not what I want but there is a fine line between being canon respectful, allowing some parts to exist and sometimes, yes, you just have to say "fuck canon" and move on for your own sanity and wellbeing

[al-luviec]

I ran out of tag space but oomf had some good notes

smthn easy for today (sorry)

[dunmesh]

okay i don't have anything smart to add i just genuinely love that these seemingly trivial jokes are actually an important part of his character. we see it throughout the entire manga, how he pushes aside his own frustration and discomfort to accommodate everyone else's and avoid needless confrontation- another example off the top of my head would be the barometz chapter in which he slowly gets frustrated with izutsumi but still tries his best to talk some sense into her calmly and soundly.

and in contrast, there are very few times he expresses his anger and hurt towards others, and it usually takes a lot for him to finally lose his patience and control.

i mean, even with kabru he tried to be polite despite the circumstances until the guy said the one thing that triggers an immense sense of shame, hurt and rage in laios. and you know, the manga does say it quite clearly early on. when we are introduced to namari and then to shuro, laios acts all friendly and shows his respect and trust in them despite how things ended between them, and everyone else gets frustrated with him for acting so strange- why are you the one who tries so hard to pacify the rest when you should be the angriest?

and they don't understand him. they don't know him well enough to be able to understand, but we as readers get to see during the manga that they aren't wrong to question him- he does, in fact, feel all those ugly emotions. and it's when the winged lion finally confronts him that we see to what extent these feelings he buried so deep go, and suddenly all those funny little moments where he sometimes pretends to be mr nice guy speak volumes about his character. honestly, ryoko kui is a master at using jokes in order to define important character traits and this one doesn't fail to amaze me.

and laios's hatred and rage and deep scars he can't get over aren't shown explicitly during most of these moments i mentioned before, but now you realize there are 26 years of emotional baggage to all of them and they sting. he is angry but he can't say shit, what difference would it make? it won't make his friends choose him instead of themselves when he needed them most, and it won't help his party get any farther. of course, this logic doesn't apply to them- they are absolutely allowed to get angry and it's fine to get mad at him, he can take that.

so after finishing the series it's so clear that he tries his best to avoid clashing with others not just due to the current circumstances and him needing to be a reliable leader but also because he knows that people don't even like him when he tries to show his good sides and hide all the rest, so who the hell would tolerate his rage and despair? who would stay after realizing that he is so deeply flawed he doesn't even like his own being?

but he does get mad. he can't help it, and sometimes it gets out of control and now everyone knows. and it's funny, isn't it? that most of those moments ended up bringing him closer to others. shuro admitting he is envy of him and actually becoming the friend laios thought he was all along, fighting for his sake and waiting for him to come back- believing in him even after he turned into a monster and searching for him the way he couldn't bring himself to do for falin when he learned of what became of her- or kabru being pushed to just let it all out because he couldn't bluff his way out of this one and get to laios any other way, so now they are even. they are both horribly honest with each other and they both choose to stay. a weird way of getting to know each other, but it is what it is.

it's simply... the more laios let himself just be, the deeper his relationships grew. and there's intimacy in being your ugly, weak and furious self around someone and them not leaving you. feeling safe enough to let it be known you are hurt and angry. and he knows that now, too.

[luna-azzurra]

Emotionally reserved characters

Instead of openly sharing their emotions with others, they keep their feelings locked inside, letting their inner thoughts do all the talking. You get a glimpse into their mind, where a storm of conflicts, doubts, and desires brews quietly beneath a calm exterior. This internal monologue allows readers to understand what’s going on inside their head, even if they don’t show it on the outside. It’s like seeing the world through their eyes, where every little thing stirs up a wave of emotions that they never express out loud.

For these characters, actions speak louder than words, but even their actions are restrained. They communicate their emotions through the smallest of gestures—a slight tightening of the jaw when they’re angry or hurt, a brief flicker in their eyes when they’re surprised, or a controlled change in posture when something makes them uncomfortable. These tiny, almost imperceptible movements can say so much more than an outburst ever could, hinting at feelings they would never openly share. It’s about what they don’t do as much as what they do.

When they do speak, every word is carefully chosen. Emotionally reserved characters don’t ramble or spill their feelings in a flood of words. Instead, they speak in a measured and controlled manner, always keeping their emotions in check. Their sentences are concise, sometimes even vague or indirect, leaving others guessing about what they’re really thinking. It’s not that they don’t feel deeply, they just prefer to keep those feelings close to the chest, hidden behind a mask of calm and composure.

For these characters, what they do is often more telling than what they say. They might not say “I care about you” outright, but you’ll see it in the way they go out of their way to help, the quiet ways they show up for the people they love. Their actions reveal their emotions—whether it’s a protective gesture, a silent sacrifice, or a kind deed done without expectation of recognition. It’s these unspoken acts of kindness that show their true feelings, even if they never say them out loud.

They often have strong personal boundaries. They keep their private lives just that - private. They don’t open up easily and are cautious about who they let into their inner circle. They might deflect conversations away from themselves or avoid sharing personal details altogether. It’s not that they don’t want to connect, it’s just that they find it hard to lower their walls and let others in, fearing vulnerability or judgment.

When they do show vulnerability, it’s in small, controlled doses. These characters may have moments where they let their guard down, but only in private or with someone they deeply trust.

Sometimes, emotionally reserved characters express their feelings through objects that hold special significance to them. Maybe it’s a worn-out book they keep close, a piece of jewelry they never take off, or an old letter tucked away in a drawer. These symbolic objects are like anchors, holding memories and emotions they can’t express in words. They serve as tangible reminders of their inner world, representing feelings they keep buried deep inside.

When these characters communicate, there’s often more to their words than meets the eye. They speak in subtext, using irony, implication, or ambiguity to convey what they really mean without saying it outright. Their conversations are filled with hidden meanings and unspoken truths, creating layers of depth in their interactions with others. You have to read between the lines to understand what they’re really saying because what they leave unsaid is just as important as what they do say.

Despite their calm demeanor, there are certain things that can break through their emotional reserve. Specific triggers - like a painful memory, a deep-seated fear, or a personal loss - can elicit a strong emotional response, revealing the depth of their feelings. These moments of intensity are rare but powerful, showing that even the most reserved characters have a breaking point.

Over time, emotionally reserved characters can evolve, gradually revealing more about themselves as they grow and change. Maybe they start to trust more, opening up to those around them, or perhaps they experience something that challenges their emotional barriers, forcing them to confront their feelings head-on.

[shanieveh]

— “ who did this to you? ”

; genshin men as your enemy (with benefits)

pretends not to care (he massacred them all) — kaeya, albedo, childe, zhongli, ALHAITHAM, scaramouche

He immediately tries to keep an aloof facade the moment he let out those words. It wasn't that he actually cared? Like come on, you're the most annoying person in the world. But when you finally tell him those annoying bastards names in quick succession they were hunted and destoryed.

There was something so annoying about your face getting hurt he just couldn't pin point why. Maybe it made you more annoying? Yeah, probably that. He doesn't care at all. But he will never have the guts to tell you what actually happened to the ones that hurt you.

cares more about your well being — diluc, KAVEH, kazuha, XIAO, tighnari, freminet, ayato, heizou, lyney

His usual sour expression became that more of concerned but angry all the same. He checked for wounds, brought you to the medic. The guy was acting pretty strange.. too strange. Maybe it was a prank? That's what he thought too, why... why was he helping you this way?

When you told him the people who did this, he was never one to forgive them. But none of that mattered when you looked in pain. Wait? Wasn't this his enemy. He shouldn't think like this. But... fine just this once. Both of you are sure this will be the one time he cares for you. How foolish.

ready to put people on their graves— wriothesly, dainsleif neuvillette, PIERRO, childe, scaramouche, xiao, CYNO

It was to the point he was even screaming for you to give out their names. And as soon as you do, he marches out of the hospital and kidnaps them one by one. No one will escape. No. One. At this point, he didn't even think that both of you were enemies or that this isn't how he was supposed to feel. He didn't care.

And as he cleaned his blade at the end of the fight, this time he showed no mercy. Maybe in your point of view he hated you, and at some point he also thought he did. But now, staring at what he'd done, hate isn't that far from love. And love isn't that far from revenge.

just glad you were okay — freminet, bennett, ITTO, gorou, thoma, tighnari, KAZUHA, chongyun, diluc, baizhu

Who in the world can possibly harm you like this? How dare they? Why would they? But it doesn't matter what the name is. With an first-aid kit in hand he cleans up your wounds and wipes your tears. This was the same man you keep arguing with. The same you hated above all else.

You've never seem him gentle, but now you did. Cherishing this, you know you'll use this whenever both of you fight. But... no that would be too cruel. He looked so pretty doing it, like an angel rather than demon that was him everyday. So you just kept it in your heart, a memory forever lasting.

[darnell-la]

𝗜'𝗟𝗟 𝗚𝗜𝗩𝗘 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗪𝗛𝗔𝗧 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗪𝗔𝗡𝗧

pairing: old man!logan howlett x young female!reader

warnings: staring, rude people in public, Logan with no emotion, begging, oral (male receiving), riding, doggy, neck kisses, slightly forced cream pie, multiple orgasm, moans from both sides, very rough sex, angry animalistic Logan, etc.

request: Hi! I love your work, Could I request Oldman!Logan x young fem!reader (22 years) that has a baby fever and really wants to have Logan's baby (also to shut the mouths of those who make fun of her dating an older man), she decides to prepare a surprise for him so that he can get her pregnant soon. Reader is needy and Logan is rude.

note: Logan as always is mean and an over-thinker, but he can’t seem to not give what his perfect girl wants. A breeding session.

teaser - Logan gets kinda subby in here. can’t stop cumming…

———

How do you guys feel about an X-Men story with the reader? Logan is rude Logan at first, then slowly shows small affection towards the reader. Jealousy and things of that sort. They soon hit it off, and after Logan starts acting rude again because he’s scared of the love he grew for her. It’ll be a long story, but something to read at night. ALL ON WATTPAD! Comment below, please!

———

“Stop gettin’ in your feelings, Bub. They ain’t gon stop,” Logan said, talking about the people looking their way in the expensive restaurant Logan decided to take y/n out at.

“But, isn’t it rude? Why do they care so much about who I’m with? Or who you’re with!?” Y/n tried whispering and keeping her facial expressions normal. She didn’t want them to know she was bothered, but it wasn’t hard to see.

“Just relax, Bub — Ain’t nun gon happen with a few eyes lookin’ attcha,” Logan had picked up the menu to continue searching through what he wanted to order for himself and his girl.

“Are you two ready, or shall you get more time?” The man asked in an accent that made Logan roll his eyes. “Just appetizers for now. Gonna get the cheese bites with a side of marinara sauce, and two Caesar salads,”

“And drinks?” The waiter asked as he looked at y/n, wanting to hear the young lady talk as he was done listening to the older grumpy man.

“I’ll have a whiskey, no ice, and she’ll have water for now,” Logan ordered for her, eyes still on the menu as y/n faked a bright smile on her face so at least one of them looked like they wanted to be here.

“Are you sure that’s all you want? We have a lot of cocktails. Even mocktails if you’re not feeling alcohol going lady,” Logan laughed at the small sign the water gave. They always go.

“She’s fine, trust me,” Logan said, leaning his girl from head to toe. He knew her like a book. He knew her life at the back of his hands. He loved showing it too.

“I’m fine, thank you,” y/n smiled at the man as he looked at Logan. He wanted to speak, say something, but he couldn’t. Logan wasn’t actually doing anything to make the man complain.

“Get a load of that guy,” y/n rolled her eyes as he walked off. “Yep,” Logan said, not really caring. “Why are you always so calm? He was disrespecting us. Disrespecting you,” y/n said, confused about why the man never cared.

“I’m still alive, aren’t I? You’re making it seem like that fetus of a man shot at me,” y/n rolled her eyes and sat back as she crossed her arms, upset at the lack of care Logan had. She felt like she was the only one who cared about things.

Throughout the night, Logan made small talk with y/n to ease her mood. She tried to stay upset at the man, but the hand grabs, foot nudges, and complements made her melt

“Said you had a surprise for me, Bub?” Logan asked as the two made it into the hotel that Logan bought for the night. The top floor had a good view, a view he knew y/n would love.

“Yeah, but I thought we were going back to the house,” y/n pouted, a bit tipsy as Logan carried her through the door. “I know, and I apologize, princess. If you left it at the house, you can give it to me tomorrow. Or I can go get it now?” Logan suggested.

“No, no, you don’t have to do all that. I-I got it. I got it,” Y/n said as she kicked her heels off and walked towards the bed with Logan.

He had a few drinks, but that never affected him. She prayed it would tonight so she wouldn’t have to work hard, but she’ll deal with it.

Y/n knows Logan’s a hard one to crack, but the man loved her. He’s so anything for her, so a long session of begging or anything of that sort, would make him crack. Only for her.

“Get comfortable — I’ll be back,” Y/n said as she stumbled to the bathroom. Logan chuckled as he got undressed, already knowing y/n wanted to have sex. She always does, and he never says no.

Y/n didn’t take long to get stripped and walk out of the bathroom slowly. The lights were dim, and Logan sat up against the headboard of the bed, legs spread and waiting for his perfect girl.

“I-I know you’re against it, and I know you always shut me down, but tonight is special. I-I really, really want you tonight,” Y/n said, slowly crawling on the bed as Logan’s chest rose.

“You always get me, Bub, so what’s there to beg about?” Logan said as he rubbed his thighs. “I want you to cum in me,” y/n looked at him with those eyes he could barely say no to.

“Y/n, don’t start tonight. Ian tryna ruin the night,” Logan has rolled his eyes with a sigh. “Baby, please,” y/n begged, trailing her hands up his legs until they were mid-thigh.

“Keep beggin’ for that shit, and ima turn around and go to sleep,” Logan warned the girl, but she ignored him and put his cock in her hand. “C’mon, daddy, please,” y/n said, bringing out the word she used in once in a blue moon.

“Nah uh, get off, y/n. I told you what was gonna happen-“ Before he could finish, y/n wrapped her wet mouth around his tip, sucking down hard as her tongue moved up and down his slit.

“F-Fuck,” Logan’s legs shook as he gripped the sheets. “Y/n, remove your fucking mouth,” Logan demanded, but she ignored him, looking into his angry dark eyes as she slipped down onto his cock, taking all the inches in that she could.

“Y-Y/n!” The man groaned loudly, hips bucking as his hand went to her hair, pulling her up to get her off, but not strong enough. He was physically stronger than her, so she knew if he wanted her off, he’d get her off.

“Fuckin- Fuck, you’re so fuckin’ bad,” Logan said as his other hand cupped her cheek. “But you take my cock so well,” Logan admitted with a chuckle as he slowly began moving her head at a pace he wanted her to suck in.

“Always so fuckin’ needy — Needy little slut can’t just enjoy my cock. Always needs my cum to satisfy her,” Logan said, now moving his hips, allowing his cock to thrust up into her throat.

“That’s it, kid — Fuckin’ suck me up since you want it so bad. You ain’t gettin’ it in that cunt. You ain’t earn it yet,” Logan said, watching spit spill from her mouth.

Y/n did her best to look up and into his eyes. Her was glossy, streaming tears as he grew dark. He couldn’t hold back his deep groan at the sight of her taking his cock like this.

“Don’t fuckin’ look at me like that,” Logan said, getting angry at her. He hated how bad she was, but loved that she’d do anything to get what she wanted from him.

“Fuckin’ brat,” Logan growled, snapping his hips faster to make her gag and cough on his cock. Maybe if she was too busy trying to focus on taking him, she’d stop silently begging for him to breed her.

It’s not like the man didn’t want to. He was just insecure. Yeah, he and y/n had been dating for a while, but the people roaming about are right. At least that’s what he thought at the time.

What if he is too old for her? He’d basically be baby-trapping her if he gave her what she wanted. He swore she’d regret it.

He forced himself to think that way, but every time y/n took his cock, rather that was with her mouth, cunt, ass, or anything, she’s beg him to breed her. Something in him knew she wanted it, but the other part held him back.

“Fuck, y/n, stop it! Stop fucking looking at me like that!” Logan shouted at the girl, an animalistic tone slipping out as he fucked her throat.

Y/n didn’t stop. She continued, whether her eyes could barely stay on him or not, she kept looking up at him, begging him to breed her.

“Y/n, I can’t — I fucking can’t,” the man had thrown his head back, whining as he felt himself near. He’s me we did that before, but him trying to yell her no but also seeing her beg, was too much for him. He was overstimulated by his thoughts.

Y/n slapped Logan’s hands off of him and quickly crawled onto him. She grabbed his cock and aligned herself with him before sitting down.

The moan that escaped her mouth made his eyes widen. “F-Fuck, kid, stop it!” Logan said, but his hands came to her waist and kept her in place. She tried to bounce, but he didn’t even allow her to do that.

Logan’s feel curled as his fingernails dug into her sides, causing her to feel in pain, but also pleasure. “Do it, daddy, please,” was all had to say on his cock before he jumped over the edge.

Logan’s mouth parted as his whole body stuttered. No noises came from his mouth for a second as y/n felt his warm seed coat her walls.

“Yes! Yes, daddy, yes!” Y/n cried out with happiness before she buried her face into the crook of his neck, sucking into his skin hard. That pulled all of his groans and moans out.

Logan’s hands wrapped around the girl's back and waist, pulling her into his body as she grinned against his pelvis, letting her swollen bud feel all the affection it needed.

“Please, more, Logan. Please. Please,” y/n continued rubbing against him as her whole body felt numb. She was going to cum, and Logan knew it. Damn her.

“Fuck, kid — F-Fuck,” Logan’s legs kicked as he tried keeping himself in, but he couldn’t. She squeezed him so hard for him not to do what she’d been begging for, for the longest.

“Y/n,” Logan’s voice cracked as his nails broke the skin on the young girl's back and waist. “Yes, yes!” Y/n almost cried as her body kicked up and she came, sucking the man too hard. To damn hard.

Logan’s mouth parted once again as his eyes crossed, feeling too much pleasure as he spilled into y/n for the second time and took the love bites y/n gave him on his neck.

Logan was pissed. He was so damn pissed at y/n for not listening to him. He wanted to punish her, but how? How could he after he bred her? He wouldn’t be able to pull out. And fuck a condom. He was fucked. He broke the promise he kept to himself. He really fucking loves her to let her do this to him.

“You’re so fuckin’ bad, y/n,” Logan breathed out into y/n’s ear, alarming her. He wasn’t relaxed. He was angry. “You like gettin’ what you want?” The man asked as he slowly lifted y/n off of him. She was being held in the air.

“Then ima give you what you fucking want,” before y/n knew what he meant, the man flipped the two, allowing him to hover over her.

“S-Sorry, I just- I really needed you. I-I love you so much, and I-I — I want you to give me a baby. I-If you don’t want it, I-I’ll just take the plan b tomorrow. I promise,” y/n couldn’t stop stuttering.

She felt a slight fear. She knew how Logan got, and now that he’d already come in her, he’d be worse.

“Fuck that plan b. You wanna baby? Then deal with the fucking consequences,” Logan turned y/n around and forced her onto her hands and knees. Before she could process anything, he plunged into her.

“Fuuck!” Y/n screamed at the new angle and the hard thrust. “Shut the fuck up, and take it,” the man groaned as a hand came down on her ass. “Take my fuckin’ kid, since you wasn’t em so damn bad,” he added.

Y/n cried into the sheets, thinking he couldn’t fuck her hard until his claws came out. He’d never done this before, but she knew what he was up to.

The man’s claws punched into the wall right in front of the two. He gripped tightly, making sure he wasn’t going anywhere before he pounded her into the mattress.

The young girl's neck and back belt pain. He was breaking her and didn’t care. She wanted this.

“Lot,” y/n whined, not being able to say what she had to say. She was beyond fucked. “Don’t worry, Bub — You’re gonna make a damn good mom,” Logan said, making sure she knew he was up for this.

Y/n slightly smiled as her cunt quivered, finally letting out another orgasm as her eyes closed. “S-So good,” she said as she slipped away. “I know, baby — I know,” the man growled.

Logan never stopped his thrust, making sure she’d feel the soreness when she woke up. And the loads he was going to leave in her.

[plotwholls]

She’s from Glee, and (take this from someone who’s usually pretty neutral to characters and has to go through the media a second time because the first time I usually watch to numb my brain, not to think, and has only watched Glee once) she’s kind of just… the worst…? She’s very…………… entitled.

Round 2C

[fiapple]

do i like jason todd? yes, i think about him far too often.

do i think the section of his fan-base who posit storylines, narrative positioning, & other writing choices for him that either aren't present or are deeply mismanaged/inconsistent in-text, & which have already been canonically given to comic-women (while often also being better written) should at least try branching the scope of their reading out a bit? oh, jesus fucking christ, absolutley.

[astrxbtchs]

‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ Astrology Observations II ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

✺ Pisces Mars are experts at ghosting. You guys take action in such an elusive way because you hate confrontation, or just unnecessary drama. If y’all are annoyed or feeling a way about something you don’t say anything right away and you only react when things boil over into the point where you can’t control it anymore and you explode. Then you immediately bad for getting so angry. Just work on communicating how you feel, when you feel it, sometimes other people won’t know how you feel until you express it.

✺ Mars in the 1st house synastry isn’t always as sexy and hot as people think it is. The mars person’s attraction could be so strong for the house that they come off too strong which can completely turn off the house person. (If there isn’t any other compatible synastry)

✺ The sign in your second house is usually the sign, or ones with those placements, that you feel the most possessive over.

✺ Also, the second house can explain your appetite and how you like to eat. For example, Sag risings having Capricorn in the 2nd house prefer home cooked meals over fast food. They are very strict as to what they put in their body and they won't eat just anybody's food.

✺ As of the other hand, Scorpio risings having Sag in the 2nd house go from extremes where they are either eating really healthy or just absolutely terrible. They love fast food and can tend to over indulge in these pleasures.

✺ In my opinion, 4th house synastry feels more like family or a really close friend than anything romantic (mostly just Sun and Moon) It feels almost weird to cross that line, like if you do things would turn awkward. OR if it is a romantic connection the planet person may have more feelings than the house person does.

✺ I will stand by this but 6th house synastry is SOOOO underrated!!! If you are looking for a long-term relationship with someone having personal planets here will really help the relationship last. Especially when Sun is there it’s almost like there is a never a dull moment and each and every day you guys are never get bored of one another. Venus here it’s like you guys find pleasure doing the small things together the most. You would even be happy doing things like grocery shopping with them, stopping by at your job to give you flowers, and makes living together very easy. Mars in ones 6th house is sending them to do things, and them not minding at all, they love to make you happy by doing things for you.

I do feel like moon in 6th house synastry would be a bit aggravating. Feeling like the person would rather intellectualize and nitpick your emotions rather than being the one to help you feel them. Almost feels as if you are being judged for any emotion you show. It might be annoying feeling like someone is constantly questioning you about how they feel or feeling like you constantly have to take on the baggage of what the other person is going through.

✺ It’s not said enough but Capricorn placements, especially mercury and Sun, are the most hilarious people ever. Their dry sense of humor and how sarcastic they are is UNMATCHED. They will say the things that other people are scared to say and you can’t help but to laugh. They have that dark humor that no other sign can replicate. It’s not everyone’s cup of tea but they are so real!

✺ Pisces Mars and Pisces rising’s are the ones who are attracted to people that u would least expect them to be with. Or they are attracted to the “bad boy” or the one people tell them to stay away from

✺ Sag rising don’t age! No matter how old they are they have this glow about them and always look so youthful.

✺ Aquarius and Sag Venus’ really don’t have a type. They just love someone who makes them happy and they can go adventures with . These people are attracted to cerebral people and anyone who can really expand their mind. You often hear these people say “I like who I like” or “I just love, love”. This could change if there is some Capricorn energy in the chart which could make someone value a more traditional approach to this fun loving placement.

‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ Thank you guys for making it to the end of my post! ♥️if you have any experience with any of these placements/synastry above please comment down below your experience! I would love to hear you guys’ feed back. Please keep in mind these are just my personal opinions take everything with a grain of salt. Love youusss💋 ♡

[allfearstofallto]

"Tell Me You Love Me,"

Yandere! Male x Fem! Reader

FT: Childe and Scaramouche

TW: yandere, forced married au, violence, mentions of punishments (rice kneeling and starvation)

Childe

With your eyebrows knitted together and furrowed, lips pressed together in a tight smile and cheeks just ever so slightly puffed out, this is when Childe found you the cutest. Your smile was nice and he had an extra special place in his heart for the way you looked as you sobbed, but nothing could ever top your pout. It was to the point where he'd do things to entice it out of you, intentionally teasing you to see you puff up in that oh so adorable anger.

His cold, thin finger reached out and gently poked the soft cushion of your cheek, sinking into the plumpness of your face. Even when you slapped his hand away, he couldn't help, but to swoon at how cute you were. You couldn't harm him, not with those weak little punches, but you sure could try. And he absolutely loved watching you try. You seldom touched him of your own accord, so what was the harm in enticing you to do so? 

“I'm not in the mood to deal with you, Ajax,” You muttered, voice barely above a whisper. You spat his name like it was filthy, even crossing your arms afterwards as if to show you were deathly serious. He knew that you were, you had every right to be, yet he still sat next to you, so close his thigh pressed against yours. 

He placed an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his chest in an unwanted embrace. It was a move that earned him a slap across the face from you. A painful one at that. Not unbearable of course, more akin to a cat scratch. Yes the cat hurt you, but who could stay mad at such a cute animal?  You on the other hand, he could see you holding your tingling palm, trying to hide the pain you were feeling. You were able to hit him because he let you, but an untrained fighter such as yourself was no match for a harbinger.

“Now look what you've done,” he could feel his cheek growing a bit hot from the strike, “You've gone and hurt the both of us.”

You shot him a glare, a very harsh one. If looks could kill he would've died on the spot. But he was immune to your gaze. More than immune to it actually, he reveled in the fact that you looked at him that way. That your pretty face could make such an awful expression. That the hatred you felt for him, causes your features to contort into something almost ugly, but beautiful to him.

“Maybe I wouldn't have had to if you weren't such a liar!” You raised your trembling voice, eyes welling with tears. Watching you go from anger to falling apart at the seams. He was the only person who could make you feel this way and it made him feel a sense of pride.

“What'd I lie about?” He teased. He looked up with a finger pressed against his chin, playfully beginning to ponder. If your hand wasn't already aching from the slap, you would've punched him, right in his smug little face.

“You said I could go,” you words were strained through tears that wouldn't stop cascading down your face, “I did everything you told me to. You promised!”

He snapped his fingers in recognition, “Oh! That's it! You wished to go to the lantern rite!”

The sight of him pretending was making you even more angry. But you couldn't let it boil over any more. Childe would only allow so much before he started to get upset, finally showing you how gentle he was being with you before. Few people even got the chance to place hands on him and live.

“You said I could go,” you repeated again slowly. 

And he did. You slaved away, doting on him like the perfect wife. Doing everything he wanted. You were at his beck and call, acting on his every whim. Just for the chance to touch the soil of Liyue again, to smell the air, to taste the food…to see your family. They went to the lantern rite every year, and you hoped that that tradition didn't end just because you'd vanished. All you needed was a glimpse of their faces, no talking necessary. Even though you knew they'd want to see you, the selfish part of you was okay with them thinking you were dead or gone for good. That way they wouldn't risk butting heads with the Fatui, or worse, actually managing to meet with Childe.

“I was hoping you'd forgotten about that,” Childe spoke, trying to hide the annoyance in his voice.

You merely scoffed. You wouldn't be that nice to him without incentive. Yet after the initial agreement, the trip was never planned, luggage wasn't packed, carriages weren't called. As the days grew more and more near, you worried about the long trek to Liyue from Snezhnaya. You'd miss the Rite if you left too late, yet there was no urgency on his side of the deal.

He hummed for a moment, thinking with that face you hated so much. It meant he had more up his sleeve. You knew better than to trust a harbinger to withhold their side of the bargain, but like an idiot you still trusted him.

“I have one more request,” he began.

“That's not what we agreed on!” 

“Then I guess you just don't want to go?” 

You crossed your arms in surrender. There was that pout that he loved so much. Those puffed up cheeks and furrowed brows. He could eat you up with how cute you were, practically begging for his attention.

“It's easy, I promise,” he leaned as close to you as he could get and you resisted the urge to slap him again, “Just tell me you love me.”

You rolled your eyes, realizing that this was where he was going with it. He always asked you to do it and you always refused. You didn't love him. You hardly even liked him. You despised him actually. Found him disgusting and deplorable. He was less than human in your eyes, more like filth under your feet. But your love for your family outweighed your hatred for him.

“I love you,” you said so monotone, you almost sounded like a robot. Despite your lack of emotion, his face seemed to light up with glee.

“Again,”

“That's not what we agreed-”

He cut you off before you could finish the thought, “Again.”

“I love you,”

“Say my name too,” his voice was breathy, hurried even. You'd never seen his face such a deep shade of red before. It didn't even cross your mind that the Ajax that teased you so much, the Ajax that forced you into a marriage and so many other things, was able to blush. He hushed you again before you could open your mouth in protest, “Say my real name.”

You let out a sigh, “I love you, Ajax.”

His smirk was disgusting as he sat next to you in glee, like the words were sinking into his heart. Childe just sat there, riding the high of feeling your non-existent love before he spoke again calmly.

“I'll have the carriage packed tonight, we leave in the morning,”

Scaramouche

You are Scaramouche's life blood. Truly what keeps him going. His heart which ticks instead of beats, ticks for you, his cold body, warms for you. Although, he'd never admit something as embarrassing as that. Nor would he tell you that he longs for your presence at his side constantly. That he rushes through his assignments, while being noticeably irritable and unapproachable, just so he can make it home to you. Where he'll pretend that he's not head over heels in love with you, and scoffs at your every word. Ignoring you, while simultaneously sticking to you like glue, even with your protests.

He watches couples as they smother each other with affection, kissing each other as if nothing else matters, embracing one another like they're physically unable to tear themselves apart, and he feels something so new to him. Jealousy? No. It's more akin to envy. He wants to do those things and maybe even more. He wants to be the obnoxious couple who can't seem to get their hands off of each other, he wants you to feel the withdrawal from his touch, as he feels from yours.

These are all hopeful thoughts, weary dreams even. He can force you to pretend, but he can't force the feelings. Even if he tells you to look happy when he touches you, there's a lack of light in your eyes that he can't even punish away. You'll never truly feel the way he wants you to. Not now, at least. But there's a wishful part inside of him that claws at his chest, hoping that someday you'll develop those feelings. As he watches you across the parlor, your focus more on the calligraphy that he told you to do than anything else, he knows that that day won't be soon.

You look so beautiful while trying to perfect the brush strokes. Ethereal even. Your skin glows under warm candle light, and even though you try to appear emotionless in front of him, the face you make when you concentrate always finds its way out.

“I'll be leaving on a mission soon,” he finally says into the silence.

You raised your head from your work, looking him in the eye before you speak. You truly are obedient, just as he trained you to be.

“Safe travels, my Lord,” you reply with that saccharine sweet voice, but he knows there's no meaning behind it. No compassion, no joy, no hope. You'd be happy if he died out there, still feeling the same indifference towards him that you do right now. It'd actually make you happier.

His mind shifts back to those couples he'd always see, the ones that were stuck to each other like glue. They'd beg and cry for the other not to leave, holding their hands to pull their lover back in a display of desperation for their time. Yet here you sat. Indifferent. Uncaring. Unloving.

“Don't you have anything else to say to me?” He questioned while that part of him that was still holding on to hope was fighting its way out. If you just told him to stay he would. If you told him that you loved him, he'd come home even quicker. He'd be more brutal, just for the chance to slip into your embrace. Yet only confusion met his question.

“I'll see you soon?” Words which were supposed to be spoken as a gesture of love, were coming out as a question. You didn't want to see him soon, nor did you wish for him to travel safely. Your lack of care has him seething, but only his regular, nonchalant demeanor showed on his face.

“Would you rather kneel on rice or go five days without food?”

Your head shot up when you heard his question, his voice cold and serious. Your heart was pounding in your ears so loudly, you wondered if he could hear it. He didn't have to to know how tense you were at the idea of the punishments, he could see it in your expression. Your look of indifference was quickly changed to fear, large doe eyes threatening to fill with tears.

“Neither, my Lord,” you stammered out, “I don't think I've done anything worthy of punishment.”

And you hadn't. You’d done everything he told you to, exactly the way he wanted you to. Yet his ego and constant need for more of you, to claim you as his entirely, to swallow you whole, it made him angry. He'd given you a better life than you'd ever had before, he'd give you anything you wished for if you'd just open your pretty little mouth to ask, and all he wanted in return was your affection. Your attention. Your love.

“I'll ask you again, even though you know I hate repeating myself,” his red framed eyes glared down at you. Even at his short stature, he suddenly felt mountain tall, dwarfing above you in a way that made you want to sink into yourself, “I'll be leaving on a mission soon, do you have anything to say to me?”

You gulped down your saliva, feeling the way you had to force it down your throat as more pooled in your mouth, “Safe….safe travels, my Lord,” you stuttered. It was the same thing you always said, the same thing you were told to say. He left on trips often, but the script never changed. You were to wish him safe travels and see him off at the door. Yet here you stood before him, a quivering mess as he glared down at you, growing angrier at what was presumably the wrong answer.

“You must want to be punished,” he hummed while looking disinterested.

The pain of rice digging into your knees or the hunger pains of starvation, they were both punishments you knew well. Neither was one you wanted to experience again. After such hard work to act the way he wanted you to, you'd gone a long time without being punished. But the way he was looking at you struck fear in your head, your hands trembled as you desperately began to plead.

“I don't understand, my lord, please tell me what I'm doing wrong,”

“You really are stupid,” he scoffed, but there was a flush forming in his face as he realized just how overboard he was going for this one little thing. Something he'd never asked for before. But the thought was eating away at him, the hope was clawing out of his body. Bashfully, he looked down at the floor, “Tell me that you love me…and that you'll miss me while I'm gone.”

Your tears were dried quickly and you slowed your labored breathing. A bit of anger was bubbling in the pit of your stomach, anger at the fact that was going to punish you over something so miniscule, anger you hadn't felt towards him since the very beginning of this all. Since the day he told you that you were going to be his wife, but it wasn't a question, it was an order. Your very first order.

“I love you, my lord. I'll miss you so very much while you're gone,” you wondered if he wanted a performance. You did your best to make the words sound genuine, despite the way you detested him and his finicky personality.

“Do you mean that?” He asked, his voice sounding almost hopeful. In his heart of hearts he knew it wasn't true, but that didn't stop the excitement from growing.

“Of course, my Lord,” you lied. It was a good lie though, seeing as it earned you a subtle smile upon his lips.

“I'll bring you back a gift from Mondstadt, for being so good recently” he whispered while lightly patting your head. But the enticing idea of a gift wasn't even enough to pull you from your fear. You'd dodged a bullet, but there were more to come.

[angelwonie]

X + Y = YOU AND I || jeon wonwoo

PAIRING: academic rival!wonwoo x fem!reader

WORD COUNT: 8.6k

GENRE(S): smut, fluff, rivals to lovers, college au

SUMMARY: you wish jeon wonwoo would sometimes act like an insufferable prick instead of the perfect guy, because then you wouldn't have to feel your head spinning each time he looks at you.

WARNINGS: SMUT [unprotected sex, fingering, use of petnames (baby, good girl), praise, some degradation, sex in an empty classroom] wonwoo is so in love

Class discussions where both Wonwoo and you are involved never end well. 

Partly, it’s because none of you possess the ability of backing down from a fight, but mostly it’s because of Wonwoo’s annoying tendencies of having read all the books in the world, which allows him to criticize every word that comes out of your mouth. 

Which again leaves you with no choice but to get angry and argue even more vividly — though Soonyoung claims that’s just your own stubbornness making matters worse. 

He doesn’t get it, though. The desire to beat Wonwoo at his own game each time he opens his mouth. It’s something you can’t entirely explain, but it keeps you grounded, and so you don’t question it too much. The adrenaline that comes along with it is enough for you. 

And that’s exactly what keeps you going today — Wonwoo’s annoying takes on social anthropology.

“I just don’t think cultural differences are the root of conflicts.”

He says this and shrugs, eyes subconsciously drifting to the side to look at you. As expected, you’re already raising your hand to comment on his statement and he has to fight the urge to smile. Despite coming in tired, eyes drooping, you’re eager to partake in a discussion with him. Always. It’s a little too reassuring to think about, so he stops, and instead focuses on what you’re saying. 

“That’s a baseless claim to make,” you scoff, and again, he feels his lip twitch, almost forming a smile. “Of course they are. No differences means nothing to fight about.”

“Yes, in theory,” he says, and his eyes crinkle with the smile he offers you. A smile you can’t seem to tell if is cocky or genuine. “But cultural differences aren't everything. If we don’t have culture, people will still form opinions. And those opinions will still become the roots of conflicts.”

With those words, he crosses his arms over his chest, his elbow bumping into you. 

You’re not sure who came up with the idea of the two of you sitting together in the classroom, but moments like these make you want to find that person and rip their hair out. Because in what universe should you have to argue with Jeon Wonwoo while his shoulder is literally touching yours? 

It’s stupid, unethical, and every other derogatory term you can come up with, but most of all, it’s making it hard to focus. Obviously, it’s not about him, it’s about the closeness itself. You think. Probably. 

You lean a bit to your left so you can actually think of a response, but end up sighing and asking a question instead. 

“So you’re saying conflicts are inevitable?”

He tongues his cheek – a sign that he’s in deep thought – and bumps his elbow into you again. An accident, probably, but it catches your attention nevertheless. 

“I’m saying disagreements become conflicts because we can’t handle our emotions. It’s not differences that are the problem, it’s our way of handling them.”

And there it is — that twinkle in his eyes that signalizes he knows he’s won. You know it, too, from the way he leans back into his chair and your words die down in your throat and the professor nods his head approvingly. Still, you wish he wouldn’t be so fucking happy about it.

“Asshole,” you mumble only loud enough for him to hear as you sink back into the chair. 

He chuckles and you feel your insides turn. God, he’s annoying. Super annoying. 

Especially when he leans a bit to your side of the desk, face a lot closer to yours than it needs to be when he whispers, “Good job.” 

You glare at his soft expression, your own face heating up in something resembling embarrassment. 

“No need to gloat about your success, dickhead.”

“I’m not gloating,” he frowns, the smile slowly fading from his face.

“Sure you aren’t. You’re just kindly reminding me that you’re better than me.”

“That’s not what– That’s not true.”

His voice falters, and he leans back in his chair and taps his pen against the desk. You scoff at him, but it’s nowhere as threatening as you’d like it to be — thrown off by the quiver in his tone. 

“It is true,” you whisper, more to yourself, and avert your gaze from him. 

The professor picks up where he left off, and you let your thoughts scatter and eyes drift closed. It’s been a long day, you think. Thankfully, the professor’s got you and Wonwoo placed in the back, and so he doesn’t notice it when you manage to fall asleep in your chair, head falling to the side. 

Wonwoo notices, though. Your cheek squished against your shoulder, hair in your face. It’s not the first time you’ve fallen asleep in class, and he should probably start scolding you for it, but seeing your under eye bags and hearing your tired voice makes something turn unpleasantly in his stomach. And so he lets you sleep. 

(It’s all because of his perceptiveness.

You know about this trait of his, and it’s awful. How he hands you a pen when you’ve forgotten your own without you having to ask for it. How he knows when to shut up during an argument, because your face tells him he’s won. How he never feels the need to embarrass you, or anyone, for that matter.

He’s a good person in and out, and you hate him for it.) 

It’s not before the class is nearing its end that Wonwoo decides to wake you. 

“Y/N,” you feel a hand on your shoulder, shaking you awake, and then a deep voice hits your ears. Wonwoo’s voice, you realize instantly, and then criticize your heart for jumping at the thought. “You might wanna wake up for this.”

“Huh?” 

Wonwoo’s smiling at you softly, and you sit up straight, confused. At least until you see your professor clutching his phone against his ear, muttering aggressively.

“His wife called,” Wonwoo explains in a hushed tone, leaning towards you so you hear him better. “I feel kinda bad for the guy. She doesn’t seem to like him very much.”

You rub your eyes and yawn, then realize Wonwoo is sitting right there, and clear your throat. 

“Maybe he’s an asshole.”

“Maybe,” he turns to look at you. “Girls like assholes, though, don’t they? 

Your breath hitches in your throat involuntarily. You’re not sure whether it’s from the question or from the way he’s looking at you – like he’s already got you all figured out – but it’s making you nervous. All of it, him. And now that you’re discussing a topic you’re not certain about, it shows. 

You chuckle nervously, “Where’d you get that from?”

“You, mostly.”

“Excuse me?”

He offers you a smile, one that you subconsciously accept by feeling your insides turn to mush. This has got to be the longest you’ve spoken to him without mutual friends around, and without arguing. Truthfully, you don’t hate it. You’d never have thought that this would be the topic of your first ever civil conversation, though. 

“Minghao? Seungkwan? Your type’s pretty obvious.”

“Do you spy on me or something?” you ask, a little baffled he knows the names of your previous boyfriends. You weren’t hiding it or anything, but Wonwoo’s never shown much interest in you outside of class. “Plus, that was months ago.” 

He fixes his glasses and tilts his head to the side.

“Yeah? And what type of guys do you like now?”

You open your mouth to answer, but the words die down in your throat. Not assholes, you could say. He’s sparked your curiosity, though — what type of guys do you like now? Because you know for a fact that you’re done with assholes, which is why you’ve been trying your hardest to classify Wonwoo as one up until now. 

“I–”

You’re saved from answering his question by your professor, who’s successfully hung up on his wife and is now announcing that class is over. 

A sigh of relief escapes past your lips — another thing that doesn’t go unnoticed by Wonwoo, but he doesn’t push. He simply gathers his stuff, his pen that you borrowed included, and slings his bag over his shoulder. You smile at him, softly, a little hesitantly, because it feels right to do so.

His glasses rest at the tip of his nose as he stands up and says, “See you around, Y/N.”

Then, he walks off and you no longer fight the smile that makes its way to your face. 

—

“Okay, so I think we all know why this meeting is being held.”

This is the first thing Soonyoung says as he sits down by the round table in the cafeteria, latte almost spilling out of his cup. You and Minjeong perch up in curiosity, and she puts her phone away in favor of commenting Soonyoung’s poor word choices. 

“Meeting? It’s our lunch break, dude.”

“Yeah, whatever,” he rolls his eyes at Minjeong who snickers. “This lunch break is being held because–”

“–Because we need to eat?” you raise a brow. 

“Y/N, you are literally in no position to act all smart right now. It’s you that we need to talk about.”

“Me?”

You look to Minjeong, but she only shrugs, meaning that this is a Soonyoung thing. You try racking your brain to find what the hell he might want to discuss, but nothing comes to you. Not even when Soonyoung offers you one of his signature smirks that signalize he’s up to no good. 

“You, and hot nerd Jeon Wonwoo.”

Your mouth falls open in genuine shock. “Wonwoo?”

“Did you just call him ‘hot nerd’?” Minjeong slaps her hand over her mouth as she laughs, but stops when she sees you glaring at her. “Damn, okay, someone’s defensive.”

“Yes, Wonwoo,” Soonyoung leans over the table, hands together on the table like some sort of Hollywood detective. “What’s the deal with you and him?”

“What deal?” you look to the side for some help, but all Minjeong offers you is a smirk. She’s enjoying this a little too much for your liking. “Why are you looking at me like that? There’s no deal. We don’t get along, that’s all.”

“You sure looked like you got along yesterday,” Soonyoung giggles like a little schoolgirl, and you feel your face heating up. Of course he noticed, even though you barely talked with Wonwoo for three minutes. “Also, have you seen how he looks at you?”

“Like he wants to kill me?”

“Like he wants to kiss you. You’re mistaking passion for hate, babe. Or maybe you’re just pretending, because there’s no way you’re not seeing how cute you are together.”

“Me and Wonwoo?” you ask again, incredulously. “You’ve got to be kidding. There’s no way.”

“You have to admit, he’s pretty hot,” Minjeong cuts in. “Plus, you guys have, like, undeniable chemistry.”

“The only chemistry me and him share is the class. Which already sucks enough.”

“You know what they say, denial is a river in egypt.” 

“Nobody says that, Minjeong,” you glare at her, deciding that it’s better to get out of here before you start doubting yourself. “Anyway, I gotta go to class, so get those Wonwoo delusions out of your heads, okay? Because that’s what this is — delusion.”

“Funny you had to clarify that.”

“Just because you’re insufferable,” you send them a painfully fake smile and grab your things so you can walk away, almost missing the words Soonyoung mutters under his breath. 

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

—

Usually, you can’t be found in the university’s backyard ripping your hair, but usually, you also don’t fail your chemistry exams. 

You might be acting a tad bit dramatic, running out of class and sitting down on the grass with your back pressed against the stone cold wall to cool off, but that’s something to worry about later. Right now you’re just focused on feeling sorry for yourself. Which you are. To a very high degree. 

“Are you okay?”

You jump at the sudden intrusion to your self-wallowing, turning around only to be met with a familiar face. His glasses are high up on his nose and his hair is neat, smile lines nowhere to be seen.

“Wonwoo?” you ask, a bit embarrassed that he’s seeing you in this state, especially when he looks so put together. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I read here every free period,” he says, frowning. “It’s you that should be in class right now.”

“Do you have my schedule memorized or something?” you look at him accusingly, pulling your legs closer to your chest for comfort. “Anyway, I’m just sitting here.”

Wonwoo’s silent for a moment, pondering on what to do, and then he takes a step in your direction. You don’t run away or protest, so he takes another one and another one until he’s close enough to sink down on the grass next to you. 

“You look more like you’re drowning in sadness.”

“Yeah, well, I failed an exam, so,” you say and hand him the paper your hands gripped just a moment ago — your test with every mistake highlighted in red. The whole sheet might’ve just been red at this point, you think. 

He examines it, brows furrowed, then hands it back. “Chemistry? I thought you were good at that, though.”

Your heart falters in embarrassment.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought, too. That’s why I’m fucking sad.”

You don’t mean for it to sound so angry, but it comes out harsh and bitter. It’s nothing like Wonwoo’s used to hearing you speak. And what comes after shocks him even more — the tears that well up in your eyes and then fall, he can see them even as you turn away from him, perhaps in fear of judgement. 

“Wait,” he says, a little dumbfounded. “Are you crying?”

It’s a stupid question, but his tone isn’t judging. Still, it doesn't ease anything — you feel like you’re about to explode. And what’s worse is that he’s here, Jeon Wonwoo, of all people, watching you cry over something so miniscule that he probably can’t even relate to. You’re not sure why it bothers you so much that he’s seeing you in this state, but it does, it really does bother you, so much you feel like you might die. 

“Yes, I’m crying, Wonwoo,” you say, wiping your cheeks to your best ability. “Jesus christ. I did badly on a test, so I already feel like shit, and then you always have to come up to me with those stupid comments of yours.”

He blinks in surprise from behind his glasses, and even through your bitterness, you think to yourself that he looks cute like that — confused, for the very first time. At least it’s the very first time you are seeing him like this. But, to be fair, this is his very first time seeing you like this, too. 

“I thought you liked it when I'm mean to you, though,” he says finally, and you look at him in disbelief.

“Wonwoo, are you seriously just here to imply I have a degradation kink?” 

He remains silent for a minute, hesitating.

“Great.” 

You laugh through the tears that have now stopped falling, and Wonwoo exhales in something that resembles relief. His gaze is still set on you, unrelenting, like he’s still trying to put together the puzzle. Does he want to leave? 

A part of you hopes he won’t. Because despite that it’s a bit embarrassing, you could use someone to talk to right now. Even if it’s just so you can get your frustration out somehow. 

“What I’m trying to say is,” he starts, choosing his words carefully. “I didn't mean it like that. I never do.”

You meet his gaze – soft eyes that remain otherwise unreadable – and let out a breathy chuckle. 

“Yeah, whatever.”

You kick one of the stones in front of you, and watch it bounce a couple of times before it settles a little further away. Wonwoo doesn’t leave, even though you’re giving no signs of continuing the conversation. He just sits there, shoulder a centimeter or two from yours, and listens to both your breaths. Both uneven — his is nervous, while yours is upset. 

“I’m serious, Y/N,” he says finally, catching you off guard just enough for you to turn in his direction again. “If I ever cross the line, tell me. I don’t want to hurt you.”

He bites his lip awkwardly as you feel your heart dropping to your stomach. It’s silent for a while, the back of your throat burning — threatening that you might start crying again if you say something now. 

He pushes his glasses further up his nose, and that’s when you decide to take the leap. Leap meaning that you lean forward to engulf him in a hug, your head coming to rest on his shoulder. 

It catches him off guard, you can tell. His muscles tense, breath caught up in his throat and your own heart beats so fast you think you might die. But it feels nice, hugging him. And it feels even nicer when he wraps his arms around you, too, albeit hesitantly. 

You stay like that, bathing in his scent – peach and jasmine with a hint of something you can’t quite identify – and somehow, you feel at peace. The test is still at the back of your head, obviously, bugging you, but it’s faint compared to Wonwoo and his hand that begins to slowly stroke your hair. 

“Thank you.”

The words are whispered into the crook of his neck, sending shivers down his spine. 

They’re so quiet he barely hears them, might’ve mistaken them for a hiccup hadn’t he paid complete attention, but he is. He is paying attention. To how your muscles loosen up in his arms and there are no longer tears soaking through his shirt; how his own heart beats a little faster than usual; how he’s so painfully aware of the fact that talking to you only makes him like you more.

More meaning that he’s afraid he might be advancing from the useless crush he’d developed watching you argue with him during class. Advancing into uncharted territory that he’s never even intended exploring. Though he supposes he sabotaged himself by approaching you today. 

“It’s nothing.”

But it’s a lie. It is something — the butterflies in your stomach or the warmth spreading across Wonwoo’s chest. Whatever you want to regard it as, it is something. 

And that something settles in the very depths of your mind and his mind alike. 

—

When Soonyoung announces that he’s bringing Wonwoo to come study with you and Minjeong in the library, your first instinct is to tell him you’re not coming. 

Obviously, you’re embarrassed. And scared. And a million other things you can’t even begin to describe with words. He saw you crying, after all. Jeon Wonwoo, top of the class, saw you crying over a bad grade. It really doesn’t get much worse than that. 

Still, you go. Mostly because you know staying at the dorm would spark questions from your nosy friends, but also because you don’t want Wonwoo thinking you’re avoiding him. Or else he’s going to think you care — which, essentially, you do. But he doesn’t have to know that. 

“Do you think Wonwoo will laugh at me if I get the questions wrong?” Minjeong asks as you stand outside the door to the library, her hand on the handle.

“No,” you say. “He’s not like that.”

She opens the door, and you walk inside, met with the smell of books. Soonyoung and Wonwoo are sitting by the chess boards, talking, and you feel something turn in your stomach. Is it too late to leave now? Judging by Minjeong’s worried face, she isn’t so keen on being here either. Maybe you could both just go home.

Yet when she bites her lip and asks, “Are you sure?”, you can’t bring yourself to lie just so you won’t have to face him.

“Yeah. You should ask him to teach you if you don’t understand something, you know. Better to feel a little embarrassed than to fail an exam.”

“I guess you’re right.”

Just as she says this, Soonyoung catches your gaze and waves eagerly, urging you and Minjeong to come closer. He whispers something to Wonwoo, and he, too, turns to smile in your direction.

“Guess there’s no backing out now,” Minjeong giggles and you nod your head. There really isn’t. 

The two of you make your way to the table where the boys are sitting and pick your chairs. Minjeong’s quick to sit next to Soonyoung, so you’re left with no other option but to plop down on the chair closest to Wonwoo. Normally, that would’ve only mildly annoyed you, but now, three days after he saw you bawling your eyes out, you can feel your heartbeat speed up vastly.

“Hey,” Wonwoo says and you almost jump. You’re not sure why, but you hadn’t expected him to speak to you first. 

“Hi,” you reply and try smiling at him. Thankfully, he smiles, too. “What are you guys studying?”

“Chemistry,” he says, and upon seeing you wince, he’s quick to add, “‘Cause Soonyoung’s struggling with it. He asked me to teach him.”

You have to bite back a smile at his worried tone. “Ah, I see.”

He fixes his glasses, and clears his throat.

“It’s a really tricky subject, though, so I understand why you– uh, he, finds it troublesome.”

“Right,” you nod your head with a giggle, and you can almost feel Soonyoung’s stare burning into your side. It’s fine, though, because now, Wonwoo looks the slightest bit more relaxed. 

You pull out your notebooks and textbook along with a coffee you’d made earlier, and when Wonwoo says your notes look pretty, you can’t help but grin. You kind of wish he weren’t so nice to you, but it doesn’t make you feel awkward, so you suppose you don’t have much room to complain. 

It’s probably just reality catching up to you that’s making you nervous — the fact that he’s not so argumentative outside of class, and that you definitely felt something pull at the very bottom of your heart that day you failed the exam. That, and how the feeling isn’t giving any signs of leaving soon.

You let those thoughts wander as you start making notes, and soon enough, even Soonyoung goes quiet, occupied by his own stuff. It stays like that for a while, and at some point, Wonwoo’s knee bumps into yours. Warmth spreads all across you and you look at him. 

“Sorry,” he whispers apologetically, retracting his leg, and the warmth subsides. In return you send him a smile in which you hope he can’t glimpse your slight – and unsettling – disappointment. 

“It’s okay.”

And then it’s silent again, your body painfully aware of the fact that if you lean your leg a bit to the right you’ll touch Wonwoo. It’s not like you want to touch him, at least you don’t think you do, but the awareness is slightly nerve-wracking for some unknown reason. Everything about him is.  

“Wonwoo,” Minjeong says, breaking the silence, making both his and your heads shoot up to look at her. “Y/N told me you could help me if I asked, so… I was wondering if you could explain biomolecules to me.”

“Of course.”

A quick smile flashes in your direction and then he’s leaning over the table to help Minjeong. His fingers follow the illustrations in her textbook and he starts talking — something about structure, you think. You listen intently, and it makes sense even though you’ve barely started the chapter, but you can’t bring yourself to take notes of what he’s saying. Can’t bring yourself to take your eyes off of him.

You wonder silently if he always was this handsome. You try to think of the times you spoke to him in class before, but it’s hard to recall his face in any other form than what your eyes meet now — focused gaze, lips moving to the rhythm of his voice. His glasses are slowly sliding down his nose, and you feel an immeasurable urge to push them up, but he beats you to it. 

“Basically, they’re essential for cell division to happen,” he says, and you lean forward to look at the picture he’s pointing to.

Your shoulder bumps into his and he turns to the side. You notice, but don’t react in fear that you’ll just end up giggling like a schoolgirl. Instead, you pretend to read some of the text in the book. 

Wonwoo picks up where he left off, voice a little hoarser than before, but you don’t move. Neither does he.

“Can you say that again?” you ask after he says something you don’t understand. 

He repeats with his head turned in your direction, and your eyes drift down to his lips. You don’t want them to, it just happens, your stomach tying into a tight knot. You’re almost entirely sure nobody is supposed to look this hot while talking about biomolecules. Or was it morphogenesis? You honestly don’t know. 

You don’t know why you feel like this with him of all people. Truly, there could be a lot of factors playing into it. The fact that he’s a smooth talker; the fact that he’s both intelligent and knowledgeable; the fact that you’ve grown to know him — what makes his blood boil and what makes him chuckle; the fact that he’s a constant in a sea of variables. 

Maybe that last point especially. That even when everything else goes to hell, the moment you step into social anthropology class, he’s always there. Always willing to entertain you with, albeit sometimes pointless, banter. 

You don’t even know what this is, though. Feeling your head spin when you look at him, having mini heart attacks when he says your name — are these the signs of you going insane? It could very well be that, you think. Insanity feels like the right word to explain your state right now. 

“Y/N,” he says, breaking you out of your thoughts. “You listening?”

Your eyes drift back to his own, and you swear you see a glimpse of amusement playing in his gaze when you mumble a quiet “Yeah.”

Suddenly very aware of Soonyoung and Minjeong’s presence, as well as Wonwoo’s burning stare, you stand up, dusting off your clothes.

“I just need some fresh air,” you offer as an explanation. 

“Mind if I join?”

You look at Wonwoo in disbelief as he asks the question. What the fuck? You don’t mind – at least in the sense that implies you don’t like his company – but it’s the same issue again; he makes you nervous. Goodbye to going for a relaxing walk, you suppose. And goodbye to whatever left there is of your sanity. 

After what seems like hours of overthinking, you decide to get your shit together and send him a smile paired with a nod. Minjeong raises a brow in your direction, but doesn’t inquire further and internally you thank her for that. You’re not sure what you would’ve told her if she asked. 

You and Wonwoo leave the library together, shoulders close together just like when you were sitting, and you swallow the lump in your throat. 

“Everything okay?” he asks as you leave the building. “You seem a little dazed.”

The air is still cold, though winter is nearing its end and spring is slipping through the cracks. You pull your jacket closer to your body in hopes of both warming yourself up and slowing down your heartbeat, but it only fulfills one of those wishes, leaving you to deal with the latter yourself. 

“I’m alright,” you respond with a soft smile. “Thank you for helping Minjeong, by the way. You’re a great teacher.”

Wonwoo’s smile lines shyly make an appearance. “Thanks. I’ve been thinking about becoming a real one, actually.”

You stop walking and turn your head in disbelief. Somehow, you didn’t expect that answer. Wonwoo was always a diligent student, but now that you come to think of it, he never really talked about his plans for the future, or what he wanted to do with his degree in chemical engineering. 

“Seriously?” 

“Yeah,” his cheeks redden ever so slightly. “Teaching chemistry honestly doesn’t sound that bad.”

You take a moment to think it through — him, in a suit and those glasses that fall down his nose, teaching kids about biomolecules. The idea is foreign, and yet, it fits just right. 

You nudge him with your shoulder. “Professor Jeon, huh? It would suit you.”

He lets out a snort of laughter that sounds nothing like the small chuckles you’d hear from him during class. But it sounds nice, this loud laughter and you bathe in it for as long as it lasts. You’re starting to enjoy this whole ‘being kind to each other’ thing. Suits you better than yelling about something stupid in class. It suits him better, too. 

Content with everything, you begin walking again and he follows suit. The grass is a little wet from yesterday’s rain and outgrown as it is, it tickles your ankles. It might’ve been mildly annoying if you weren’t so stupidly happy for whatever reason.  

Whatever reason being Wonwoo, of course. You might be bad at chemistry, but you like to think you’re not dumb — at least not in an oblivious way. It’s become quite obvious, you think, that you like him. 

The thought partly makes you want to kick your feet in the air and partly, it makes you want to rip your hair out. You like Wonwoo. It’s something so unexpected it makes you feel very bare as you stand there on the grass outside of your university, with your cold hands buried in the pockets of your jacket and Wonwoo’s eyes glimmering in the faint sunlight. 

You like him. God, it feels weird to admit. 

“About that day…” Wonwoo’s voice brings you back to reality, and you take a second to register what he’s saying.

“I freaked you out, didn’t I?” you ask. 

“No, no, it’s not that,” he looks away and sighs softly, only to look directly at you the next second. “I just wanted to make sure you remember that one mistake doesn’t make you a failure. I should’ve said it earlier, but that day I was a bit… taken aback, I suppose. Not by the crying, obviously, but by the whole situation. And you.” 

“Me,” you repeat, tasting the word on your tongue. Your heart starts beating a little faster, despite your best efforts at staying calm. He’s just talking after all; it’s not like this is some sort of love confession.

“Not in a bad way. Just in a new way,” he’s quick to assure you and you feel your heart swell in your chest. 

“New. You make it sound so pretty.”

You laugh a bit, looking down on your hands. It. Does he even know what you mean? Does he know you’re talking about the fact that you’re slowly but surely starting to fall in love with him? Or is he just talking about seeing you vulnerable the other day? 

“What would you call it?” he asks and you can’t stop your gaze from drifting back to him.

“I don’t know, confusing? And kind of insane.”

You swear his eyes drop to your lips for a mere second at that. He doesn’t say anything, just walks by you in silence, and it drives you crazy. You wish he’d say something – anything – just so you’d know if you’re even on the same page, but you don’t rush him. 

Finally, he smiles at you. 

“If insanity is losing control, then yes, I suppose I’m going insane. But it doesn’t feel all that insane to me.”

His eyes crinkle, soft streaks of sun painted across his face and you almost sigh. In delight, relief, or maybe fear, you’re not sure, but it’s those words, you think, that will linger. Those are the types of words to never abandon your mind, you’re sure of it. 

“Did you rehearse this in front of the mirror or something?” you scoff at him, heart heavy in your chest. 

He only laughs, and the sound stays in the air for a long time after you’ve left. 

—

To say you were shocked to see Jeon Wonwoo sitting outside of his dorm with his head in his hands would be a major understatement. 

You had grown closer to him in the past weeks — walking shoulder to shoulder around campus; him helping you with your homework — it all would’ve seemed unlikely had someone proposed the idea to you a month prior, but now, you had grown to truly enjoy his company. And he enjoyed yours, too. 

In some ways, it stayed normal. 

Comments and half-mean, half-endearing remarks remained untouched; what didn’t was your heart. It seems to be working against you at all times, beating too quickly when Wonwoo unexpectedly smiled in your direction, and dropping down to your stomach in fear whenever you saw him tippling over in emotion, only for the feeling to fade to the sound of his laugh.

This time, though, it doesn’t fade, only intensifies as you hear him curse under his breath. 

“Wonwoo?” you try, and his shoulders tense ever so slightly. 

You watch as he sighs, rubbing his eyes, then sits up straight, back against the wall. He doesn’t respond, even as his eyes, frail as ever, look into yours. They’re a bit darker than usual, and his lashes flutter as he blinks up at you. 

There’s no one in the hallway, as if this part of the school emptied just to grant you a moment of privacy; a deciding moment, something in your stomach tells you. 

“What’s happened?” you ask softly, quietly, unsure of what else to do with this obviously unhappy Jeon Wonwoo that’s sitting on the ground in front of you. 

“It’s nothing,” he mumbles in response, leaning on his arms to stand up. “Just some school stuff.”

The corners of his mouth lift in a small smile, but you call his bullshit. You don’t necessarily doubt the genuinity of his smile, but the way he said it makes you think there is something that happened. 

Taking a step in his direction, you nudge him with your elbow. 

“What, the golden boy failed a test for the first time in his life?”

His eyes change at that — soft crinkles appearing at the very edges of them. His shoulders relax, too, and though it’s barely visible, you see it clearly. The air feels a lot lighter when he tongues his cheek and nudges you back. 

“You sure run your mouth a lot, Y/N,” he grins and you feel butterflies flapping around in the very pits of your stomach. Then the smile fades to be replaced with a faux scolding look as he says, “I suggest you stop.” 

You move to stand right in front of him, arms crossed over your chest. He’s taller, and you have to tilt your chin to look him right in the eyes as you giggle with a hint of playfulness in your gaze. 

“Or what?”

He sees the smile playing on your face, the giddiness in your tone, and his heart bangs loudly against his chest. You look gorgeous today — well, that’s nothing new but it never ceases to amaze him how you can look prettier for each day that goes by.

Is this it? Is this when he’s supposed to make a move, like Soonyoung told him to? What does even ‘make a move’ mean, exactly? 

He supposes it varies — just like the value of variables in the equations he solves so often. 

Then how come he can’t solve this one?

You’re still standing there, looking at him without a care in the world, and he thinks that he’d never forgive himself if he screwed this up. At the same time, it doesn’t seem like you’re ready to run away from him, and so perhaps making a move doesn’t sound so stupid right now. 

“Or,” he starts, and lets his eyes glide down to your lips for a moment to test the waters. You don’t scream in fear, and he takes it as a good sign. “I’m gonna have to make you.”

You giggle. “Yeah? And how exactly are you gonna do that, big boy?” 

He feels his stomach turning upside down, squeezed by some invisible force and he has to remind himself to breathe. Is he really going through with this? Don’t start something you can’t end, Soonyoung would probably tell him. For once listening to his advice seems reasonable. 

“Like this.”

And before he can even think of backing out, he brings the palms of his hands to cup your face and leans down, placing his lips against yours. 

Taken aback, you let out a startled noise, eyes growing wide. He hesitates upon seeing your reaction, about to pull away when you finally kiss him back, tongue swiping over his lower lip ever so slightly. 

A groan. Then, he’s bringing his hand to the back of your head and pulling you towards him, kissing you until your head starts to spin, and kissing you through that, too. 

Your arms hold onto his shoulders for support, cheek leaning into his touch. Your noses touch clumsily; teeth clash when you open your mouth to let him explore it. Still, it feels like heaven and you can’t bring yourself to pull away for a breath. 

Wonwoo, though, the more sensible one of you two, pulls back after a while, a smile on his lips and breath ragged.  

You look at him — waiting for him to pick up where he left off, but he doesn’t move.

“That’s it?” you ask, and for a brief moment, all color drains from Wonwoo’s face. Did you not like it? Did he do something wrong?

“What do you mean?”

“You’re just going to leave me hanging like that?”

Your lip pulled between your teeth, you look at home expectantly, heart still hammering against your ribs. Truly, it’s not just about wanting more – though that plays a part in it, too – it’s also about whether this was a one-time-thing.

“Was it not enough for you?” he asks, tilting his head to the side after he’s calmed his racing heart. 

“Considering I’ve been waiting for this, like, a month,” you say. “not really, no.”

He smiles down on you — that same smile that makes you weak in the knees, and you know there’s no turning back now. Not that there ever was. 

“I think you’re a bit greedy,” he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and you shiver in anticipation. “I’ve been waiting for half a year, and yet, I still have some self control left.”

“I never had any in the first place.”

And with that, you pull him close for another kiss. 

He doesn’t protest, opening his mouth and sucking on your tongue. His hands move down to your waist this time, pulling your body flush against his. You’ve never experienced being in such close proximity with him, and yet, you don’t feel all that nervous. It all slips away with his soft touches. 

Your hands in his hair — it feels foreign, but he likes that feeling, gets drunk on it. But it’s some kind of reversed intoxication; he doesn’t feel faint; if anything, he’s feeling more sober than ever before as he bathes in your taste, your scent, you. This must be what love feels like, he thinks. This must be it, or else he’s certain he’ll never know love. If this isn’t it, he doesn’t want to know love. 

He hopes you’re at least feeling a fraction of what he’s feeling as he pushes you gently against the wall, hands roaming your body. You do the same, holding onto him like he’s your lifeline, tugging at the strands of hair available to you. 

So caught up in this feeling of bliss, you don’t even notice how you’re not alone with Wonwoo anymore until you hear laughter from a group of bypassing students. 

“Get a room,” someone says and you pull away from Wonwoo immediately, face hot with embarrassment.

He doesn’t appear shaken, though — rather, you glimpse the shadow of a smile playing on his lips as he urges the students to leave. Just as you’re about to ask what he’s smiling about, his fingers close around your wrist and he pulls you along the hallway. He’s all rushed steps until you reach the nearest classroom that turns out to be empty, and he walks inside, dragging you with him. 

Upon closing the door behind him, Wonwoo drags you into his chest. You look up at him, his inquiring gaze that asks for permission, and smile.

“Are you sure?” he asks and your grin turns teasing. 

“Sure about what, Woo?” 

He tongues his cheek, unsure of what to say. You’re just plain teasing him – that much is obvious – so he supposes he can give the same energy back. 

“Sure that you want me to fuck you.”

You’re taken aback, though perhaps you shouldn’t be, considering how you set yourself up for this with your question. Still, your breath catches in your throat and your hand holds onto one of the nearby desks for stability as you face him. Wonwoo looks different now, to some extent; maybe it’s the lighting that gives his eyes a different glow, or maybe it’s how the air has suddenly become swollen with tension. 

Whatever the cause, it excites you to no end, the way he’s looking at you when you take his hand in yours. Like you’re the only thing that matters. 

“Yeah,” you say finally. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

At that, he pulls you impossibly closer. He takes off his glasses in a manner that you in a drunken state would’ve most likely called seductive, and throws them away somewhere you can’t see, too busy kissing him back when his lips crash into yours for the nth time today. He kisses you so hard it knocks the breath out of your lungs, and all thoughts out of your brain. 

Mouth open, you let his tongue explore it and simultaneously, you allow him to walk you further into the classroom, until the back of your thighs hit one of the desks. Standing between your legs, he pushes your shirt up so his fingers can graze the bare skin underneath, and you sigh in content. 

Before you know it, he’s pulling away to peel off your shirt and bra, leaving you bare in front of him.

“You’re beautiful, you know,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to yours again.

You smile into the kiss, goosebumps spreading over your skin with the touches of his fingers that glide further up your thigh, until they slip under your skirt. Knuckles running over your soaked panties, he bites your lip and you let out a delighted moan. 

“You’re so wet,” he comments as he slips a finger under your panties, running it through your folds. You can already feel another flood of arousal approaching just because of his words. “Won’t even need to prep you, huh?”

You desperately shake your head no, and he chuckles.

He lays his palm flat against your clit and you squirm until he retracts it. Playfulness in his gaze, he smears your arousal all over your cunt, ignoring your whines. This takes him at least half a minute before he finally – upon hearing you whimper his name in a way that makes his pants a whole lot tighter all of a sudden – gives in and slides one of his fingers into your pussy. 

You throw your head back with a whimper, holding onto his shoulder as he starts pumping it in and out of you, noises caused by the movement filling the air. 

“Oh my god,” you breathe as he adds another one, your cunt tightening around his digits endlessly. 

He smiles, pressing a kiss to your shoulder which is an immense contrast to how he curls his fingers inside of you, hitting that one spot that makes your toes curl. He plunges his digits in and out of your hole as his thumb circles your clit, until you’re moaning loudly — despite how little time has really passed. 

It’s in utter shock that you watch him retract his hand completely, sucking the arousal from his fingers with a smile. 

“Wha–” is all you manage to say before he flips you over, bending you over the desk. 

You’re painfully aware of how bare you are in front of him — your naked cunt on display, because your skirt doesn’t do much to cover anything at all, and your tits pressed against the wood of the desk. Plus the fact that the locked door won’t do much good if someone is to have class in this room next period. Which would be in about thirty minutes. 

Not that you care. Or, essentially, you do care, but now it doesn’t really matter — besides, you’re certain that Wonwoo would’ve managed to come up with some sort of excuse had you been forced to open the door for some frustrated professor. 

Amidst your thoughts, you almost fail to hear the sound of Wonwoo unclasping his belt. Almost. But when you do hear it, something turns pleasantly in your stomach. 

“You gonna be good for me and stay quiet?” Wonwoo asks and you feel his hands move to hold your hips, cock positioned at your entrance. 

You mumble something in affirmation, something you’re not even sure you can hear yourself, and spread your legs to urge him on. You feel his cock prod at your soaked cunt, run through your folds languidly; again and again, until you’re whining his name in protest. 

He only chuckles at your behavior, and asks, albeit teasingly, “What did you say?”

Gathering your thoughts, you try your best to ignore the way he’s dragging his dick over your pussy, occasionally rubbing over your clit. 

“Yes, I’ll be good for you, Wonwoo.”

Pleased with this response, he finally enters you — cock stretching you open and making you cry out, holding onto the desk for support. He’s big, you realize, tears prodding at your eyes as he bottoms out. 

“Yeah? Gonna be my good girl?” 

You nod and nod, fingers turning white from how you’re gripping the wooden desk once he starts moving — in languid strokes, he manages to turn your moans louder and louder. 

His hands hold onto your hips, pushing them against him so you’re further impaled on his cock with each thrust, and you swear you feel him all the way in your stomach. It’s a good feeling, one you can barely register fully with the way your mind’s gone hazy. 

You hardly notice it when one of his hands lets go of your hips and comes up to your lips, fingers tapping at your chin as a signal to open your mouth. When you do, he slips two digits inside and you suck on them obediently, tightening around his cock. 

Wonwoo smiles.

“Thought I told you to be quiet, baby.”

In all honesty, he loves the nosies you’re making, but he can’t risk someone starting to bang on the door before he’s got you falling apart completely. Besides, the sight of you sucking on his fingers is just as pleasing; just as effective in making his cock twitch in your cunt. 

Your walls suck him in perfectly, the sound of him gliding in and out of your pussy loud in the empty classroom. His thrusts grow gradually harder; the desk starts moving in rhythm with them, and you can’t help letting out moans and whimpers that his digits in your mouth do a poor job of concealing. 

He realizes this, and decides on removing his fingers so they can grab at your hair instead, pulling your back closer to his chest. Your tits bounce with his movements, and he plays with them briefly, groaning as your pussy clamps down on him especially hard at that, but then his hand moves between your legs to tend to your clit. 

He rubs it in circles, granting you an occasional pinch or slap that makes you cry out, and you feel the knot in your stomach grow tighter and tighter. 

“Feels so good, Wonwoo,” you sob, tears streaming down your cheeks as his fingers abuse your swollen clit. 

“I know, baby.”

Barely coherent, you beg him not to stop, and he wonders whatever even prompted you to think that he might want to stop. He only fucks into you harder, hand on your hips to steady the thrusts that bring you closer and closer to coming. 

“Wonwoo,” you say. “So close.”

“Yeah? Gonna come for me, baby? Gonna come all over my cock like a slut?”

You nod, though he probably doesn't see, and he pulls you even closer, eyes rolling to the back of his head at the sight in front of him. And to think he could’ve had this earlier had he taken the chance. You in the shortest skirt he’s ever seen, moaning his name like you don’t care if anyone hears — he honestly thinks he might be in heaven. 

“Good girl,” he groans, and that’s what sends you over the edge, your pussy clamping down on his cock as you reach your orgasm. “Good fucking girl.”

He comes less than five seconds later, buried deep inside of you as his cum coats your walls. You whimper at the overstimulation of his last thrusts, collapsing on top of the desk when he pulls out. 

He’s careful not to hurt you, but you still wince slightly, which prompts him to ask you if you’re okay.

“Never better,” you reply, and as soon as you say it, you realize it’s true. 

Wonwoo smiles. He helps you clean up – repeatedly apologizing that he’s wiping you clean with the paper by the classroom sink, even though you tell him it’s fine – and puts his glasses on again. It kind of makes you wish he’d never taken them off, but there’s no way you’re telling him that. Your opinion about his beauty is something you’ll keep to yourself for now. 

You get ready to leave just as someone knocks on the door, and Wonwoo opens it for a very flustered professor that tells you he’s sorry for interrupting. Wonwoo tries telling him it’s not like that – though it definitely is like that, and the blush coating his cheeks does nothing to hide it – and finally, you’re in the hallway, free. 

“Poor guy,” you comment, a smile playing on your lips.

Wonwoo sighs. “Tell me about it. And here I was, thinking we’d gotten lucky.”

“I think we did get lucky, though.”

You say this without thinking it through, but from the way Wonwoo’s eyes light up, you’re glad you didn’t. 

Suddenly, the doors to all classrooms in the hallway open and out come tired students, marking the start of the next period. Which you’re supposed to spend in biology.

You sigh, and Wonwoo seems to get it, because he tells you to leave for class. 

“By the way, Y/N,” Wonwoo says just as you’re about to leave. Something in his gaze tells you this isn’t just a ‘by the way’ thing. “In case it wasn’t obvious, I’m really in love with you. And I’d like you to be my girlfriend.”

“Well, you’re in luck, mister,” you kiss his jaw with a grin. “Because it so happens that I’m in love with you, too. And I’d love to be your girlfriend.”

TAGLIST: @just-here-to-read-01 @syn-hhj @nikkell @dollyji

[yandere-sins]

Angel Shot

This was just a quick warm up before breakfast after I doomscrolled social media :) If you don't know what an "Angel Shot" is, feel free to google it, it's actually a very nice concept.

Warning: Yandere, Fem!Reader, Non-Con Touches, Alcohol, Force Feeding Drinking, Refusal of assistance to a person in need, Humiliation

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

"An 'Angel Shot', please."

The languid polishing of the beer glass came to a slow halt as the bartender processed your order. Your heart was beating so hard that your chest began to hurt from the pressure. The older gentleman looked up, staring straight into your soul with eyes that had lost all their sparkle and all the usual energy one possessed. Those were the eyes of someone who had seen too much in his life and fought too hard to survive.

He reminded you of the self you'd be in the future.

Curling your sweaty palms into fists on top of the counter, you opened your mouth again, repeating, "Angel Shot." Although it was much quieter this time, barely audible over the loud live music and talking patrons in the bar, you knew he heard you.

This was your only chance. You didn't care why that criminal took you to his favorite bar instead of letting you go. Didn't know why he'd care about going out to drink and socialize after you cried out all your anger. He'd just been sitting on the couch without so much of a reaction while you screamed and raged, pleaded, and sobbed, only to get up and announce you were going out, grabbing you by the arm and dragging you with him.

The bartender finally set down the glass, pulling the toothpick from between his lips before facing you, recognizing your presence with his attention. "No such thing here, Sweety."

You watched as his gaze fell over your shoulder, and he gave a short nod to someone behind you. Even though you didn't need to turn around to know it was that psycho who had forced you into his car and made you share his bed ever since, you still glanced back, catching his eyes on you, gaze never wavering. Even as he pushed a hand of party mix into his mouth, he kept staring, a knowing grin spreading as he wiped the crumbs from his lips.

"Nothing personal, Love," the bartender drew your attention back to him. The sound of glasses being set in front of you—a large one obviously filled with beer and a small shot glass with transparent fluids swiveling inside—was what made you focus on him again. Toothpick back in his mouth, the bartender held out a piece of paper towards you, nudging it for you to grab.

"Can't make the boss angry."

And with that, he left to tend to other people along the bar. Tears threatened to well up again in your eyes as you stared at the paper, folding it open to reveal a rankly written 'Angel Shot' on it. You stuffed it between your skin and waistband, not wanting the "boss" to know what it said.

Grabbing the two drinks, you had no choice but to bring them over to the table, his smirk widening at the sight of you serving him. You thought about dumping it all over his head, or at least his crotch, so it would look like he pissed himself and stir up a commotion. But if even the bartender, a savior of lost souls, refused to help you because he was too afraid of your captor, then you doubted anyone here would be on your side.

Setting down the drinks next to the criminal, you banged your hips into the table as his hand fell to the back of your thigh, not expecting the sudden touch. It roused some heads, but once they glanced in your direction and then at him, they all lowered again.

"Thanks for the drinks, Babe," he chuckled, hand driving ever higher on your leg, his pointer stretching away from the others to dig into your supple ass cheek before he ultimately grabbed it with his whole hand.

You swatted at his hand, pushing it down. Shame betraying your expression, you whipped around, ready to complain that you were in public, when this fiend hooked a finger under your waistband and pulled you roughly forward. Your feet threatened to stumble over themselves if not for another arm snaking around your midriff, catching you mid-air, and pulling you onto his lap.

But to your horror, the second you regained control of your body, you felt his finger curl beneath your waistband, the scrapping of paper against your skin unmistakably.

"No, wait!" you gasped, trying to push the note down and pull his hand out of your clothes, but he was quicker. Curling his pointer around the paper, he tugged it out and leaned back in the chair, causing you to go after him to retrieve the message by climbing entirely on top of him. Too late did you realize your mistake, his free arm tightening around your back and pressing you down with force so you couldn't escape, couldn't bring any distance between your bodies, rendering you caught.

"What do we have here?" he teased, and for some reason, you thought he already knew. With only one hand, your captor managed to unfold the piece of paper, leaning his head back to read it. "Ah~" he hummed, sounding almost satisfied. "Clever girl."

With that, he simply let go of the paper, allowing it to flutter to the ground without a care. You watched it sink, your feelings betraying you by shooting helpless tears into your eyes as you felt all your effort being in vain. The paper may have drifted down gently, but it was as if a ton of weight was crushed down on you simultaneously.

"Now, now. You're supposed to have fun. Drink, dance, enjoy some time away from home."

"How could I—"

"Ah, ah, no talking back. Have a drink and be merry."

Swatting his hand against your rear, you jolted, fingers curling into his shoulders where you had found hold. This situation was so infuriating, the way you could do nothing against that bastard. You watched him briefly turn away from you to grab one of the glasses, the cocky, self-assured smile never wavering while you felt your own face go through the first four stages of grief.

He held up the shot glass in front of you, the undefined liquid gently swaying inside, but you tightened your lips, refusing to take what he was giving you. "Angel Shot for you. That's what you wanted, right?"

The mockery wasn't lost on you, and it must have shown as the criminal's grin widened. Then, suddenly, he sighed, shaking his head. His next words were quieter, but the impact was tremendous. He'd not let you argue this.

"Don't be a party pooper," he mumbled. "Everyone's watching, enjoying the show. Let them welcome you to the gang in their own way."

Still, you refused. He held it up for a few more seconds before sighing again. Things happened quickly as he loosened his arm around your waist, only for his hand to shoot up to your head, fingers burying into your hair. With a swift chug, he poured the liquor into his mouth before crashing it against yours. There was no doubt what he wanted to do, the fluids burning against your lips as you tried hard to keep it outside.

But the next thing you knew was your nose being pinched, a gasp escaping you as the burning sensation spread all over your mouth. It hurt all the way down your throat, bitterly and angrily, as the alcohol raked against the sensitive skin of your mouth. You'd never tasted anything so foul, disgust twisting your gut.

It was only made worse by the probing tongue licking up the remnants of the alcohol, perhaps spreading it further. Your head was wrangled by the grip on your hair until your body was bent and bowed in a way that allowed your captor to thoroughly abuse the position you were in, never breaking the toxic kiss as long as he wanted. Breathing was hard; everything hurt. Tears streamed down your temples and forehead, following the gravity while your head was strung upside down.

You didn't enjoy a second of it while your captor only groped you harder with his free hand, letting a low groan rumble from his to your chest. You wished you could have thrown up in his mouth, but it was simply impossible to do anything. When he finally released you, with only one arm around you and gripping your ass to steady your body, you coughed and gagged while he peacefully sat back, picked up the beer, and took a few sips.

Stupidly, you didn't think twice when you were offered a random glass from somewhere, your mouth and nose burning with the aftermath of that shot. If there was no chance of immediately evacuating someone who asked for an Angel Shot, shouldn't the shot not at least have been water to not enhance the predicament of the poor person suffering from it? You didn't even know what it was that had assaulted you so, but it did seem to have amused the crowd, their cheering and applause finally catching your ears.

Eager to stop the pain, you took a swig of the drink that had been handed to you, the disgusting, volatile taste of beer spreading over your tongue. This time, you could stop and spit, not enough to throw up, but at least enough to cause some laughs and "Ew!"s to erupt from the bar patrons.

You pushed the glass back into your captor's hand, not caring if the fluids swapped onto his clothes or anything, as you pushed yourself away. From your excursion to the bar, you knew where the bathroom was, but all you heard were the whistles of the people around you and the laughter of your captor as you stormed off with more tears sullying your face.

This was only the beginning of the torture, you assumed. The lack of knowledge of why it was you that he kidnapped and why he was treating you so cruelly was slowly tearing apart your mental stability, but at least in the bathroom, you'd be able to cry in peace and regain some composure. And most importantly: wash out your mouth from the filth they served at this rundown bar.

"Don't take too long," you heard your captor shout after you, and you shot a glare back over your shoulder as you reached the bathroom door. He was grinning, watching you as he sipped his beer. There was a stain on his clothes, and although small, that victory soothed some of the fury you felt. But his eyes were burning embers. There was a fire in his gaze as he fixated on you, never looking away, barely blinking. You didn't understand how he could feel this passionate while being in a place so void of excitement, but it gave you goosebumps.

You said nothing as you slipped through the gap in the door, but the last thing you heard was, "Bartender! One round of "Angel Shots" for the bar!"

Followed by the roaring and cheers of the crowd, letting you know that no one here was on your side.

[cherrydbear]

Since y'all seemed to like this I'll keep rambling on the subject, I can do this all day. Here are some of those examples where I think their friendship really shines through:

From Sanji's perspective, this guy just showed up outside his restaurant one day, dueled the legendary swordsman who slashed Don Krieg's fleet to pieces, willingly got cut almost in two, nearly bled to death, was tied up by his own crew and then captured by the Arlong pirates, still singlehandedly escaped and came back to join the fight and defeated one of Arlong's best fighters, then nearly bled to death again and woke up just in time to drink himself silly at the afterparty. I've heard people say they "match each other's freak" and that's the truth. Sanji watches this absolute wackadoodle of a man and knows he's found someone who matches his freak. From Zoro's point of view, some cook at a floating restaurant just fed all of their enemies out of principle before kicking their butts. How could he not respect that sort of unconditional adherence to a sense of honor and justice? Especially considering he himself experienced starvation not too long ago in Shells Town. Now this cook, the newest stray in Luffy's collection, immediately proves himself to be immensely capable both in the kitchen and on the battlefield, incurs injury to himself without complaint to protect these people he barely knows, and still is the only person to come sit by Zoro and check up on him. So Zoro knows that Sanji has a heart of pure gold, and I think that's a big part of why he gets frustrated when Sanji tries to cover it up with bravado and perviness.

This scene was really interesting to me because usually when someone demands that Zoro does something, he grouches and grumbles about it, so in this case it seems he just spontaneously started helping out himself. And if there was ever a man whose love language is acts of service, it's Roronoa Zoro. He seems to be more of a "companionable silence" kind of guy, while Sanji's a talker and will say anything to keep feeling connected. Now, I don't know if this is just a me thing, but I like to say my friends' names a lot, even just because the association with them brings me joy, but I rarely use the names of people I'm not close with except to refer to them in third person or to get their attention. In this scene, it seems to me that Sanji keeps repeating Zoro's name as a way to show he's thinking about him and appreciates him being there, though I might just be projecting.

Now, I know shippers go crazy over this one, but I think it's honestly really solid platonic evidence and I'll tell you why (not to dissuade shipping, I think you have to be friends before you can be more than friends so all of this can be fuel for the ship too if you want it to be). Firstly, they're comfortable enough to sleep this close together. Sanji's resting his sleepy head right on Zoro's shoulder (it should have been me, not him) and Zoro just lets him. Also note real quick, only a short distance away Luffy is using Usopp as a pillow, so they're all a cuddly cozy little family. When Zoro notices Sanji mistakenly trying to kiss him, he doesn't even move away, he just makes a face and waits for Sanji to wake up so he can make fun of him. Sanji, for his part, doesn't act embarrassed or disgusted that it turned out to be Zoro there, only playfully mad about his expression. They squabble for a few moments before Luffy pushes past them and they turn their attention to the next thing, argument forgotten, proving that neither was actually angry about anything and they were merely enjoying the opportunity to bicker.

This is from the hunting competition in Little Garden that I mentioned before. I just wanted to point out that both of them are grinning and clearly having a grand time.

(I love how Sanji's hands are just massive sometimes.) They have the entire forest clearing, and Sanji chooses to sit his little booty down right next to Zoro and toss his food at him. They're just like those kids in elementary who had beef over who has a more impressive Pokémon collection and would always sit next to each other at lunch to compare cards and play together at recess but claim they're archnemeses. And for as much as Sanji implied to Usopp (though oblivious) that the heart shaped vegetables were just for the ladies, he did choose to make it and serve it to the whole crew. Speaking of the ladies, Sanji is always adamant about protecting them, but he was perfectly fine with leaving Nami and Robin in Zoro's care, just as Zoro trusted Sanji to take care of Luffy and Usopp.

I also loved how Sanji packed Zoro a cute little lunchbox for exploring and he was NOT going to let no stupid south bird take it from him.

Alright that's all for today folks I gotta wake up in like 5 hours for work lol

Continuation from this post

[animeyanderelover]

Anon: Can you do a mute S/O with Jouno, Chrollo, Feitan, Inumaki and Gojo?

Tw: Yandere themes, possessive behavior, obsession, delusional behavior, manipulation, isolation, abduction

Tags: @jamayah @chxxz @leveyani @hyakki-yosai @shenryu-sama @maggiequinn59 @shumidehiro @izanami78 @lovley-valentine7

Mute s/o

Chrollo Lucilfer

📖​Words aren't the only way for a human to communicate. Over years of a harsh life Chrollo has learnt to read the language of one's body as fluently as he does with his books. This makes the situation for you a lot easier as he is always able to tell from one single glance at your body how you're currently feeling, one look from you enough to convey what you are unable to express in words. Always harboring an interest to learn about everything he doesn't know, Chrollo quickly learns how to use sign language for you so that you can communicate with him by using it. The Phantom Troupe actually makes an effort to learn the language as well since you're Chrollo's darling though with mixed results. Still, he gifts you a beautifully wrapped notebook in which the two of you often write in to talk to each other and once one is full he gifts you a new one but still keeps the old one as he likes skimming through the pages and reread the many dialogues the two of you had with each other, no matter how insignificant they may be. If you should have selective mutism and talk very rarely as a result of it Chrollo would be utterly captivated whenever you softly speak up, longing to keep your voice for himself.

Feitan Portor

☠️​Now, Feitan loves torturing people and for that can read it very well when people are anxious or in pain yet that doesn't mean that he always understands why. That proves to be troublesome as soon as he has you within his captivity as he is able to realise when something is wrong with you but he isn't always able to tell what it is you need and that gets on his nerves quickly. He relies on messages and texts typed on the phone to communicate with you as it is the easiest and fastest way for you to give him an answer. At the very least you aren't noisy though and annoy him in his daily life as you remain quiet, the silence between the two of you so thick that one would be able to cut it with a knife. Feitan's sadism is a huge burden for you though, especially when he finds himself longing to hear something from you. It doesn't have to be a word, just a sound from you. A sound of pain, coupled with those exciting squirms of your body as you're subdued to his torture. Whether you're actually incapable of forming words or are selectively mute ultimately doesn't matter to him, most of the time he appreciates things the way they are between you two.

Jouno Saigiku

♦️​Able to pick up emotions due to his enhanced hearing, Jouno is able to understand what is going in within you quite well though perhaps he isn't what you hoped the person who would understand you wordlessly to be like. The worries you have aren't unjustified because Jouno doesn't emphasise with your feelings even though he is able to pick them up. Instead he uses them against you to mold you into the obedient person he would like you to be. Most frustrating of all is that he tortures you by not allowing you any paper or even a phone which you could use to communicate with someone else. He wouldn't be able to talk to you by using such methods after all as he is blind. Deep down, though he wouldn't admit it out loud, he is secretly angry that you are able to communicate with others all whilst he is only able to read you and it is one of the main reasons why he forbids others to talk to you by using other methods. If you are actually able to talk but are selectively mute Jouno is not someone you can expect patience from. Insensitive and cruel, he considers your problem stupid. He doesn't want you to talk to everybody but he expects you to talk to him.

Gojo Satoru

🩵​Gojo proves to be quite conflicting with his obsession due to your mutism. Communicating with others starts to become significantly harder as Gojo's possessive and clingy antics interfere with your daily life. This leaves you with no choice but to turn to him though to your surprise you notice quickly that he learns fast how to understand you wordlessly without you having to use your phone. He already has experience with Inumaki after all and quickly teaches himself how to use sign language as well to be able to communicate with you just in case the electronic devices shouldn't work. Your silence leads to him being more protective over you though since you aren't able to verbally express yourself which tends to lead people to misunderstand you. Whenever you two are in a crowd he has a tight grip on your hand to not lose you though his Six Eyes would be able to find you quickly even if you somehow should escape his hold. Whenever someone approaches you or talks to you he always takes over the conversation for you which only worsens your social skills over time. Even if you should still be able to speak he won't let anyone besides himself hear your voice.

Inumaki Toge

🗣️​His friends always joke that the two of you are really meant to be as both of you are unable to talk normally. Both of you still make the best out of it despite those obstacles though and Inumaki, normally on a more reserved side, starts being more expressive with his body language, hand gestures as well as his facial expressions so that you can understand him better as well. Even when he sends you a message on your phone he starts using more emojis to give everything more emotions. During your relationship the two of you actually come up with a new secret language between the two of you and it tightens the bond the two of you share as now you're able to communicate in front of others without them being able to decipher what the two of you are saying. It's not a new experience for him to be made fun of due to his inability to speak by others but if you should experience the same treatment he doesn't tolerate it as he would normally, standing up for you whilst you might be unable to do so for yourself. In case you are able to talk he'd be really happy the moment you grow comfortable enough to talk to him even if you should stutter or mumble your words.