#we will just ignore that attempt at a hand

[kthologue]

operation: get over your childhood crush! — gojo satoru

synopsis. in an attempt to move on from your childhood best friend—who definitely doesn’t see you the way you want—you hatch a series of plans to help you get over him. it doesn't go as planned.

contents. hurt/comfort, fluff, nerd!gojo, college au, childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining, unreliable narrator, miscommunication, insecurity, dorky references bc u make him go dumb and digimon inaccuracies probably

notes. i did not proofread this monster!! enjoy :P

The hum of the air conditioning fills the room as night settles in, the light from Satoru’s bedside lamp casting a soft glow over his mess of a room. You’re both sprawled out across his bed, limbs entangled like it’s the most normal thing in the world. Because, for the two of you, it is.

Satoru’s Nintendo Switch is balanced on his stomach, hands lazily tapping away as his little Digimon charges into battle on screen. You’re curled into his side, one leg hooked around his and a blanket thrown haphazardly across you both. The half-abandoned textbooks sit at the edge of the mattress, tragically ignored. Another study session: failed. Not that Satoru needed it. He passed everything with flying colors. It was more of an excuse for you to come over.

“Your room still smells like that cheap vanilla air freshener,” you mumble, nose scrunching.

“That’s because you bought it,” he replies without looking up, thumb expertly guiding his character through an attack.

“Because your room would end up stinking with sweat and whatever freaky stuff you do in here.”

“Hey!” He whines. “I shower everyday and you know it. The stink is all you. Have you ever sniffed yourself, princess?”

You swat at his stomach, and he lets out a dramatic grunt. “Rude. I brought that candle to add ambiance.”

“Ah yes,” he deadpans, “nothing like artificial sugar scent.’”

You snort, settling your head back down on his shoulder, the fabric of his hoodie soft beneath your cheek. There’s a long pause before you say, “You know, if we fail our exams, I’m blaming your Digimon addiction.”

He grins. “I’m raising digital warriors, thank you very much. And I’ve never failed an exam, don’t wound me now!”

“They look like mutant toddlers with attitude problems.”

He gasps, clutching his heart. “They’re champions, you monster.”

You laugh, letting the sound dissolve into something quieter as your fingers absentmindedly trace a pattern into the blanket. His hand rests near yours. Not holding it. Not not holding it.

His glasses are tilted again. Of course.

You reach up and straighten them with a sigh. “Honestly, you’d be lost without me.”

“Not true.” He says it reflexively, then pauses. His voice softens. “Okay, maybe. I’d probably just let them slide down until I walked into a wall.”

You smile faintly. “And there’d be no one there to patch you up.”

“Tragic,” he agrees. “Would bleed out on the floor, probably.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

“You’re so bossy,” he counters, shooting you a sideways look. 

“Admit it,” he says, voice full of faux-smugness, “you’d miss me if I died tragically and left you all alone.”

You hesitate for a second too long before mumbling, “Don’t joke about that.”

It’s quiet. The game music loops in the background as his Digimon wins the battle with a triumphant fanfare.

He doesn’t say anything.

You suddenly feel too warm under the blanket. The joke had been harmless, stupid even.

But something inside you twists, the same something that’s been unraveling lately every time he mentions another girl.

Another type. That’s not you.

“You know,” you say slowly, eyes peeling from the screen to his phone, which lights up with a notification, revealing one of his favorite gravure model’s latest issues as its wallpaper. “You could probably date any girl you wanted. Why do you partake in freak stuff like this? It’s anti-girl repellent.”

He makes a noncommittal sound. “Doubt it.”

“I don’t. You’ve got that whole genius-who-doesn’t-realize-he’s-hot thing going on.”

He glances at you, skeptical. “Is that… a thing?”

“It is. Annoying, but effective. Girls love it.”

He hums, clearly amused, cheeks slightly flushed. “Well, good to know I have options.”

You try to laugh, but it catches in your throat.

You shouldn’t ask. You really shouldn’t.

But you’re lying in his bed. Wrapped up in him like you belong here. And some part of you aches to know the answer.

So you pretend it’s a joke. You tilt your head against his shoulder, voice airy, teasing. “Hey, be honest—do you think I’m cute?”

He goes still.

His hand tightens slightly on the Switch. You think you’ve pushed too far, so you try to backpedal before he can respond.

“Not like… like that,” you say quickly. “I just meant, like, in general. Compared to those girls you’re into. Say, Waka Inoue. You know, long legs, shiny hair, cute face?”

His jaw tightens.

You’re still trying to play it off. “I mean, I’m not fishing for compliments. I just—was wondering. Curiosity. Science.”

He finally turns to look at you.

His gaze lingers. And for the first time all night, he’s not smiling.

You feel your breath stutter in your throat underneath his gaze.

Then he shrugs.

“…Nah.”

It slices through the air with quiet finality.

Your heart drops. You don’t let it show. Not fully. But it must flicker in your face, because he quickly looks away.

You laugh. It sounds forced.

“Yeah, that’s fair. I mean, I wasn’t expecting a yes or anything.”

He’s silent.

You shift away from him slightly, giving him space. “I should head home soon. We didn’t really get any studying done, anyway.”

“It’s late. Why don’t you stay the night?”

Usually, you’d accept his offer with a smile, but you really wanted to go home and wallow in your own self pity.

“It’s fine, I have something to do anyway,” the lie slips out of your mouth easily as you begin to pack your things.

And you miss the way he watches you—guilt in his eyes, frustration on his tongue. 

You knew it was time. Ten years of hopeless, fruitless pining had done enough damage to your heart.

It had started the day your parents moved next door. Satoru had been the loud, obnoxious, too-pretty-for-his-own-good boy on the playground who shoved candy in your hand and asked if you wanted to be friends.

You’d been doomed since day one.

And to make things worse, you’d both gotten into Japan’s most competitive university—together. Same neighborhood. Same school. Same train route. You weren’t just stuck with him. You were haunted.

But you were young. And hot. And allegedly in your prime. You couldn’t keep orbiting around a guy who still thought microwave gyoza was a food group and used your shampoo because it “smelled like you, so why not?”

You were sipping coffee with your two closest friends, and today’s topic was—unfortunately—your love life.

“Honestly, I can’t believe you’ve been stuck on Gojo for this long,” Utahime said, disgusted, as she stirred her latte like it personally offended her. “You could do so much better.”

“It was kind of cute in high school,” Shoko added “but now it’s just sad.”

You sighed, blowing on your drink. “I know, okay? It’s not like I haven’t tried. But he’s literally the only guy I’ve ever been close to. I don’t even talk to guys besides him.”

“That’s because he’s been gatekeeping you since the two of you met,” Utahime said flatly. “I swear, every time someone so much as glanced at you, he pulled that overprotective act.”

You wrinkled your nose. “That doesn’t sound like ’Toru…”

Shoko and Utahime exchanged a look. One of those knowing glances.

Utahime cleared her throat. “It doesn’t matter! What matters is you are hot. You’ve got the face, the body, the grades, the personality. You just need the confidence.”

You peeked up at her, unsure. “You really think so?”

Utahime leaned forward, smirking like she’d just won a war. “I know so. And that’s why I’ve come up with a plan.”

You narrowed your eyes. “A plan?”

She slammed her hands down on the table, eyes alight. “Operation: Get Over Gojo Satoru.”

You blinked. “That’s… a long title.”

Shoko blew a slow stream of smoke. “It’s either this or pine until you die and haunt him as a love-sick ghost.”

You stared into your cup, sighing. “Fine. I’m in. What’s step one?”

Utahime grinned.

“Whatcha doing?” 

Gojo’s voice drifts lazily over your shoulder, followed by the soft rustle of his hoodie as he leans in. He’s far too close, obnoxiously so, his breath tickling your ear and his chin was nearly resting on your shoulder.

You don’t even glance up. “Studying.”

The two of you are supposed to be studying— finals loom overhead like a guillotine, but as usual, very little academic progress has been made. Mostly because your study partner is a six-foot-something genius who insists on sitting sideways in the booth, long legs tangled in yours under the table like it’s second nature.

He hums, skeptical. “Liar.”

You hum noncommittally, thumbing through the dating app Utahime suggested with vague disinterest. The guys blur together: not tall enough, too cocky, too bland, too not Satoru. One makes a joke suspiciously close to a Gojo classic, and you immediately hit unmatch with a scowl.

“Wait,” Satoru says slowly. “Are you on a dating app?!” He practically yells the last part. Half the cafe turns to glare at the source of the disruption.

You hiss under your breath, mortified, swatting at him. “Keep your voice down, idiot!”

His eyes widen dramatically, hands thrown up like you’ve stabbed him. “I leave you alone for two minutes and you’re already planning a life with someone named ‘Keita, aspiring DJ and spiritual healer’? I’m wounded.”

“You weren’t supposed to read that far.”

“I’m a speed-reader,” he says with a smug grin. “It’s part of the whole ‘genius’ thing.”

Before you can argue, he snatches your phone with a level of ease that tells you this isn’t the first time he’s done something like this. He grins like he’s won a prize.

“Satoru!”

“Relax, I’m not texting anyone,” he says, fingers flying across the screen. “Just… optimizing.”

Your heart drops. “What are you typing?”

“Nothing~”

You make a grab for your phone, but he effortlessly leans back, holding it above his head with those ridiculously long limbs. You glare at him from across the table, arm outstretched like a furious cat trying to swat at the moon.

“Give it back!”

“Patience.”

“Gojo Satoru���”

“Okay, okay!” he relents with a dramatic sigh, finally placing your phone face-down on the table like he’s done you a huge favor.

You snatch it up immediately, eyes scanning for damage. No weird messages. No unsolicited likes. No new matches.

“…What did you do?”

“I didn’t message anyone,” he assures, too innocent to be trusted. “I’m not that cruel.”

You narrow your eyes, suspicious.

“But,” he adds with a grin, “I didn’t know you were dating.”

“I’m not,” you mutter, clicking your phone off. “Just… considering it. Trying. It’s not going well.”

“Good.”

The word comes out too fast. Too sharp. And his face doesn’t match the light tone he’s trying to play off.

You raise an eyebrow. “Good?”

He shifts, leaning back in his seat, suddenly very interested in stirring the foam in his overpriced coffee. “I mean, it’s good you’re not settling. You should be picky. Guys are the worst.”

You snort. “You are a guy.”

“Exactly. I know what we’re like.”

You smile despite yourself, rolling your eyes. “I’m sure you think you’re the exception.”

“I know I am,” he says, winking. Then he sobers slightly, eyes flickering to yours. “I’m just… looking out for you.”

The sincerity in his voice makes your chest ache. You wish it was more than just him being protective in that big-brotherly, annoyingly loyal kind of way.

You take a sip of your coffee to cool your nerves. It doesn’t help. The words come out before you can stop them.

“You know with the way things are going… maybe you should just date me at this point.”

Silence.

It’s a joke. Supposed to be. But the second it leaves your lips, it tastes real.

Gojo freezes.

You panic. “I didn’t mean—like, I was just joking—”

But he turns toward you, eyes unreadable behind the fringe of snowy white hair. “Maybe I should.”

You blink.

And then, with infuriating ease, he grins.

“Anyway,” he says quickly, swiping your phone from the table again before you can stop him, “Yuto here looks like the type to ghost you after three dates and a karaoke duet. You can do better.”

You gape at him, completely thrown off, your heart slamming in your chest.

You don’t even notice what he’s done until later—until you get home and open your app to find that your bio has been changed.

Taken. Mentally married to a nerd since birth.

You want to scream.

Operation: Get Over Gojo Satoru?

Yeah. Not going great.

Not at all.

You weren’t sure why you agreed to it.

Maybe it was the look in Utahime’s eyes—determined, dangerous, hopeful. Maybe it was Shoko promising she wouldn’t let you walk out of her apartment looking like a clown. Maybe it was the quiet part of you that wanted to see yourself through someone else’s eyes. Someone who wasn’t Gojo Satoru.

“Today,” Utahime had declared, curling the last strand of your hair like she was threading a spell, “is the first day of your Gojo-less future”

You laughed nervously, tugging at the hem of your skirt. It wasn’t your usual style—not the dewy makeup you weren’t used to seeing in the mirror, not the new haircut that made your eyes look almost too bright, not the blouse that left your shoulders bare in a way that made you feel strangely noticed.

But when you caught your reflection, your heart fluttered. You looked… beautiful.

When you stepped onto campus, the sun was out, the wind teasing the edge of your coat. You spotted him immediately—Gojo, slouched against the wall outside your lecture hall, nose buried in his Switch as he muttered something under his breath about evolving stats and attack modifiers.

He didn’t notice you at first.

Then he looked up.

His game froze mid-battle. His mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again, like someone had unplugged his brain.

“Wha—” he said eloquently. “Wh—what did you do.”

You blinked. “Hi to you too.”

He stared, unabashed. His glasses were slightly crooked, his ears glowing scarlet. He looked like someone had just told him Digimon was real and living in your shoes.

He blinked. “You look like… like you skipped two evolution stages overnight. Straight to Mega. Like if Angewomon fused with… I don’t know, some kind of rare, limited-release goddess-type Digimon that only spawns on a lunar eclipse.”

You blinked.

Utahime’s voice in your head: You’re hot. Unstoppable. He’s going to be speechless.

And Gojo was. But not in the way you wanted.

You tried to laugh. “So I look like a cartoon?”

“A beautiful cartoon,” he said, serious now. “Like the kind of boss character they only show for two frames because animating her costs too much.”

Your heart stuttered. It was the sort of compliment only Gojo could give: clumsy and dorky, yet brilliant in its own way.

But the moment passed.

He rubbed the back of his neck and looked away, sunglasses slipping slightly as he muttered, “You just… you look different. That’s all.”

Different.

Not better. Not prettier.

Just different.

You swallowed. “Yeah, well. Thought I’d try something new.”

“I didn’t say it was bad,” he added quickly, but the words felt unsure. Flimsy.

“I should… use the restroom,” you mumbled, turning before he could say anything else.

In the bathroom, you stared at your reflection. Your lipstick looked too bold now. Your lashes too heavy. Despite the change, you were still painfully you— the you Gojo teased during study sessions, the one he let borrow his hoodie when it rained, the one who sat next to him during endless all-nighters. And maybe that was the problem. You weren’t like those girls on the magazines. 

What you didn’t see, what you couldn’t see, was Gojo still standing outside the lecture hall, staring after you, Switch forgotten, game over screen blinking on the screen.

He didn’t even notice.

“You good, Satoru?” Shoko asked, walking by.

He blinked. “I think I just saw my best friend… and my final boss… and my future wife… all at once.”

Shoko snorted. “You’re a dork.”

Gojo just sighed, shoulders slumping as he muttered, “I’m so doomed.”

It’s a mild Friday evening when you meet him—Kazuya, the guy from your psychology class. He’s polite, articulate, and kind of cute. The kind of guy who asks if you prefer cats or dogs before ordering his drink, and actually listens when you answer.

Utahime and Shoko had insisted you say yes. “A change of pace,” they called it. “You need a baseline. Not every guy is going to be Gojo Satoru.”

Exactly. That was the point.

You’re sipping a matcha latte and nodding along as Kazuya explains his thesis on cognitive development when a very familiar voice cuts through the air.

“Well, well, well. Fancy seeing you here.”

Your stomach drops. You look up, and sure enough—

Satoru.

In all his tall, obnoxiously eye-catching glory, wearing a white t-shirt that was inside out and a grin like he just won the lottery. He's holding a bottle of ramune and standing directly next to your table, like he’s been there the whole time.

You blink. “What are you doing here?”

He shrugs. “Thirsty. Wanted a drink.”

“At this café? On this side of campus?”

“Yeah,” he says, tone innocent. “Weird coincidence, huh?”

Kazuya offers a polite smile. “You’re her friend, right? Gojo?”

“Oh, best friend. Lifelong. Practically her shadow.” He plops into the empty seat beside you without asking, casually tossing his ramune onto the table. “What’s your name again? Kaname?”

“…Kazuya.”

“Right, right. I always mix those up. You look like a Kaname, though. Or maybe a Yusuke.”

You stare at him, incredulous. “Satoru—”

But he’s already leaning over, squinting at the book tucked under Kazuya’s arm. “Ooh, Piaget. Bold move. Love that for you.”

Kazuya blinks. “Do you… like developmental theory?”

“I like being correct,” Gojo says with a cheeky smile. “Also, [Name] hates Piaget. She called him ‘the Freud of toddlers’ last semester.”

Kazuya turns to you in mild surprise. “Really?”

“I—I mean, yeah,” you mumble. “Sort of.”

Gojo beams. “Told you.”

Kazuya makes a valiant effort to steer the conversation back to safe, neutral ground.

“So, you mentioned you're interested in behaviorism, right?” he says, offering a gentle smile. “I thought Dr. Takeda's lecture on conditioned responses was kind of fascinating—”

“Oh, riveting,” Satoru cuts in, lounging back in his chair like he owns the café. “Nothing like bonding over Pavlov’s dogs to spark romance. Did she tell you she cried during Inside Out because the depiction of core memories was ‘psychologically resonant’? Real charmer, this one.”

You shoot Satoru a look. “I was twelve!”

Kazuya blinks, trying not to smile. “I actually thought that was pretty moving, too.”

“Wow,” Satoru deadpans. “A match made in neuroscience.”

Kazuya laughs politely and continues, undeterred. “So, uh, any research plans after graduation?”

You open your mouth to answer, but Satoru beats you to it again.

“She used to want to be a vet. Cried when she had to dissect a frog in middle school. Tragic day.”

“Is that true?” Kazuya turns to you, amused now.

“Technically, yes,” you mutter into your drink.

By the time your cup is empty, you realize you’ve laughed more at Satoru’s interjections than you have at anything Kazuya’s said. Not because Kazuya wasn’t interesting—he was. He was calm, thoughtful, well-read, and clearly trying. But next to Satoru, whose entire presence seemed impossible to ignore, Kazuya didn’t stand a chance.

Still, to his credit, Kazuya maintains a steady, if slightly strained, expression as he sets down his cup and finally says, carefully,

“So… is Gojo your boyfriend?”

The question hangs awkwardly.

You and Satoru answer at the same time.

“No,” you say quickly.

“Yes,” he says with a smile.

You both turn to stare at each other.

“I mean—no,” he corrects, waving his hands. “Just a joke. Hah. Obviously.”

Kazuya blinks. “Right.”

You can’t meet either of their eyes. Your drink is finished, your palms are damp, and the café is suddenly too warm, too small. You push back your chair and stand.

“I should go. Early lab meeting tomorrow.” It’s the weakest excuse, but neither of them calls you on it.

Kazuya stands too, polite as ever. “Thanks for meeting up. You seem like a really cool person.” He hesitates, then adds, gently, “I just think maybe you’ve already got someone.”

You freeze. You open your mouth, then close it again. There’s nothing to say.

Outside, the cold air kisses your cheeks like a reminder. It stings a little, or maybe that’s just the confusion burning in your chest.

Satoru’s already waiting for you. Of course he is. He’s leaning against the lamppost, silver hair catching in the wind. But his eyes are downcast, trained on the sidewalk.

He doesn’t say anything right away. Neither do you.

You exhale, watching your breath curl white in the air. “You didn’t have to crash it, y’know.”

“I didn’t crash,” he replies without looking at you. “I was invited.”

“By who?”

“Fate. Karma. The gods of poor decision-making.” He shrugs.

You roll your eyes, but it tugs a laugh from you anyway. Stupid, annoying, charming Gojo.

“So,” he says after a beat, nudging your arm gently with his elbow, “how’d it go?”

You glance at him. He still won’t meet your gaze. His lips are pursed like he’s holding back a hundred words and none of them are funny.

“He was nice,” you admit. Despite being rudely interrupted by the white haired idiot beside you.

“Nice is boring,” he mutters, kicking at a loose stone on the pavement.

You laugh, soft and tired. “You’re the worst.”

He finally looks at you then, lips quirking into that smug, too-knowing smile. “But you like me anyway.”

You look away, cheeks burning, heart thudding like a traitor in your chest.

You don’t answer.

You don’t have to.

Despite Operation: Get Over Gojo Satoru failing in every imaginable way, things were starting to feel… bearable.

Almost good, even.

Satoru still hovered a little too close, always with that same half-smile like he knew something you didn’t. And maybe, just maybe— his constant sabotage, the teasing, the jealousy, the way he looked at you like he was about to say something important but never did… maybe it all meant something.

You let yourself believe it, just a little.

And that was your first mistake.

It happens quietly, without fanfare or warning. Just a throwaway line between sips of lukewarm coffee and the soft shuffle of paper. You’re both at your usual spot in the library, surrounded by open notebooks and highlighted packets, pretending to study more than you actually are.

You’re halfway through underlining a term in your psychology notes when Satoru leans back in his chair, stretches like a cat, and says—far too casually:

“So, guess who asked me out?”

You hum absentmindedly. “Who?”

“Ayane.”

The name hits you like a slap.

You freeze, highlighter paused mid-sentence. “…Ayane? From the biochem track?”

“Yeah,” he says, practically glowing. “You know her, right? She's in your study group sometimes.”

You do know her. Of course you do. Everyone knows her.

She’s beautiful, with this effortless, clean kind of elegance—long legs, perfect posture, and that quiet, poised confidence that makes professors adore her and guys fall over themselves. The kind of girl who posts one blurry bookshelf photo and still racks up a thousand likes. The kind of girl Gojo always jokes about marrying.

But he’s not joking now. He’s beaming.

“She asked me out to dinner this Friday. She’s so smart, too—I didn’t even have to pretend to know what quantum entanglement was. It’s wild.” He laughs, brushing a hand through his hair. “I thought she’d never go for a guy like me, y’know?”

You force a laugh. “A guy like you?”

“Yeah. I dunno. Too much, I guess? But she said I was ‘refreshing.’” He grins. 

Your stomach sinks.

This is what you thought you wanted—for him to move on, so you could finally do the same. For Operation: Get Over Gojo Satoru to succeed, for real this time.

But now that it’s happening, it feels like someone’s slowly pulling your ribs apart.

“Oh,” you manage, smiling like you’ve practiced it. “That’s great. I’m happy for you.”

He doesn’t notice the way your voice cracks on happy. He just keeps talking, rambling about restaurant reservations and how she likes contemporary poetry and used to live in France. You nod in all the right places, but your thoughts are already slipping away.

Because it isn’t just that he’s going out with someone else.

It’s that he chose her.

Her with her flawless skin and quiet charm and the kind of beauty that doesn’t need to try. Her, with everything you’re not. And more than that, it’s that he made you believe you could have meant more to him—when really, he’d been searching for someone else all along.

You excuse yourself early, mumbling something about laundry.

He doesn’t follow.

You don’t cry until you’re halfway home, the cold air biting at your cheeks as your vision blurs.

For the first time in years, you don’t text him goodnight.

You don’t wait for a meme. Or a dumb joke. Or his usual, “Hey, genius. Sleep.”

You go silent.

And when he texts the next day, you don’t reply.

You skip your library meet-up. You don’t sit next to him in class. You even duck into the stairwell when you see his ridiculous white hair from across campus.

It’s not because you’re mad. It’s because you’re heartbroken.

And you can’t keep pretending it doesn’t matter—that he doesn’t matter.

You weren’t just losing your best friend.

You were losing the love of your life.

And he didn’t even notice.

It takes him three days to notice you’re gone.

Well—no. That’s a lie.

He notices immediately. The moment your usual seat in the library stays empty. When your laugh doesn’t echo in the café line. When your name doesn’t pop up on his screen at 2AM with some stupid meme captioned, “this reminded me of you, idiot.”

But he tells himself you’re busy.

Midterms, right? Stress. Coffee. You get like this sometimes, and he gets it. He really does.

So he waits. Tells himself not to be clingy.

But then Friday comes.

And he's sitting across from Ayane in some expensive, quiet restaurant where the napkins are folded like origami cranes and the water tastes filtered. She’s telling him about her research internship in Osaka, about enzymes and international grants, and all he can think is—

You’d be making fun of me right now.

You’d be kicking him under the table. Whispering some dumb pun about digimon. You’d be pulling faces every time he tried to pronounce the items on the menu. You’d be… you.

Ayane is lovely.

But she doesn’t laugh when he says something stupid. She just smiles politely.

She doesn’t ask about why his glasses are always crooked (it’s so you could fix them). Doesn’t tease him for double-knotting his laces like a paranoid grandma. Doesn’t call him “Sato” like it’s some private joke only the two of you get.

He walks her home. Thanks her for a nice evening.

Then he goes to the convenience store. Alone.

And he sees your favorite snack on the shelf and buys two out of habit.

He stares at his phone the entire train ride back.

No new messages.

Just the last one you sent days ago:

“Laundry. Rain check?”

And nothing since.

He waits. Another day. Then two.

You don’t show up to class again.

You don’t like his latest meme.

You don’t comment on the Digimon pun he texted you out of desperation.

You are silent.

And Satoru Gojo—brilliant, blind-sighted, the golden boy of theoretical physics, always five steps ahead—realizes, too late, that he’s been a fool.

That he didn’t just lose a study partner.

He lost the one person who knew him better than he knew himself.

The one person he couldn’t replace with rare Digimon pulls, half-solved physics equations, or overly sweet desserts.

And for the first time since he was a kid—

He’s afraid.

It’s been a little over a week.

A little over a week since Gojo Satoru has heard your voice. Since you shoved your coffee at him without asking, muttering “too sweet for me” when you really meant “I got this for you.” Since you poked fun at his stupid sock choices, or knocked your foot against his under the table like it was nothing.

And Satoru is suffering.

He's tried everything. Showed up to your house with excuses too weak to be called plans (“Hey, I brought your favorite snacks. I just... figured maybe you forgot you liked them?”). Waited outside your lecture hall until a security guard asked if he was lost. Took detours between classes hoping to catch a glimpse of your ponytail, your laugh, anything.

But you were always one step ahead.

You stopped answering his texts. Blocked him on that stupid dating app (which—ouch, even though you hadn’t used it seriously). You didn’t even show up to the library anymore. And even Shoko started looking at him with thinly veiled pity and a “you really fumbled the bag” look in her eyes.

Gojo Satoru is… just tired.

Miserable.

So when he finally finds you—not because he’s chasing you down this time, but because he’s walking the long way home, and there you are, sitting on the old swings at the park where you first met—it knocks the wind out of him.

You don’t look surprised to see him. Just... tired too.

“I figured you’d find me eventually,” you say quietly.

He swallows. His hands curl at his sides like he’s preparing for a fight.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he says, like it isn’t obvious. “Why?”

You look away. “You’re smart. Figure it out.”

Gojo looks down at his feet.

“I didn’t know you felt that way.”

Silence stretches between you, heavy and stinging. The playground is empty except for the wind dragging a soda can down the sidewalk and the faint creak of the swing chain.

Then he exhales, ragged and unsure. “Look, I can’t—I can’t take this anymore.”

You glance up.

“I can’t either.”

Hope flares too fast, too naive in his chest. His shoulders drop like he’s been holding up the world. “That’s good,” he breathes, stepping forward. “Because the silent treatment—God, I thought I was going to—”

“I don’t think we can be friends anymore.”

The words stop him cold.

“What?” he breathes.

You laugh, but it’s hollow. Like something already broken. “Don’t you get it? I can’t be friends with you and pretend that nothing’s changed. That I’m okay just being your best friend. I’ve been in love with you for years, Satoru.”

His heart stutters. You don’t stop.

“And I love myself too much to keep hurting for someone who doesn’t even look at me that way.” Your voice cracks, but you push through. “Do you know how humiliating it feels? To love someone so much it aches, and still feel like you’ll never be enough?”

He opens his mouth. Closes it.

You wipe your eyes with the sleeve of your jacket, swallowing the lump in your throat. “You never even thought I was cute.”

He looks like he’s been hit.

“I’ve been chasing scraps. Leftovers. Mixed signals and stupid inside jokes. I—I can’t do it anymore.”

You finally meet his eyes, and that’s when he sees it: the hurt you’ve been hiding behind every smile, every brush-off, every joke you cracked to keep the silence from swallowing you.

And for once, Gojo Satoru can’t find a single thing to say.

Not yet.

Not until he stops you from walking away.

“Where did you get an idea like that?” His cerulean eyes search yours desperately. “I-I don’t think you’re just cute, are you kidding?” he blurts, eyes wild.

“Y-you’re breathtaking! Everything I’ve dreamt of and more! That night when you asked me if I thought you were cute, I only said no because it would be a divine crime to reduce to such. All of my fantasies have been centered around you since we first met on that playground—since you tripped over your shoelaces trying to race me to the monkey bars!”

Your breath catches.

He continues, desperate now, like every second of silence might kill him.

“I love you! And not like a brother. Like—I want to marry you. Like, small wedding in Okinawa, barefoot on the beach, you wearing that soft blue dress you like. I already planned it. Our firstborn would be a daughter, with your eyes, my hair. She’d be the boss of the house.”

You gape.

“Wait—”

“I’m not done!” he says, hands thrown up. “Then we’d have twins. Boys. Chaos gremlins. One would look like my twin and the other yours, and they’d absolutely terrorize us—but their sister keeps them in check, she’s fierce like you.”

You blink. A tear slides down your cheek.

“I want to move to Kyoto,” he says, softer now. “Buy a house with a dumb little garden. Grow tomatoes we’ll never eat. Live out the rest of our lives where it’s quiet.”

You cover your mouth, stunned. “You… really thought all that out?”

“It’s easy,” he breathes, “when all I can think about is you.”

He steps closer. The wind tugs his white hair into his eyes, but he doesn’t blink.

“I go to study nonlinear quantum field theory and all I see is your face. I try to cool off and play Digimon, and even that’s ruined—my lineup is garbage now! I only keep the ones you said were cute!”

A laugh bubbles out of you, fragile and watery.

“You idiot,” you murmur.

“I am,” he nods solemnly. “I’m the world’s biggest idiot. And I’m in love with you.”

Another tear slips down. He wipes it away before you can.

“Is it too late?” he asks, voice cracking slightly. “Please tell me it’s not too late.”

You stare at him—this man, this brilliant, ridiculous, loyal boy who had held your heart long before you ever admitted it.

“It’s not too late,” you whisper.

He doesn’t speak. Just steps closer. Gently and carefully, like he's handling something sacred, he cups your cheek in his hand.

Your nose bumps his. His breath ghosts over your lips.

“I’ve been waiting to do this for years,” he whispers.

And then, finally, he kisses you.

It’s not perfect, your cheeks are still wet, his nose bumps yours again, and his hand trembles just a little, but it’s warm and sweet and soft. It tastes like home. Like every unanswered question finally getting its answer.

When he pulls away, his smile is sheepish. “So… are we still doing the whole ‘Operation: Get Over Gojo’ thing, or?”

You laugh, heart full, forehead pressed to his.

“Mission failed,” you whisper.

He grins. “Good.”

And then he kisses you again.

art by leimiruu on x!

[planet-dusk]

cw ; cnc, dd/lg elements but no actual age regression, daddy dom!chan, forced breeding, pet names: baby/girl, sweetheart ( 1.2k w. )

minors dni. for mature audiences only !

there are few things in life chan loves more than coming home to you after a long day of work. you’re lying flat on your stomach on the carpet, a flurry of pens and paper around you. with a pleasant smile chan notices you’re wearing the clothes he picked out for you this morning: a soft blue knitted sweater, his favorite pleated skirt and white knee socks. one of your feet taps restlessly against your other ankle. if you’ve heard him enter the house, you don’t show it. 

“hey, baby,” he kneels and rests a hand on your warm thigh, “daddy’s home.”

only a soft hum acknowledges his presence. on a regular day you’d have your arms wrapped around his neck by now. but today’s no regular day, and your lack of response has heat coiling in the pit of his stomach. 

“whatcha reading, baby?”

you shift so he can see your book. the stuffed animal it was propped up against topples over, and chan picks him up. 'wolf chan', you'd called it. the toy had been a joke gift from changbin for his birthday, but you loved the gray plush so much he couldn't bring himself to get rid of it.

"my smart girl."

“thank you, daddy.” 

the room falls quiet again bar the sound of rustling paper. chan slides his hand higher up your thigh, skims past the hem of your skirt to gently pry your legs apart.

“let daddy get a better look, sweetheart.”

he hovers behind you, leaning over your back to steal a glance over your shoulder. the front of his slacks presses against your ass, growing more strained at the contact. 

the carpet surrounding you is covered in your notes and sketches.

“daddy’s little girl is so talented,” chan smiles, “i’m proud of you, baby.” 

strong fingers splay out over your hip. your breath hitches when he grinds his bulge against your ass.

“w-what are you doing, daddy?” 

“daddy just wants to be close to his little girl. don’t worry about it. go on, don’t let daddy stop you.”

one arm keeps you caged in, his body weight pressing you into the carpet. you smell so good: sweet and soft with hints of vanilla, and chan can’t wait to ruin you. 

“that’s my good girl.” 

he shifts and straddles the back of your thighs, flipping your skirt and making quick work of his belt and fly. he doesn’t even bother taking off his slacks, letting his hard cock slap against your ass. 

you jolt, nearly tearing a page. 

“daddy —” 

“shht, daddy just wants to play with his little girl, okay?”

there’s no time to respond; chan pulls your panties to the side, pushing the fat head of his cock between your glistening folds. you’re already dripping for him — you've been wet ever since you discussed this scenario before he left for work this morning — but without prep he knows it’s going to be a big stretch. 

“stop, no, daddy —” you attempt to push yourself up on your elbows, but he presses you down with a hand between your shoulder blades.

“we haven’t even started, baby. don’t you want to be good for daddy?”

you gasp when his tip catches on your fluttering hole. then he pushes through.

“h-hurts, ‘stoo big, daddy —” 

you’re so fucking tight, and with every inch he forces inside he can feel another gush of wetness around his cock.

“i know baby, i know. you're so pretty, daddy couldn't control himself…"

you're whimpering, clenching around his cock, making it even harder for him to fit his full length in. slowly but surely he sinks in, ignoring your cries of protest.

"stop whining, baby. you can take it. aren't you my big girl?"

you moan when he finally bottoms out. he’s got you flush against the carpet — still straddling the back of your thighs, cock snug inside your warm cunt — and it makes it impossible to move. he knows how much it turns you on, this whole act, but it always surprises him how hard it makes him. 

“say it. i want to hear it from you. say you’re daddy’s big girl.” 

there's a beat of silence and he moves his hand to the back of your neck, applying a light but demanding pressure. he still hasn't moved his hips, feeling your walls flutter around him.

“i-i’m daddy’s big girl."

“that’s right, sweetheart. and you know what happens to big girls?”

you shake your head as best as you can with one side of your face against the carpet, and chan bends over so his mouth is right next to your ear. 

“this.” 

he pulls out and thrusts back in again in one smooth motion, forcing his cock deep enough to kiss your cervix. your eyes widen in shock and he clasps a hand over your mouth before you can protest, muffling your moans and gasps as he starts to grind into you.

chan knows it's got to hurt at least a little, fucking you rough and deep like this, but you're clenching so hard he couldn't pull out even if he wanted. he gets up on his feet so he's crouching over you. you're clawing at the carpet but he's stronger, dragging your hips up and holding them an iron grip. the way you let him manhandle you makes his head hazy and his cock throb.

"'s too much daddy, i can't…" your hands find wolf chan, pressing your face into the plush. tears and drool darken the gray fur.

"you can and you will," chan grits out between clenched teeth, trying not to lose composure, "and you better get used to this, baby. daddy's going to fuck this pussy every day."

your body goes slack as you let him use you, drifting away in that cloudy headspace as you feel your orgasm approaching fast. chan fucks you through it without his usual care, too focused on reaching his own peak.

you're writhing underneath him, overstimulated, the drag of his cock on the edge of becoming too painful — pleading for him to stop, to cum, anything.

"you're doing so well for daddy, sweetheart. it'll all be over soon," chan groans as the tell-tale signs of another orgasm wreck through your body — "daddy's going to fill up this pretty cunt. make you a mommy. don't you want to be a mommy, baby?"

"daddy no," you gasp, but it's too late. chan's spilling inside of you, forcing his cock impossibly deeper.

"oh sweetheart," he mocks, "you're supposed to say 'thank you'."

his jerking hips still, and he lets himself fall on his side, rolling you over with him. he kisses your shoulder and wraps his arms around you. it's difficult after such an intense scene, but he wills his breathing to slow down so you can match yours to the steady rise and fall of his chest.

"'s everything okay, baby? need me to get you something? water? a towel?"

"just hold me like this, for now." you snuggle deeper into his arms and sigh. "you were perfect."

"so were you." chan reaches around you and grabs wolf chan, giving you the fluffy wolf to hold. "my perfect little family," he smiles.

© planet-dusk reposting, copying and translating my works is prohibited.

[jinwoosungs]

04/14/25; 07:45pm

sylus x fem.reader

notes: an early birthday fic for sylus because i love him ♡

sylus found himself in a sweet dream, one where your laughter echoes throughout the meadows as he becomes drunk off the scent of daturas blooming. he smiles, inching himself closer while wrapping his arms around your waist.

“mmmph, what’s gotten you so giddy, kitten?” he buries the tip of his nose in what he assumed to be your hair-

yet completely freezes with horror when he didn’t feel your pulse.

waking up with a start, his ruby irises narrow with annoyance, seeing that he had been cuddling your pillow the entire time. tossing it aside, the onychinus leader stretches out his limbs, tossing aside his sheets as his bare feet meets with the marble flooring of his home.

grabbing his sweatpants, he puts them on while following the sounds of your laughter, running a hand across his silvery locks of hair as the scent of burnt sugar singes at his nostrils. he enters the living room, seeing you hunched over what looked like a cake as you tried to decorate it. even as your eyebrows were furrowed with concentration, you still kept on giggling while applying the frosting in a lopsided manner.

with his arms crossed over his chest, he lets out a low rumble of your name, earning a gasp from you. “and what’s all this commotion about, sweetie?”

a sheepish expression was seen on your face, with you trying to hide the lopsided creation from his sight. “ahhh, i’m sorry for waking you up. i was just… laughing at my poor attempts at baking a cake.”

sylus let’s out an amused chuckle in response, “and why would you ever need to bake a cake, kitten?”

you purse your lips and gesture toward the clock, “it’s already midnight.”

the onychinus leader lifts a brow up in response, “and i’m well aware of that. but what does that have to do with you baking a cake?”

another nervous laughter escapes from your parted lips, “well, it’s now april 18, your birthday.”

realization dawns on him, making his heart begin to race within his chest. warmth was felt blossoming all across his body as he takes quick strides towards you, “for my birthday? you shouldn’t have, kitten.”

your protests were ignored when sylus places you on his lap, admiring your cake in its entirety as his eyes linger on the grumpy crow decoration and a single candle. the happy birthday was drawn across the front of the cake in what appeared to be chocolate syrup, and you kept clearing your throat in embarrassment.

“i-i know it’s not the prettiest cake, b-but i wanted to do something for your birthday-“

he cuts off your words with a searing kiss, pressing his lips against yours in hopes of silently conveying how much your gift meant to him. all his life, the date of his birthday had barely been celebrated-

in fact, he was often scorned for simply existing.

yet here you are, celebrating his birthday with so much love and care that it brought tears to his eyes.

when the need for air proved to be too much for you, sylus pulls away from the kiss, resting his forehead against yours while framing at your face, “nothing you gift me will ever be short of perfection in my eyes, little dove.”

his smile turns into a wolfish grin, “now, let’s say we give this birthday cake a try.” he was ready to cut into it when your hand stops him. giving him a kind smile, you lean closer to the cake while picking up a lighter. the flickering flame ignites the candle, and you began to sing a familiar melody for him.

“happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear sylus, happy birthday to you~” sylus could feel his cheeks become dyed a rosier hue in response to your song, simply basking in your smile when you began giggling once more. “go on sy, make a wish and blow out the candle.”

feigning annoyance, he places the cake closer to him, “alright, if you say so, sweetie.” he looks into the flame, pretending to be deep in thought when really, he’s known what his wish would be all along.

i wish to spend an eternity with you.

with that single phrase coursing through him like a never-ending mantra, he blows out the candle with a single puff of air, chuckling when your excited claps echo throughout the room.

his arms go back to wrapping around your form, placing you on his lap (where you’ve always belonged) while cutting into the cake with you. as you both enjoyed the chocolate cake, sylus steal yet another lingering kiss from you-

finding your lips to be far sweeter than the cake itself.

end notes: i needed to write something fluffy for sylus’s birthday, since i adored where hearts live so much (;﹏;) and with his birthday fic out of the way, i can properly announce my hiatus.

my creativity has been running so low when it comes to writing lately, and i want to take my time to give my mind a break before coming back eventually, so i hope you readers will anticipate my return ♡

all stories are written by rei; please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works!!

[neeeooon]

\o/ hiii!! hope ur ok!! i was wondering if i could request headcanons for Windbreaker, for a reader who is sakura's younger twin sister?? specifically with umemiya, kaji, and sugishita?

YESSS TY FOR THE REQ 🩵🩵

when you’re sakura’s twin

wbk x sakura’s twin sister!reader. fluff, slightly platonic

umemiya hajime

-> he finds you adorable, especially when you get all flustered in his presence and snap at him as a result

-> “your hair looks so cute today, y/n!” “s-shut up!”

-> the bofurin first-years seem especially close to you, since you’re the same age as them. umemiya will catch himself feeling twinges of jealousy in his chest as he watches suo and kiryu tease you in an attempt to fluster you the same way your brother easily flusters

-> when the tickling starts, you manage to catch umemiya’s eye and scream for him to save you. not a second later you’re plucked out of your seat and the boys are waved off to find something productive to do for the town

-> “t-thanks.. for that…” your face flames when you think about how easy it was for him to lift you to safety. umemiya beams, eyes squinting as he scratches the back of his head. “you can always come to me for help, y/n!” “i take it back!”

kaji ren

-> catches himself staring at you whenever you’re around. he can’t not focus in on you, watching as you interact with other bofurin members or friends

-> your brother is pretty protective of you, so when he notices kaji’s drifting attention, he fights the overwhelming urge to blush and run and instead approaches him with a serious look on his face. “you better take good care of y/n. i don’t care if you’re older; i’ll kill you if you make her cry.”

-> kaji’s too shocked to realize he was just scolded by a first year, but any urge to defend himself disappears when you run over with a sucker in your hand

-> “you dropped this earlier!” he can tell you’re desperately trying to ignore the darkening blush on your cheeks. “h-hey, um, what music are you listening to?”

-> kaji blinks at you before giving in. “just music. don’t know the names or words…” he nearly jumps out of his skin when you take a seat next to him and lean your ear close to the headphones. “oh, haru and i love this one! here, let me make you a playlist of similar songs.”

sugishita kyotaro

-> absolutely hates that the only person he’s ever found even slightly attractive is his self-proclaimed rival’s sister

-> avoids you at all costs, despite your attempts to talk to him. “sugi, would you like some—aaaand he’s gone.”

-> when you eventually confess that his avoidance makes you sad to some of the other first years, it’s over for him. sugishita is stopped by half the class on his way to the garden one day and threatened because he “made y/n sad.”

-> sugishita doesn’t run away the next time you approach him with treats, and even smiles when he sees how red you get after he finally accepts them

-> “you’re always coming up here for umemiya, right?” you ask, but don’t expect him to respond. “but it’s nice just to sit with friends, too. i-if you want to be friends! not that we have to be, or anything—!” “friends is good,” is his quiet, grumbly response, and you press your hands to your warm face. you like hearing him talk to you, and hope he continues wanting to

[pittrabbit]

warning: angst, fluff, resolution of feelings yay, kissing, a lot of smut, p in v sex, not proofread!!!!, age gap (think 28 and 49), horribly incorrect medical terminology, made up lore about jack's former wife.

summary: after finally snapping at jack, he does something he'd never done before: he grovels. finally allowing himself to let someone in, he chases after you in hopes of doing things right this time around.

word count: 4.3k

part 1

only a few days passed after that last, unfortunate, encounter with you before another harsh day made its way to the ER.

jack couldnt help but worry about you on the harder days at the job. you'd gotten to know each other well enough for you to know each other's coping mechanisms. you knew about his therapy, about his habit of coming in to work when sleep couldn't find him. and in turn, he knew of your loneliness, of your inability to decompartmentalize your emotions after a particularly difficult shift.

this worried him as soon as a massive casualty hit the ER. it had been a car crash. a blunder involving a drunk driver and a truck packed with a family of six. only one survivor — a six year old little girl. it had taken the entire day, with tireless attempts at saving the family, at saving the drunk driver and his passenger, but it was all futile.

you worked along each other, ignoring any issues between you as you attempted to save a young 12 year old boy with head trauma. it was grueling, an impossible case to deal with. and it all proved useless, resulting in the outcome jack saw coming within an hour of working the case. but he continued upon your insistence, realizing you were crashing out and wanting to be there to catch you.

after it was all said and done, he trailed after you, watching from afar just in case. he wanted to ensure you were fine, even if it was from a distance.

it was a selfish need, but he seemingly couldn't help his selfishness when it came to you.

it was surprising to him when you accepted princess' invitation to join the crew in some after-work drinks at the park. it meant he no longer had to keep his distance. it meant he could at least save himself from worrying about your mental state as you went home alone, that he could make sure you could decompress before heading home.

and so now he sat there, beer in hand as he actively avoided looking your way.

he didn't want to be obvious, didn't want to make you uncomfortable or like he kept you under close watch. he had already been scared that you'd leave as soon as you realized he was tagging along. so he wanted to keep his distance, or to at least make you think that he was.

one by one, people began leaving, all while you stood there, mostly quietly nodding along to people's jokes and commentary about the hard day.

in the end, it was only you, jack, robby, and collins left. the more people that left, the harder it was for jack to not zero in on you, to not want to go up to you and grovel, to take the chance that you were finally in his vicinity to make things up with you.

robby — a smart man — and collins — an even smarter woman — took his silent pleas into consideration, eyeing each other before getting up from the bench they were sharing with jack. collins went to give you a quick hug as a goodbye, insisting you take her seat on the bench. knowing you'd hesitate, she guided you despite your lighthearted objections.

robby was the last to say goodbye, offering his friend a subtle nod in encouragement before leaving you on your own.

the silence was heavy, creating warmth in the otherwise chilly atmosphere of the park.

jack remained silent for a few moments, still facing forward as he sipped at his beer.

"kid," he broke the silence, giving you space to speak.

"can we ... can we not talk? i just, i don't know if i can handle talking to you right now," your voice was broken as you said it.

it made jack's heart clench, in pain at the fact that today's events weren't the only reason why you were hurting. it was because of him too.

his body turned to yours on the bench, finding you shelled off, shrinking into yourself as your legs pressed together and you looked down at your lap. it took him a moment to realize you were crying, small sniffles leaving you before a sob escaped your lips.

"fuck, kid ... c'mere," he grabbed his leg off the bench, scooting to your side and wrapping his arm around you.

surprisingly to him, you leaned in, allowing yourself to nuzzle into his chest while he pressed kisses against your hair, humming in a comforting manner as he remained pressed into your hair.

"i- i don't-"

"you don't gotta say anything. just stay here," he reassured, "i'm here, kid. i'm always here."

you stayed silent for a beat or two, "are you, jack? because it really hasn't felt like it lately," you pulled away just enough to look up into his eyes, finding them glassy just like yours.

his gaze averted, swallowing as he attempted not to let the shame show in his features. thing was, you had a point. jack was very well aware of how hot and cold he'd been with you, how little explanation he'd given you for it.

and though he'd been trying to make up for it, he had felt too ashamed to even try and be assertive about it all. communication, something he valued incredibly (specially after all those visits to his therapist), had failed him any time he tried to let himself get closer to you. he felt like a hypocrite telling robby all about therapy and letting himself be vulnerable, all while he did anything but.

truth was, it had been a very long time since he'd felt like this. it had been twelve years since the passing of his wife, an event that had altered his life beyond belief. it had only been a year since he'd stopped wearing the ring to work, advice given with some hesitation by both his therapist and robby. something about needing to move on, to stop being stuck in the past.

it didn't prove useful for a while. it certainly opened up doors for women flirting with him any time he found himself at a bar or outing with his coworkers, but he never really engaged with it, not feeling quite ready for it.

but then he met you.

the effect of meeting you had been almost immediate, he just hadn't realized it until later. and it was this realization that led to him ruining everything.

he cared about you far too much far too quickly. when he finally came to realize it, he knew he was in too deep and completely unprepared for his feelings. attempting to bring it up during therapy had been futile, as he had already made up his mind to let you go, to keep you at an arm's length even if it ended up hurting you both in the process.

you were too young, too new, too polished — and that was completely ignoring the fact that you were his subordinate. being with him would mean dirtying you up with all his issues, forcing all of his trauma on you, showing you the ugly parts of himself that had not seen the surface since his wife had passed. and even then, he'd only gotten worse with time, even more closed off. even his wife wouldnt have been able to handle the dark cloud constantly hanging over his head.

he kept it hidden. he told jokes, encouraged students, was there for his friends, but beneath the surface was too much for him to unravel in front of you.

but pushing you away clearly hadn't been the solution.

because now he found himself even more miserable than before. and even worse, he found you destroyed by his actions, crying as he held on to you late at night on a public park.

"i'm here, kid. i'm always here, you know that," he finally answered your question, pulling you even closer, perhaps more for his own sanity than yours.

you continued looking at him, a knot in your brows and a pouty lip sticking out, giving him the look of a petulant child.

"you can't do this, jack," you shook your head, correcting yourself, "i mean, doctor abbot. sorry, force of habit."

he shook his head slowly in return, lifting up a hand to your cheek and making you turn to him, "hey, it's jack to you, okay? none of that formality bullshit."

you scoffed, "how- how am i supposed to read you, jack? how do i know when you're doctor abbot to me or when you're jack? i'm ... i'm so tired of this. i don't think i can do this anymore," you paused, scooting back slightly so you could look at him better. you swallowed and looked away for a brief moment, as if you needed to build up the courage for what you were going to say next, "i applied at a hospital next town over to continue my rotation there. they, uhm, they called me yesterday. i just need to sign the papers and then-"

"what?"

he turned serious, harshly grabbing his prosthetic off the floor and putting it on before standing up with conviction. chuckling with bitterness, he ran his hand down his face, turning to you as he paced in front of the bench you'd been sitting on.

"you're, what, you're leaving? its- it's that easy for you?"

then you turned serious, anger invading your features before you got up and stood in front of him, chin tilted upwards as you spoke.

"easy? you think this shit is easy for me? i've been here for almost a year. i love everyone here, but you- god, you're driving me fucking insane. what do you even want from me?," you ranted, hands flying up and down as you spoke with conviction, "first you teach me, you take me under your wing, you treat me as your favorite, and you- you make me think that maybe you might even like me" you paused, looking away for a second with insecurity behind your eyes, "but you were too much of a coward to admit it to yourself and decide to shun me instead? you push me away, refuse to teach me, fuck, you acted like you hated me — no, but here's the kicker! when i do the same in return, that's when you decide to switch it back up on me? what am i supposed to do with that, jack? i can't deal with this anymore, i can't-"

jack had heard enough. truly, he had heard enough five seconds into your rant, but he'd never seen you speak with such emotion. he knew you needed this, to get all your anger for him out of your system so you could complete the cycle of emotions you were going through because of him.

it was just that he needed to get something out of his system too.

taking two determined steps towards you, his hands went up to your cheeks, engulfing almost the entirety of your face in between them before pulling you towards him.

kissing you had been the most decisive thing he'd done since meeting you. no overthinking, no faltering, just doing what he'd been too ashamed of even picturing for the past months in which he'd known you.

the kiss turned intense almost immediately, invading his every sense as he coaxed your lips open with his tongue before slipping it inside. you sighed, finally allowing him to feel your hands on him when you brought them up tot he back of his head, toying and pulling at his hair any time he'd suck on your tongue.

the sounds you released against his lips had him breathing in deep, almost as if buffering at the effect you had on him. his hands came down to your lower back, pulling you against his body, ensuring no space would be left between you.

admittedly, jack was not expecting you to pull away within mere moments of what he would've called a life-changing kiss. his lips chased yours for a few seconds before realizing what was happening, opening his eyes to find your eyes on his.

"n-no, jack! i can't do this, i can't just- i need something better than this. i deserve better," you reprimanded, but you didn't pull away. you stayed in his hold, with your hands now lying on his chest.

jack took a deep breath, giving himself a moment to enjoy the light breeze around you before zeroing in on your eyes. it was imperative to him to always look you in the eyes, to have his entire focus on you as he spoke to you.

"you're right. you deserve better," his hands went up and down your back in a comforting manner, "and i'll give you better. i'll give you anything you want."

"how am i supposed to believe that?"

you looked away, staring down at your feet due to the intensity of his gaze, but he wasn't having it. his hand went up to your chin, encompassing it between his thumb and his index finger as he lifted up your chin so you'd face him again.

"hey- hey, eyes on me. i- i cant explain what i feel for you, okay? i've been a fucking idiot, and i know i don't deserve another chance, but i do care about you. more than i can even understand," he began, not once leaving your eyes, "i did this all wrong. i didn't want you wasting your life with an old man like me, with someone who doesn't even know how to love anymore," his hand went up to trace your cheek with his thumb, "but i was wrong. and if you let me, i'll prove it all to you. what do you say, kid? will you give me another chance?", he practically pleaded, taking a deep breath before speaking again, "i love you, kid. i need you to at least know that."

you stayed silent for a few moments, scaring the fuck out of jack as you did so, but then you looked back up to him with a smile.

"you know, if we're gonna do this, maybe it's time you stop calling me kid, you old man," you nodded at him.

in disbelief, he laughed, shaking his head at you, "yeah? that's all you got out of this?," he laughed unlike he usually did, with jubilation that was unfamiliar to him, "hmm, how about 'baby,' then? huh? or 'honey'? 'sweetheart'? you gotta give me ideas here, kid. i don't know what the youth's saying nowadays."

laughing along with him, you nudged him in faux annoyance, "stop talking like that, you're not 70!"

he interrupted your teasing by burying his face in your neck, kissing it lightly a few times before reaching your lips, shutting up your laughter with his tongue in your mouth.

you fell into the kiss easily, moaning into his mouth when he deepened it and pulling him closer by twisting your fingers in his hair.

"hmm," you hummed when you pulled away, "i love you too, by the way. in case that wasn't completely obvious by now."

"i think i might need some proof, kid," he teased.

rolling your eyes, you scoffed, "again with the kid-"

but he interrupted you again with another kiss, this time heavier, this time more lustful. his hands traced your jaw, holding it in place so he could explore your mouth as he pleased.

your reaction to his touch, to his kiss, were nothing but euphoric to jack. you melted into him, humming and sighing at every swipe of his tongue against yours. jack pulled you closer by your hips, causing an incidental grace of your hips with one another. this pulled a groan from jack, who was already beginning to harden and knew he was a gone man upon the very first touch of lips.

"kid, i-"

"take me home, jack," you sighed, eyes closed and lips scraping by his own, not allowing him an answer before your tongue snuck out and licked at his top lip, sucking it lightly afterwards.

jack lost his sanity then, but he was fortunately well trained for such moments. he had a soldier's ability to remain stoic whenever necessary.

but the military didn't train him for how to deal with you.

so he caved.

"are you sure?", he tried to keep his composure, to think reasonably for the two of you.

your lips went south, reaching his jaw and then his neck as you kissed and sucked at it, moaning into his skin as if you were the receiver of the pleasure.

"please, jack," you reached his ear then, teeth scrapping his lobe, "i've been waiting for so long."

for the first time in more years than he could count, jack shuddered, a heavy exhale leaving him at your tongue suddenly licking at the shell of his ear. his hands gripped your hips, pushing you up against the hardness between you as he groaned.

"you want to kill me," he huffed, giving in.

"take me home so i can finish the job," you continued, relentless in ruining him.

he nodded, breathless, utilizing herculean effort to separate himself from you and grabbing your hand, leading you in the direction of his car parked a couple blocks away.

once in the car, you didn't want to keep your hands off him, pulling him in for another kiss before he could even fasten his seatbelt.

"you're going to make us end back at the ER, honey," he grumbled between kisses, hand on your wrist as you pulled his head towards you.

"fine, i'll calm down," you sighed dramatically as you pulled away (much to jack's hypocritical dismay)

౨ৎ

"you know, i always pegged you as someone a someone a little more shy," jack attempted to speak as you pushed him up against the wall of his apartment.

"yeah? you feel i'm taking advantage of you, doc?", you jested back, a cheshire cat smile on your slips as you had your way with him.

jack's hands remained on your waist, pulling you close while you peppered kisses down the length of his neck. they reached under your scrub top, feeling the warm skin at the dip of your back, groaning at the softness found there.

"take as much advantage as you want," he hummed after a few moments of silence, just taking in every touch you blessed him with.

your mouth creeped north reaching his ear, hands now under his shirt and tracing at the skin of his abdomen. breathing against his ear, you kissed it, whispering into it, "but what if i want you to take advantage of me?"

"fuck, kid ... you're going to kill me," but despite his words, his hands wrapped around you, nudging you up so you could wrap your legs around his waist.

it was a bit of a messy trek, but you made it to his bed in one piece, being settled down on it with gentleness. refusing to let jack get too far from you, your legs remained around him as he threw off his shirt, hastening in removing his prosthetic, shoes, pants, and leaving only his boxers on. he watched you intensely as he undressed, all while you made sex eyes at him, biting your lip and swallowing at every new sliver of skin uncovered.

"you look like you want to eat me," he chuckled, climbing the bed and kneeling on top of you, using his hands to lift himself up above you.

"there's a lot of things i want to do to you," you sighed back, lifting your head so you could steal a kiss, pulling him down by grabbing the back of his neck.

desperate for more, your legs fully wrapped around his back, pulling him down so your middles could connect. this earned a groan directly into your mouth along with a whine of your own. luckily jack took the hint, beginning to gyrate his hips against your own, giving you the desired friction despite your scrub pants and his boxers being in the way.

"oh, god, jack ..." you sighed, mouth open and allowing jack access to suck your tongue.

your hands became antsy, scratching at his back in anguish at the pressure you were craving in your stomach. meanwhile, his own hands slipped under your shirt once more, hesitant in pulling it up before you aided him in the act, lifting yourself up a bit in order to throw it off.

under it, he found a lacy bra, baby pink and contrasting against your skin perfectly. it was comfy, not too much, but it had a cute little bow in the middle, giving jack whiplash as he stared down at you dumbfounded.

"fuck, kid," he shook his head in disbelief, "i dont know if i can handle you," his lips lowered, kissing at your collarbones, dragging his kisses to your sternum and ending up at the top of your breasts.

"what, old man, you're gonna tell me you're out of practice?", you teased as you reached behind you to pull your bra off, making jack freeze against your chest for a second before allowing himself to look at your nude upper half.

"you're a fucking dream, kid," he huffed, voice in a complete state of incredulity. he then leaned down again, kissing at your breasts, licking and biting and sucking, taking in every moan that left your lips while his hips took on a slow and steady pace as they ground into yours, "don't even know where to start with you."

"just fuck me," you cried, pulling his head back up to your lips, "i want you so bad, jack."

he groaned at this, but even more so when he felt your hand reach down to his boxers, one hand slipping inside and gripping his dick while the other scratched at the hem, pulling down the fabric.

"you sure, baby?" he had to check one last time, though he knew he wouldnt be able to take it if you made him stop now. he had never felt this needy, like he'd die if he didnt get more of you.

you nodded with desperation, furrowed brows and pleading eyes staring up at him in a ruinous manner.

shuffling so you could remove your scrub pants and panties from under him, you finally ended up fully nude and ready, gasping when you felt his fingers run through the wetness between your legs.

jack grabbed at himself, positioning his dick right against your cunt and finally pushing in with a heavy grown.

dropping his head against your neck, he took a deep breath, groaning at the feeling of finally entering you.

"jack ... fuck, jack, you feel so good," you were delirious as you said it, nails already running down his back.

in the meantime, jack was in heaven. he hadnt felt so lightheaded in years. your mere touch already had his heart going a mile a minute and his brain turning off, but the feeling of you like this — warm, wet, welcoming — made every bit of misery in his life become worth it.

"fucking perfect ... that's it, baby, take it for me," he began moving, hips creating that slamming sound of skin that he'd grown so unfamiliar with.

the man above you lost himself in the pleasure, grunting in tandem with every thrust and wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you as close to him as possible, breathing in the natural scent of your skin.

and even though the pleasure was unimaginable, jack simply wanted more, wanted to have you louder, more broken for him. he'd always been a bit of an overachiever, after all.

softly, he pulled out, shushing you when you whined at the separation and getting you on your hands and knees. his hands massaged the skin of your hips, dipping your back lower so you'd arch it even more for him and groaning at the sight.

"look at you ..." he mumbled almost to himself.

then he entered you again, now deeper, heavier, adding more pressure to your belly and making you immediately wail at the feeling. that's when jack truly lost himself. completely drunk on the feeling, jack hammered into you, huffing and puffing at the overexertion of energy he was currently displaying.

"i'm gonna cum, jack, shit ..." you said with an uncharted desperation, only making jack speed up, knowing that the moment you came, he was gone.

and he'd been right. as soon as your climax took over you, you pulled him right down with you, forcing him to spill inside you without the ability to even warn you. you'd taken him by surprise as per usual.

there were, once more, complaints from you when he finally pulled out of you, leaving the warmth of your skin to clean himself up and wipe up any of his remains that spilled out of you. he just tutted at you, but still hurried himself up so he could finally lay down with you, have that intimacy he'd craved from you since day one.

side by side, jack felt offended by any amount of distance, pulling you as close as possible while his hands traced at the curve of your hips, grabbing your leg and throwing him over his waist so any distance would be eliminated. your hands played with his chest, fingers tracing figures at the expanse of it while you smiled shyly at him.

"how you feeling, gorgeous?"

you muffled a giggle by pressing your face into his chest, kissing the skin once, twice, before leaning up for a kiss on his lips.

"better than i've felt in a very long time. how about you, old man?", you hummed into his lips.

"never felt better."

"you just had to one-up me, didn't you?" you scowled falsely at him.

he tsk'd at you in fake annoyance, a very common display from him, "gotta keep you on your toes, kid."

note: did not know how to end it lol and its also not proofread but i hope you enjoy anyways!

[losers-clvb]

hunters' reunion sam winchester x female!reader

content: smut (fingering, dirty talk, public sex, nonconsensual voyeurism), dom!sam, established relationship

word count: 737

note: this is actually a part of an answer for an ask, but it got a bit out of hand, so i decided why not turn it into a little blurb! enjoy!

Sam and Dean aren't usually the type to go to these types of things, but the moment you heard Jody mention a “hunters’ reunion”, you're begging them to go. You missed the community of your old life, though you would never admit it out loud.

Upon arrival, it was clear that every hunter within driving distance had chosen to attend. You dragged Sam through the crowds, laughing and chatting it up. The other hunters are impressed that the Winchesters have made an appearance, some even more impressed that a girl like yourself could get the infamous Sam Winchester to do just about anything with a bat of your lashes.

Night comes and the few still lingering guests, including some you know personally, are gathered around a bonfire. The array of mismatched chairs are small in quantity, so you make no complaints when Sam drags you onto his lap. You snuggle into him, grateful for the warmth he provides in the chilly night air.

Jody and Dean are going on about some haunting they had to deal with a few weeks back. It's slow going, telling the story, because the two kept interrupting each other.

"No, no, Dean, it was not four ghosts! It was six!" Jody butts in when Dean is setting the scene. He raises an eyebrow at her.

"Learn how to count, old lady. It was four." Dean counters, dragging out the last word for dramatic effect.

"Who are you calling old? I heard your back crack earlier when you stood up!" That sends Dean back into a different argument, and so it continues.

You laugh along and try to listen, but then you feel a poking up against your ass.

"You feel that?" Sam's lips ghost against the shell of your ear. It was inconspicuous enough to not draw attention. "That's what you do to me, baby."

You can't even do so much as move your head to reply. It'd be too obvious that you two were talking, leading to Jody's and Dean's arguing to turn to you. Instead, you just leaned further into his chest.

"Wish we were alone," Sam continues, "I'd fuck you up against that tree so hard the squirrels would have my name memorized."

It shouldn't have been as hot as it was. The whimper that leaves your throat is embarrassing. Thankfully, Jody had burst from her chair at the same moment, ranting on about how she "saved Dean's wimp ass.” Dean doesn't agree and follows her to standing.

"Are you wet right now?" Sam dares a kiss on your ear. He frowns at your nonresponse. "Answer me or I'll check myself." He growls.

You try to bite back your moan, unsuccessfully. A few neighboring hunters look your way and you make a show of stretching your arms, attempting to replicate the moan.

Apparently they're more gullible than they should be for trained killers because they smile and turn back to "The Jody and Dean Show" with their new host Charlie, who had pushed in between the two in an attempt to calm them from their childlike shouting over who's killed the most vamps.

You forget you had a question to answer until Sam's hand snakes under your dress. He cups your cloth-covered sex and hums out approvingly at the damp feel.

"Soaked." He whispers to you. you swallow and pray he's finished with this game of his, ignoring the excitement that bubbles into you at the new situation.

"You be a good quiet girl and I'll let you come." Sam dips his hand into your underwear. He swipes two fingers through your folds before slipping them into you. you clench your jaw to keep from whining.

Your eyelids flutter shut a few times while he pumps his fingers into you. All you can think is thank God for the blanket draped over you two, and thank God for the Winchester men's long fingers.

"That's it, baby, come on my hand." Sam keeps his eyes straight ahead, giving the illusion that he was simply watching the new argument between Charlie and Dean about which actress was hottest.

You squeeze your eyes shut and let out a shaky breath with your release. The group around you is none the wiser to your activities as Sam carefully readjusts your underwear to a comfortable position. He kisses your forehead with a smile and takes a sip of his beer while you reorient yourself.

sam winchester taglist : @hobiespick @xoswiftieprincess

everything taglist : @littlesoulshine @sacr1ficialang3l @blossomingorchids @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery @mostlymarvelgirl @missus-ackles @tinas111 @ambiguous-avery

[sunasilhouette]

「a timely bet」 - s.rintarou x f!reader

✧summary:

suna pisses you off during exam season and it was only right for you to get back at him… except it backfires terribly.

or… can suna last a week without sex.

✧wc: 2.2k (part 1) | part 2

✧au: college!au, established relationship, second year!suna, second year!reader,

✧tags: explicit smut, minors dni, bratty!reader, experienced!reader, sadist!suna, dom!suna,

warnings under cut

✧warnings: fingering (f.), teasing, degradation, dirty talk, edging, voyeurism, dubcon, suna is down BAD…

deadline season: undoubtedly the worst time of the academic year. and, just like any other student, you were squinting at that laptop screen hoping the essay would write itself. after spending a little too much time doing ungodly things in bed with suna this morning, you forced yourself to the library.

suna stuck to you like a bug, of course. he behaved for a decent amount of time as he scrolled through his phone, bored out of his mind even with the music playing through his headphones keeping him company.

he rested his cheek on the desk, gaze lingering on the delicate furrow between your brows as you typed away. suna waited for your attention before speaking, his voice low and teasing.

“you know, you’ll get wrinkles if you keep frowning like that, princess,” he said, a smirk playing on his lips as he reached to brush strands of hair behind your ear. his touch was light and gentle, always a stark contrast from his usual annoying, cocky demeanor.

your side-eye turned into an eye roll. “ah, really? didn’t know,” you said, blankly and uninterested, purposefully ignoring him in an attempt to concentrate.

suna let out a quiet chuckle — he really did love when you rolled your eyes at him. but, he knew you well enough by now to recognise your tells. you need a break. plus, he wouldn’t be suna if he didn’t tease you daily. and, he kept his hands to himself for a good couple hours now.

wordlessly, he sat upright, moving his chair close enough for his leg to touch yours and placed one mischievous hand on your thigh. the sudden contact broke your concentration, making you pause. you instantly shot him a warning look but he just grinned back, his pinky skimming just under the edge of your skirt with deliberate intent. “what’s the matter? can’t focus with a little distraction?” he murmured, voice low and husky, laced with amusement.

“we’re in the library…!” you whispered back as a matter of fact-ly, nudging his leg with your own but his hand was persistent.

this time, he leaned in close, lips brushing against your ear as he whispered with a wicked grin, “no one’s here, princess. and besides, it’s nothing we haven’t done before.” suna’s hand inched higher up your thigh. “a little break won’t hurt.”

you could feel your skin flushing at his crude words, almost hating how much you actually liked the way he talked. and, he wasn’t wrong either. that tiny break out room on the 4th floor of the library had probably seen better days. your memory of it was still stupidly vivid.

the way your thighs slightly parted didn’t go unnoticed by suna and he huffs out a quiet chuckle in victory. he gives a playful squeeze to your bare thigh before lifting it over his own leg, spreading your sweet legs further under that desk.

he leans in closer, practically leaning on your shoulder and nuzzling the nape of your neck as his long fingers swirled tiny figures of eight closer and closer to the source of all of his desires and needs. “don’t worry, it’ll be quick,” he murmured, lips ghosting over your skin.

you could feel another wider smirk as he pushed your underwear aside, feeling the wetness already soaked through, spreading it all around your clit and teasing entry with one- no, two fingers. the essay was momentarily forgotten about even with the white word document lighting their faces.

with that, suna’s left hand pushed your cheek towards him, pressing his lips to yours in a gentler, sensual kiss. you were doing well making no noise— until he dove in and curled his fingers just the way you liked. you whimpered against his goddamn grinning lips.

his ministrations were continuous, moving in and out with practised ease. after half a year of hearing you whimper and moan almost nightly, he knew exactly how to touch you and make you whine and writhe. with a little nibble on your bottom lip, he added a third finger, curling at that sweet spot once more, making you gasp as his left hand moved to cup your mouth, silencing you.

“that’s it, princess,” suna whispered, kissing your neck and nibbling the shell of your ear. “gonna cum already?” he asked in that annoying almost patronising tone of his, mentally cursing him out. you bit suna’s palm in revenge, making him flinch but he just pressed down harder on your mouth. closing your eyes, you tried to focus on the mounting pleasure rather on the obscene sound of his fingers and your wetness, praying desperately that no one could hear.

his thumb drew circles around that sensitive nub as your walls began to clench, fast tracking you to the edge of release. and with a final flick of his wrist, he sent you over the edge, your legs shaking as you came with a stifled moan.

fingers still buried inside you, he let you ride out the orgasm before slowly removing them, bringing them to his lips. suna cleaned himself up savouring the salty sweet taste of you before grabbing the tissues in his bag and wiped you clean. “now you can focus,” he mused with a satisfied grin at pleasing his favourite girl.

you huffed and puffed, clutching the edge of the table to ground yourself but, still, that hot feeling remained. god — you needed more. “rin… let’s go to that bathroom.”

the bastard shrugged and leaned back on his chair saying, “sorry, no can do. as much as i’d love to bend you over and fuck your brains out, you’ve got work to submit.” he knew that if he obliged you, that essay was definitely not getting finished. so, for your sake, he wasn’t planning on touching you until that deadline was finished. what a great boyfriend.

the deadly expression you gave him made him pause and lean over to plant a kiss on your cheek, a hand coming up to pat your hair gently. “don’t worry, I’ll make it up to you later,” he promised, slotting his headphones back on to scroll through his phone.

giving him a once over, you realised his refusal was serious. and, you were beyond pissed off. fine. if he was going to play like this, then you were going to make suna’s finals week literal hell. you deadline warrior your essay, furiously typing in some kind of frustrated, horny-induced rage all to reach that word count and one final fuck before his exam week.

you submitted your essay, making sure suna heard the thud of your laptop. the look you gave him was more than obvious and the two of you drove back to your apartment. suna keeps his promise of ‘making it up to you’—more than a few times. but, the damage was already done and you already had a devious plan in the making. you were planning on depriving him of absolutely everything.

.

.

.

the next morning, suna leaves early to go back to his place after making a quick breakfast for you and dipping. that was all fine for you since his finals week officially started today. thinking about it, how much did you actually know about rin apart from the obvious. you didn’t even know what he majored in. sure, he plays for the volleyball team but you didn’t strike suna to be the type to major in sports science… well, either way, you had a chill day in celebration for finishing your final deadline.

it was peaceful until none other than suna came knocking on your door later that night after training. opening the door with a hand on your hip, you greeted him with a raised brow. “isn’t it deadline and exam week?”

he grinned as he always did whenever he sees that teasing expression on your face. suna leaned against the door frame, sharp eyes roaming your figure up and down. “‘s fine i did most of it today,” he replied with a shrug. “and, I’m not too worried about exams. besides, I need to see your pretty face once a day else I keel over and die.” he stepped forward in his dramaticized description of his fake condition, wrapping his big hands around your waist and pulling you in. “how was your day?” he asked as he leaned in for a kiss.

you let him pull you closer as the door shut behind him. unluckily for suna, you pulled back, and placed a finger on his lips, dodging his kiss. with a pleased grin, you replied, “delightfully peaceful, actually. especially since I didn’t have to babysit a clingy fox all day.”

suna’s eyes sparkled with amusement, chuckling at your review of your day. “I’m not clingy. I just know what I want,” he protested playfully. he leaned in to try and kiss you again but you leaned further back, finger still stopping his advance.

this time, he raised a brow in question almost looking like a fox denied treats, “depriving me of kisses now? what did I do to deserve that, hm?”

your fake sympathetic pout curled up into a mischievous grin, “actually, I think you deserve a lot of things but kisses aren’t any of them.” you tapped rin’s nose, turning around to walk away but suna caught your wrist, a playful glint in his eyes as he pulled you back to wrap his arms around you from behind.

”now you’ve got me curious,” he murmured into your ear, “what do I deserve then?” he nuzzled your neck, inhaling the sweet scent of your hair. “don’t keep me waiting too long,” he added with a chuckle.

“you deserve an unbothered exam week where you focus on your studies~,” you pinched the skin at his wrist, making him let go. “so, no sex from me until you finish your last exam - just like you did to me,” you sat down comfortably on the couch, crossing your legs in victory.

suna’s eyes widened at your declaration and looked with a mixture of amusement and disbelief. “no sex,” he repeated. “for the whole week? that sounds like an attack on my human rights.” the fox sat down next to you on the couch, leaning back against the armrest and crossing his arms over his chest.

with a raise of your brow at his drama, you finished with, “if you can’t handle it then I guess you’ll just have to give up your ‘human rights’ for a day of my choosing. and, by that I mean listening to any and all requests - no questions asked.”

suna raised a brow and pondered for a moment, cupping his chin before smirking, “a day of being yours to use doesn’t sound all that bad.” he leaned in closer, lowering his voice and cupping her cheek to face him, “but, just so we’re clear,” he murmured, “if I can resist temptation before my final exam, then you’ll have to put up with my commands for a day. deal?” he jokingly held out his hand for you to shake, the same sly smile on his lips.

you glanced down at his open palm and then back up to his grayish eyes, moving your hand to meet his. instead of shaking his hand, your fingers slid up the palm of his hand, up his arm, tracing his veins, teasing him all the way up until you cupped his face. “don’t you wanna lay down some ground rules before you agree to a losing bet?”

a familiar heat built in his groin as suna shuddered at the feel of your hands on his skin. he closed his eyes briefly, savoring the sensation before opening them again to meet your gaze. “ground rules? this bet’s pretty simple.” suna reached up to take your hand from his face, bringing it to his lips and peppering kisses on each finger before releasing them. “but, if you want to add some, then I’m all ears.”

“so…. I can do whatever I want?” you trace down his chest this time, feeling the toned mounds and ridges of his torso. suna’s breath hitches as you just barely teased your fingers from moving under his shirt. “I won’t bother you too much when you’re studying, since… let’s be honest, you probably won’t be able to resist at all,” you taunted, fully confident you had suna wrapped around your finger.

he watched your movements intently, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "whatever you want?" he repeated. "that could be dangerous territory for me,” suna leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "but it wouldn't hurt to indulge you a little. you’ll be surprised by the amount of self restraint I actually have, princess.”

he ran his hands up your sides, tracing over the curves of your hips and waist. suna’s fingers found their way under the hem of your shirt, brushing against bare skin as he leaned in close to whisper into your ear, “but, feel free to try.”

you let out a chuckle, “you talk big for a man who can’t keep his hands off me.” leaning in, you planted the tiniest peck on his cheek as you moved to straddle his lap, already feeling that familiar tent in his joggers. “alright then, since you’re indulging me, my lips are off limits too. deal?”

suna let in a sharp inhale, feeling the heat between your thighs and the pressure of your weight against him, “no kissing?” he repeated with a smirk. “you’ve just made things harder for me.” he presses a kiss just below your earlobe before pulling back slightly, “deal.”

a/n: next part… a few snippets of the days of the bet and who actually ends up winning. sorry this didn’t have that much smut - the next part will have all of it. thnx for ur patience !!

part 1 (you are here) | part 2

[womanofwords]

Silver Swan (Part 14)

Neglected!fem!reader x yandere!batfam

Alone time. You hadn't had a lick of it ever since the moment that Bruce had cradled you. You felt eyes on you wherever you went.

Barb, Cass, and Steph had started basically kidnapping you from your room the moment they sensed you walking around for the sake of doing your hair. Earplugs would go into your ears in a vain attempt at stopping you from hearing your brothers argue with your sisters for extra time with you.

"You can't monopolise Y/N like this! We have rights! We're her siblings, too!" Dick yelled.

"Hand her over and nobody gets hurt!" Jason yelled.

Cass braided your hair as Barbara swore at the boys. "They're silly," Steph said.

"You are so cute, little birdy," Dick cooed, carrying you around just as Bruce had done. "You are just the best, aren't you, wing? Now, you're going to be eating breakfast with-OW!"

"She will be eating with me, Grayson," Damian said, leading you away. "You have wounds to nurse."

Dick got to his feet and limped forward. "You evil little-"

"Evil little what? Grayson, do you really want Y/N to hear you use such language?" Damian gestured to you, and you waved.

"Using Y/N as a human shield. And I thought you couldn't get any lower," Dick said.

"I do what is necessary," Damian said. "Come on, Y/N. We'll eat whatever your favourite is."

"OK, Damian," you said. Titus trotted up to you, sitting by your side as Damian drew his katana. "Where are you going, Damian?"

"To show you other inferior siblings who the best is. I'll be back before your breakfast arrives." Damian patted your head and walked towards Tim and Cass. Screams and the clashing sound of metal on metal rang in your ears.

"Oh, they'll be at it for some time," Alfred said. "In the meantime, why don't you eat and contemplate how you have been hoisted by your own petard? It might do you some good."

Your fork froze in the dead air between your mouth and the plate. "What?"

"You wanted your family to spend time with you. You have it, but now you have no privacy and will never get to be Silver Swan again because you don't have the necessary solitude needed to change. The way I see it, you have been hoisted by your own petard."

"Maybe, but that now means that there is no reason for me to keep your gun collection secret. None of them believe that I am Silver Swan; even when they saw me in the getup they thought I was a devoted fan who needed guidance. That's actually what started all the monitoring and quality time. You have a week to find a new form of payment if you want me to keep your secret gun collection a secret."

Alfred hummed. "Sabotage."

"Sabotage?" you repeated.

"I will sabotage whoever or whatever I have to so you can have the free time or alone time that you want. I will also give you a heads-up for whenever you get security cameras in your room or tracking devices on your person or belongings."

"Deal." You shook hands with Alfred and went back to eating your rapidly cooling cereal. Alfred raised an eyebrow at the shocking display of . . . nothing in particular.

"Aren't you going to ask more about my gun collection, Y/N?"

"What gun collection, Alfred?"

"I could ask the same thing, Alfred." Bruce was at the entrance to the dining room, glaring daggers at Alfred. "What. Gun. Collection?"

"Oh, shit," Alfred said.

You sniggered into your cereal.

*_*_*_*_*_

The novelty and charm had worn off. You were getting sick of your family's yandere tendencies. You grabbed your mask and put it on, writing a note for the family as you called for your darling board, leaving your home with a small bag of essentials plus your sewing machine. (You had a job, and could buy everything you'd left behind.)

Dear Alfred and the others,

I'm sick of it. I spent years being ignored by you and left to rot, only to suddenly capture your attention the moment you saw me idolise someone that wasn't any of you. I was left behind while you socialised and you simply thought I would be OK with that, that I enjoyed the peace and quiet. Well, I didn't.

I always wondered what was wrong with me, only to find out, for once, that I wasn't the problem. Someone has been hiding my letters, feigning that nobody wanted my presence there when it had actually been requested. Nobody wanted Y/N Wayne to show up? Fine; Y/N wouldn't show up.

Silver Swan would.

I sewed my identity together using blackmail and bobby pins while you masked my noise with your stomping feet and banging fists on doors. I had no idea it was possible to be louder than my sewing machine, and yet you proved me wrong. Thank you for the cover story.

You began your pursuit of me after I mentioned and emulated Silver Swan. It probably made you bite your tongues with rage. How dare I fawn over the girl who glue Damian to the floor and was personally responsible for making him need a haircut? Why was I not loyal to this family?

I put up with hair braiding from Barbara, Stephanie, and Cassandra, tolerated eating breakfast with Damian, and suffered through Dick giving me a suffocating amount of Nightwing merch. But I'm done. Birds need to fly freely, and my people need me.

You guys clearly don't.

Sincerely,

Y/N Wayne, AKA Silver Swan.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

Part 11

Part 12

Part 13

Part 14 <- You are finished.

Taglist: @tinybrie, @hopingtoclearmedschool, @simpingfor-wakasa, @kittzu, @simpingpandas, @devotedlyshamelessdetective, @galaxypurplerose, @wisefuncherryblossom, @vanessa-boo, @deathbynarcisstick, @sirenetheblogger, @asillysimp, @toxicvoidsstuff, @kneelforloki, @trashlanternfish360, @tsxukikami, @lovebug-apple, @blackhood1229.

OK, folks, this train had to stop eventually! Thank you for sticking around for so long, and look out for my next multi-part series, Frozen Heart!

[zoieru]

Lost puppy ~

In an alternate universe where Shibuya didn't end quite like that, Jujutsu Tech have landed themselves a bit of a lost-puppy conundrum - what to do with a newly allied Choso Kamo.

a/n + c/w ~ assume that Shibuya was more of a lower level incident, in which all your faves are just a bit worse for wear (or not, meanie) and this is the calm after the storm :3. Reader (afab) is a high level sorcerer. Part one of ? Introduction 𖹭 essentially a series that'll explore different situations with a choso who is learning about normal human stuff. Romance incoming?? ;))

No manga spoilers. ~ 2.1k

Choso sat in the corner of the room, back straight, hands resting stiffly on his knees. The room buzzed with low but firm voices, the jujutsu sorcerers around him deep in serious discussion. He could feel their eyes on him. Brief, darting glances that just barely concealed their concern and unease, each one reminding him that - despite being an ally - he was still something to be watched. Managed. Controlled. He kept his own gaze fixed on the floor, the polished wood beneath him somehow more comforting than their watchful stares.

"He can’t stay at the school," one of them said, concern clear in their tone. He didn't bother looking up to see who. "It's too risky. And he’s… inexperienced with human society, on a functional level."

Inexperienced. Choso rolled his eyes in his head. They weren’t wrong. He had no real understanding of human customs, their way of life much beyond the battles he had fought against and alongside them. It's not as though Kenjaku was a real guiding figure for anything that wasn't needed for his plans. And the things Mahito attempted to amuse himself with Choso had mostly ignored unless it was of immediate interest, mind set on his one track goal. That world felt like a distant concept, one he turned down in favour of curses for his brothers, one he wasn’t sure he could ever fully grasp.

"He's not a threat, but we can't afford to ignore the possibility that things could go wrong if he's left unsupervised and unacquainted," another higher up added, his tone a touch...quickened, impatient perhaps?

Before he could stop himself, Choso's voice, low and calm, cut through the murmuring conversation. “I'm not interested in harming anyone,” he said, his gaze lifting to meet theirs through his eyelashes. It wasn’t a plea, or anything really, just a statement of fact. Not that it would have much sway. "Or being a burden. I don't really care where I go."

“It’s not about whether you mean to harm anyone, Choso,” the balding man responded, carefully. “It’s about what could happen if you don’t understand this world. Your intentions may be pure, but you’ve spent your incarnated life as a curse, among curses. There’s a learning curve.”

The idea of needing someone to guide him, to rely on someone, grated on his nerves. He'd spent his life being the guidance, being the older brother, he wasn't used to and didn't want to be guided like a lost child, despite his acknowledgement of his lack of experience. I just want them to get on with it, pick somewhere, so I can be in peace.

"So what are the options, then?" A new voice. One he recognised. Yours. You'd been the one to find him, back when he was in that dazed state in Shibuya on the platform, distraught after nearly killing Yuji. You'd been...nice, confusingly, and at the sound of your voice he felt a subtle tug of your tentative fragile connection pull at him a little, albeit reluctantly.

"We could send him to stay with a sorcerer," a woman offered, casting a sideways glance in Choso's direction over her glasses. "Someone who can keep an eye on him, relieve the school of the pressure, and teach him a thing or two while he's there."

Choso's fingers tensed against his knees. The idea of being pawned off on some sorcerer, having to answer to them… it wasn’t appealing, but he kept his expression neutral and rather bored. Stay quiet, I’ll take anything just to get out of this room.

"And who in the hell is going to do that?" A different man, an old eternally grumpy sort of face, spoke up, voice louder, more...grating. He seemed rather appalled at the idea. "You think any one of us is going to be fine with a curse wandering around in their house? For that suggestion to have any standing, the sorcerer would have to be semi-grade one at minimum, and they'll still be taking a significant risk. Not to mention the fact you're essentially tasked with teaching him how to be normal!"

"I'll do it."

Choso didn't have time to even inwardly react to his words before a voice cut the man's droning off. Your voice.

It seemed to come out of your mouth before you'd decided for it to. The way he spoke, calling Choso a curse, while not entirely wrong, pissed you off for some reason. Choso’s eyes widened slightly, the unexpectedness of it, the surprise that someone had volunteered to take on such a monumental task, that it was you who had volunteered to do it, hit him all at once. He turned his gaze to you, his own dark eyes meeting yours in an unspoken question, pulse beating loudly in his ears with hot blood. Why... Everyone's faces seemed even more shocked than he was, but his eyes remained on you.

"You'll....do it," the old man echoed in a sort of bewildered whisper, surprise clear in his tone as he met your eyes, the others in the room suddenly focused on you. "Are you sure?"

You sighed softly, eyes on the man asking. "My apartment is on the outskirts, so there isn't a massive population around. I have a spare room. And I could probably last maybe two minutes longer than the average sorcerer before he would kill me. It makes sense." you explained slowly. It was clear you didn't think he would. Kill you, that is.

Choso felt a strange flutter in his chest at your dry assessment of the situation. The way you attempted to rationalise it, logic and humour mixed up with the dire nature of the task at hand, made the corners of his lips twitch in the hint of what might have become a smirk if the circumstances were different. He found it surprising, if not...endearing, oddly, how you had a dry, dark sense of humour that matched his own far more than anyone else's he'd encountered yet.

The others in the room, however, seemed more concerned with your wellbeing, and now perhaps mental wellbeing, less so with the logistics of it. "You'd be alone with him," the previous balding man spoke, his voice heavy with worry, but there was a hint of something else under the surface, disdain perhaps. Disbelief that anyone would volunteer to take this on, to take him on, rather than being forced into it after endless logistical planning. Choso felt his jaw tick slightly.

"He's unstable," the man continued. "We don't fully understand the capacity of his cursed technique, or his impulses." His eyes met Choso's with open suspicion. "He's a cursed womb. It's unprecedented, unpredictable, dangerous. We can't guarantee your safety."

Choso watched your eyes finally meet his own, then, for the first time since you'd volunteered. His usually sleepy-bored gaze was more curious now behind the stoicism he wore like a mask. He watched your lips tickle into a slight smile as you looked back at the man who had addressed you. "I know," you said simply, shifting in your seat. "It doesn't sound like you have a better alternative, though. And like I said, I'm more likely to survive longer than two seconds if he decides to go all kooky on me, so I have the highest chance here to call for help. But he said he wont do that, so..."

The room fell silent at your simple words, the others exchanging quick glances with one another. Choso's gaze was on you, though, eyes widening slightly with a mix of surprise and...something else, he couldnt place it. He could have smiled. He had no intention of going 'kooky', as it were. But still... You think you could last against me long enough? You're funny.

"You trust his word, just like that?" The old grumpy man asked, incredulity clear in his tone. Choso wasn't sure what to make of it, but he realised he was starting to find the way you dealt with this quite amusing. He watched as you sighed again, almost seeming bored with the conversation as if they were dredging on with something much less than a potential life threatening scenario.

"He's sitting here, quietly, while we all discuss his fate like he's some rescued puppy waiting to be rehomed, when, really, he could just blow us all up and leave himself. That's good enough evidence to suggest to me that all he wants is to get outta here," you explained. It was clear in your voice that it wasn't quite boredom you were experiencing, but a slight grating of your nerves at the way this was being discussed as if he wasn't a person, or wasn't in the room, despite there not really being another way.

The others around the room seemed surprised by the logic, the calmness in your voice, but none more than Choso. The words struck a chord within him, they made sense. Maybe you're smarter than I gave you credit for. He watched you closely as you spoke, his sharp eyes taking everything in with slowly growing interest. The way your fingers played with your hair almost absent-mindedly, the slight shift of your eyes, the subtle movements he had started to register as signs you were more anxious than you were willingly letting on.

The man sighed, seeming to finally give up the fight. "You make a point," he said slowly, glancing at Choso as if to make a final assessment.

The others began to murmur in agreement, nodding and exchanging glances. No one else raised any protest, seemingly content with your reasoning. After a moment, the man looked back at you. "If you're comfortable with it, I suppose the matter is settled," he said, his tone resigned.

"No, ask him."

Choso's eyes shot back to you as you said that, another wave of shock washing over him. Ask...me? He hadn't really registered that they hadn't asked for his opinion on the turn of events, not expecting them to. But you...you seemed to care if they did?

The murmurs fell away as the focus shifted to Choso, all eyes fixed on him, waiting for his response. He could feel their gaze on him like a weight, their words echoing in his mind.

His gaze flicked to you once more, expression betraying nothing of his thoughts as he considered you quietly. He could already tell you were unlike anyone else in the room, the first person to actually care to hear his thoughts on the matter.

Choso cleared his throat, his voice a quiet murmur in the room. "I'm fine with it."

His answer was simple, straight to the point, the lack of hesitation surprising the others in the room, but he found himself almost amused as he saw a brief smile on the corner of your lips. You were expecting me to say no?

His eyes followed you upwards as you stood, your chest rising with a deep breath, hands slipping into your pockets. "Okay. Well...time to go shopping with the new puppy, I guess," you mused. He needed essentials after all. "Is there anything else to sort out?"

There was a hint of surprise in the room, the other sorcerers exchanging glances at your casual tone, and Choso suppressed a smirk. You obviously weren't overly happy with the way he was being treated, or at least the way this was handled, and he found he sort of...liked that. More so because he could tell it was irritating the others around the room.

The balding man cleared his throat. "No, that's all," he said slowly, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looked between you and Choso. "Be careful."

As you stood up, signifying the end of the meeting, Choso pushed himself slowly to his feet. His eyes didn't leave you, taking in the way you stuffed your hands in your pockets, expression betraying none of the curiosity he felt, remaining neutral, bored even.

He gave a slight nod at the man's words, more out of respect than genuine regard for his warning. "I won't cause trouble," he said gruffly.

His feet carried him silently out of the room after you. He kept his eyes on you, studying your every movement as you walked, the tilt of your head as you checked your phone, the slight glance over your shoulder to see if he was following. He couldn't help but find the situation almost ironic, almost absurd. She's taking me shopping? Despite himself, he wanted to smile.

He wasn't privy to the thoughts flitting through your mind as the reality of the situation set in for you, now having time to settle after the droning bureaucracy. While you had put on a confident front, your actions also somewhat surprised yourself. Ultimately, a semi-sarcastic, resigned and amused sort of notion settled in your mind.

I've just...adopted a curse person. Cute.

[alwaysless]

hate post for amontillado arc

Look I really love Nevermore, I mean I have a whole blog dedicated to it here, but the whole "I'm in your walls" arc makes my eye twitch.

I perfectly understand why this arc is needed in the perspective of the whole story - it makes Lenore realize how radical the situation of the survival game is, and what extremes her wife and her best friend are willing to go to for their own safety. Lenore seems to have a tendency to ignore the obvious flaws of her loved ones, because Annabel has made it very clear that she does not consider the lives of other students valuable yet Lenore looks stunned when Annabel does exactly what she warned her about. And then Lenore gets angry at Duke's completely fair attempt at revenge, although she has no suitable arguments except for inappropriate chivalrous nobility (because she couldn't just say "don't kill my wife" lol).

But when it comes to the smaller details of the story, it crumbles. First of all, the whole concept of "let's wall up our enemy" seems so specific and unconventional. As if the only reason Montresor came up with this idea at all was because Rnf wanted it that way, because we have a webtoon inspired by Edgar Poe and a guy named Montresor so of course he has to immure his rival in the wall alive. A reference for the sake of a reference.

To be honest, Annabel didn't need to shift his attention from Lenore to Duke, it would have been enough for her to say that the whole plan was stupid and required too many risks and resources: wisps could catch them at any moment, they had to get tools somewhere and find a suitable recess in the wall and they weren't even sure Duke was going to die. Montresor only asked Poppet the next morning if they were mortal. And what if they werent? Seriously, if he wanted to get rid of someone from the opposing team, it was easier to stab or shoot them. That way, they would immediately find out if the students could die. And only if they couldn't, then posh gang could go to the backup plan and look for a place to lock Duke up.

Speaking of Duke. Let's look at the whole situation from his perspective. He has just found out that there is only one second life, and most likely he will have to go against his friends sooner or later. Just a couple of hours later, his bestie shows up in his bedroom in the middle of the night and leads him to the basement, without saying where or why. And he's coming with her! Without asking unnecessary questions! They've known each other for three days! Wow, Duke must trust Lenore very much to be so sure that she wouldn't stab him in the back by getting him deeper into the catacombs. I mean, her whole behavior looked so suspicious! And he didn't question it! Duke, are you an idiot? Given the context if I were him I would immediately think "well it's been a fun three days but now she's clearly going to kill me".

Next, why is Annabel even there? I assumed she probably wanted to make sure her distraction worked and Monty wouldn't change his mind and hurt Lenore but that's a bit of a weak explanation. The plot just needs Duke to mistake her for the main initiator and then try to take revenge, and Annabel doesn't even try to justify herself until it's too late.

I can roughly understand why she doesn't justify herself to Duke, but what about the argument with Lenore on the balcony? Why doesn't Annabel explain that she was just trying to protect her? This fundamentally changes the situation and although Lenore would still be angry, she would at least understand what exactly Annabel was guided by. But NOOOOOO we need misunderstanding, we need drama and divorce.

I also want to talk a little bit about the misfits and their actions or more like lack thereof. Watch the hands: the deans take Lenore to dreamland, Pluto and the girls realize that Duke is in danger and find out from Montresor and Ada that they have walled him up while Lenore learns the same thing from Duke in more detail. It happens in the evening after class at the mansion, because Ada is clearly depicted here in the same underwear she was wearing before (and also the lighting).

Then Lenore wakes up in her bed the next morning and Pluto breaks into her room in a panic: we have Morella in her nightwear, Will brushing his teeth and Monty calling him for breakfast, so it should be the next day.

So what the hell were Pluto and Eulabee doing all night? Did they find out that Duke was dying and decided to wait for Lenore? Hadn't any of them thought of getting more information from Will, Annabel or Prospero? Especially considering that Pluto had been sleeping in the same room with him all night! Or had they spent the entire night running around the academy in a panic and knocking on every suspicious-looking wall? No, seriously, what were they doing.

I probably forgot something else, but in general, these are almost all my main complaints about this part of the story. All these oddities and inconsistencies (including chronological ones) really piss me off. Because again, I love this webtoon so much, I often reread many scenes and found all these plot holes, some of which are quite easy to explain, but ideally the reader should not ask such questions at all.

And yet, despite all my nagging, I'm absolutely in love with the drawing style in these chapters. THEY'RE ALL SO BEAUTIFUL

DUKE'S SPECTRE?? PURE ART!!!

[h0useslut]

and you spoke some quick new music, that went so far to soothe this soul ᝰ.ᐟ

pairing : gregory house x fem! coworker! reader

w/c : 1,3k

genre : romance, slow burn, tiny bit of angst!

warnings : brief emotional distress, mentions of patient death, comfort after crying, house being house.

summary : house didn’t do emotions, until his soft hearted, and confident cardiologist walked in. one tearful confession and a kiss later, he finally understood what it meant to come alive when someone called him baby.

a/n : this is my first fic ever, so please be nice 🫶🏻 anyway, hope you enjoy!

⋆౨ৎ ₊˚ 🦢・₊✧ ────୨ৎ──── ⋆౨ৎ ₊˚ 🦢・₊

Gregory House wasn’t one to deal with emotions. Or be so far gone, that his brain turned into mush.

Enter you.

You were significantly new to the team, a cardiologist. In the beginning, House was so sure he didn't need you. Younger than him, so sure of yourself and confident, he felt conflicted by your presence.

Only when his newest patient became another ticking bomb, already on their deathbed did he stop being so stubborn. Despite his selfishness, he knew your diagnosis was the best one to go with.

He wouldn't ever really admit it, but you earned his respect. Somehow.

Days passed, and he couldn't ignore your sweet persona anymore. Yes, it got to his nerves at some point, but he couldn't help but glance at you whenever you thought he wasn't looking.

It started with the smallest things.

Watching the way your brows furrowed, or how your entire expression changed as you scribbled on notes and tried to concentrate pn the case. He watched you like you held the whole world in your hands — whether you were laughing with Cameron, or a patient's story clung to you more than you let on.

And you weren't oblivious to it either.

To say you didn't have a tiny crush on Gregory House would be a lie. But being his usual self, you didn't want to mix business with pleasure. Even though you could physically feel your heart leaping out of your chest whenever you caught him staring. It was like he was seeing right through you — Through your soul. And it made you both thrilled and terrified.

Wilson confronted him first, and even Cuddy teased him about it. He tried to act nonchalant, distant… But it didn't work. You'd gotten under his skin, and there was no turning back.

''House you can't just suffer in silence'' Spoke Wilson, concern etched on his face. He saw his best friend looking completely hopeless around you, quite literally missing the oh-so-familliar bite and sarcasm. It was unusual to see him so… In lack of his coldness.

House didn't even reply. He looked at Wilson with a frown on his face and just scoffed. ''You know, you can talk to her about it… Ask her out?'' James suggested, still trying to get him to loosen up a little.

''Yeah, as if that solves everything. Not a chance'' He snapped. He wanted his words to sound emphatic, filled with venom. They didn't though. They were missing the usual bite, and even he felt defeated.

''Fine, sulk around her a little more. See if she reads your mind'' Wilson mocked him, shoving him away from his office.

House could barely concentrate that day. Even if he tried to, you and his conversation wih Wilson made him lose his mind. Sitting in his office, he didn't hear the click of your shoes until you sat on one of the chairs, facing him.

''Hey,'' you said, your voice sounding a little shakier than you intended to. House immediately picked up on your distress, and his brows furrowed.

''Out with it''' He spoke, still attempting to sound stern. His voice carried a gentleness that was foreign to your ears, let alone his.

Fiddling with your hands in your lap, you opened your mouth. Nothing came out. He was the last person someone would go to for comfort… So why were you there? Why did you feel the need to look for his reassurance when the man probably didn't even like you in the first place? Sighing again, you decided to finally tell him what was going on.

''We lost him — um the patient. Did everything we could. I did everything I could. The team wanted me to tell you.'' You said hating how your lips trembled, or your voice shook.

House was silent for a moment. He didn't know whether to say something completely cynical or do something about the fact that you were distressed.

''Okay'' He muttered. Laconically, sharply and firmly.

Another beat of silence.

''Do you really think that you were hired just because I wanted to see you screw up? Patients die, patients get to live another day. I'm not going to say it wasn't your fault, or that it is. But you're not screwed. You're not done.'' His tone wasn't mean, although stern this time. He wasn't scolding you, or snapping at you, It was House's way of grounding someone — especially you.

Your shaky hand came to brush some strands of hair from your face. Your chest felt tighter with each breath, and you swallowed the frowing lump in your throat.

''I dont know—'' You stammered, but the way he cut you off was a lot sharper than before.

''You don't know what''

''Here you are, t-telling me that technically I'm not fired, but your attitude always makes me feel like I'm on the brink of getting fired. What the hell am I to this team, House?'' You confessed, chest rising and falling rapidly with each shaky breath. A single tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it.

His eyes widened slightly —just for a second— and then he stood up. He motioned for you to rise, and when you did, he stepped in closer. So close, that you could smell the faint trace of his cologne and feel the heat of his presence.

''What you are to the team?'' Is that what you want to know?'' He echoed, voice low. ''Or are you asking what you are to me?'' Oh, and that smirk — That sly, almost devilish smirk was curved on his lips like a question of its own.

''I—'' You opened your mouth, but before you even got the chance to speak, someone walked in his office. Wilson. Of course.

Both of you stepped back, but you were the first to leave hurriedly. Muttering a few strained apologies as you exited his office, you desperately searched for a quiet corner — before you fell apart.

You could hear them yelling, mostly Wilson's voice echoing through the hall. Then, silence. You heard hurried footsteps, and the shadow of his cane warned you before you saw him.

''Y/N...'' He croaked out, panting. He stood in front of you, wishing he could erase the distress from your face.

With shaky legs, you got up. ''Yes Dr. House. I want— I wish to know what I mean to you'' You uttered, broken voice betraying the cold facade you wanted to keep in front of him.

'What do you mean to me?'' His tone was filled with gruffness, making shivers run down your spine.

Time slowed —your breaths mixed, and suddenly— His hands gripped your wrists in a firm, but not hurtful manner.

''Tell me'' You pressed, your voice barely above a whisper.

''Even better, I might show you'' It was supposed to be sarcastic, but the warmth in his entire demeanour betrayed him.

Before you had the time to comprehend his words, his lips crashed into yours. In a slow— agonising way. Your body went numb, letting him kiss you with full force now. His hands found home in your waist, drawing you completely against him.

Oh my god.

You were kissing.

You were kissing Gregory House.

And god, you hadn't expected it to be like that. Like everything you needed.

He was the first to pull back — all breathless and flushed.

''You— We—'' You stammered.

''What you are to me…'' He whispered, his hand coming to rest on your cheek. ''It couldn't be described with words.''

Your heart almost did backflips. Your smaller hand came to cover his— A kiss to your forehead now.

''Good'' You exhaled, standing up to your tiptoes. Lips brushing against the shell of his ear, you whispered

''I don't think words are what we need baby''

And that...

That was it for him.

Some part of Gregory House came alive the first time that you called him baby.

[cwwv9]

"Silence heard"

— without gender!depressive!reader x Isagi Yoichi, Meguro Bachira, Hiori Yo, Karasu Tobio, Michael Kaiser, Alexis Ness, Mikage Reo, Hagi Seishiro, Itoshi Rin, Itoshi Sae, Shidou Ryusei.

Warning: depression, emotional detachment, mention of apathy, inner pain, attempts to cope with mental difficulties, passive suicidal behavior (hint), obsessive behavior.

mailbox open for queries!!!( I need it )

Isagi Yoichi

He notices it from the very beginning - how you hold yourself apart, how you keep silent at times when others are laughing. Isaiah is lost at first: he can not cope with the pain of others, because he always made up for himself at the expense of the goal. But one day he will just say:

- If you’re sick, I won’t distract you with happiness. Just... let me be there. Even if it’s silent.

And it really stays - quiet, attentive, not pressing.

Meguro Bachira

His first reaction is an obsessive positivity. He thinks that he can "spin" you like a toy. He dances, jokes, wears stupid glasses.

But then he realizes: you don’t need funny clowns. Then he begins to share his loneliness - about the imaginary friend, about the silence in his head when there is no football.

- You don’t have to laugh. I know what it’s like to live in your own world. Just... let me in for a second, and I won’t tell anyone what’s inside.

And you believe.

Hyori Yo

He can immediately feel the familiar sadness in your eyes. He doesn’t ask questions - he just starts making you tea, leaving playlists, sometimes writing short messages: "Did you eat today?"

His care is unnoticeable, almost imperceptible. But at one point you catch yourself waiting for him to walk down the corridor with his hands on your shoulder.

Hyory never demands changes from you. He just exists as a warm room in a cold house.

Karasu Tabito

At first he gets irritated. Like, "Why are you being so pushy?" - but it’s a defensive reaction. He can’t say "I’m worried".

And then you start noticing - how you’re slouching, how your eyes are slipping away from the light. And it becomes cautious, almost careful. He will start calling you to the gym, explaining:

- Exercise helps. Seriously. I’m not a doctor, but when I have shit in my head, I run. We can run together.

And you run. Be quiet. This is also a form of closeness.

Reo Mikage

He wants to "fix" you. Right away. Money, gifts, trips, everything to make you smile.

But when he sees that it doesn’t work, he breaks himself. He sits down next to him and says, almost whispering:

- I can’t love any other way. But if you just need to be held by your hand in the dark, I’ll learn.

And it holds. Long. Until you want to come out - yourself.

Nagi Seichiro

He’s not very emotional, but even he can feel the weight you’re carrying.

- It’s exhausting, isn’t it? Living at all.

It will not make you feel. Just lie next to it, plug in headphones, throw a gamepad:

- Let’s just not think. Together.

You don’t have to "be better" with him. He accepts your apathy as something natural. And this, surprisingly, heals.

Michael Kaiser

His first instinct is to ignore. He doesn’t have time for other people’s pain.

But you hold him in your detachment. And one day he comes up, looking straight into his eyes:

- You look like you’re already dead. Do you know what I do when I’m dying inside? I look in the mirror and remember who the hell I am.

He is provocative. He is stiff. But then he hugs - suddenly, firmly.

-And you won’t die while I’m around. Remember that.

Alexis Ness

He feels more than he understands. He looks at you and squeezes his lips.

- I want you to see yourself with my eyes. There’s so much beauty.

He starts doing little things: folding origami, leaving candy, telling stupid stories.

He doesn’t expect a reaction, he just hopes that one day you will smile. Even for a second. And that will be enough.

Rin Itoshi

Rin thinks you’re weak for a long time. He doesn’t understand why you can’t just stand up.

But then one day he sees you crying quietly at night, thinking no one notices.

He hasn’t said a word to you since.

- You hold on. That’s enough. I’ll take care of the rest.

He can’t be soft, but he stays. Every day. No explanation.

Sai Itoshi

He frowns. Not because you’re sad, but because he hates that the world made you do it.

- If someone hurt you, I’ll find them. I’ll break them.

But on those rare evenings when you’re just sitting next to him, looking at one spot - he’s stroking your hand, barely touching it.

The room does not demand, does not ask, just gives you the right to be who you are. And then quietly adds:

- If you want to feel alive, I’m here for you.

Ryusei Shido

He’s laughing in your face. Literally.

- Oh, the dark girl! Let me fuck you - maybe you’ll come back?

But then he sees how you tremble at night, and all his pofisticism flies away.

He is angry. At himself, at you, at the whole world.

- You don’t have to be funny. But you do have to live. I won’t let you disappear. Not you, okay?

Becomes aggressive in caring. It annoys. But saves. Because he is always near - like a storm, like a fire. Like life.

[beskars]

Hii! I hope you're doing well today🫶🏻

If it's not too much of a bother to you, could I please request a Vander x Reader where Vander is looking in his mirror and he's a little insecure about his physique as he gets older and he's kind of sad about his abs being slowly replaced with a dad bod but Reader's just like "Hey there sexy man. You're a sexy man, ya know that? Look at how hot and handsome you are, with your chub and all. Who is the prettiest man in Zaun? You are! Yes you are!" and affectionately squeezing the chub on his tummy?

Have a lovely rest of your day! Love ya, XOXO🩷

direct methods

Vander stood shirtless before the small, cracked mirror propped against the wall of his quarters, his critical gaze taking inventory of changes time had etched into his body. His fingers traced the softness settling around his middle—not pronounced, but noticeable to someone who once maintained the peak physical condition necessary for fighting in the pits.

Vi's casual comment that morning—"Better find you a bigger shirt soon, old man"—shouldn't have bothered him. It was harmless teasing, the kind of banter that flowed freely between them. Yet something about it had lodged beneath his skin, drawing his attention to changes he'd been deliberately ignoring.

He was so absorbed in his self-assessment that he didn't hear you enter until you were already in the room, your appreciative whistle followed by a heartfelt curse of admiration finally breaking his concentration.

"Damn," you said, leaning against the doorframe, making no effort to hide your appreciative gaze. "That's a view I'll never get tired of."

Vander turned to face you, one eyebrow raised in skepticism. "Think you might need your eyes checked, love," he replied, his deep voice carrying a rare note of uncertainty. "Not exactly what I used to be."

You crossed the room without hesitation, moving behind him to wrap your arms around his substantial frame. Your hands spread across his stomach, feeling the solid strength that remained beneath the slight softness.

"And thank goodness for that," you murmured, pressing your cheek against his broad back, feeling his warmth through the contact. "I much prefer this Vander to the one who had to fight every day just to survive."

He made a noncommittal sound, his large hands covering yours where they rested against his abdomen. His expression in the mirror remained doubtful, the furrow between his brows deepening as he studied your reflection.

"You don't need to humor me," he said, the gruffness in his tone attempting to mask vulnerability. "I know things change with time."

You turned him to face you, hands moving to frame his bearded face, making sure he met your gaze directly.

"Vander, we both know I'm a terrible liar," you told him, your tone brooking no argument. "Always have been. Lucky for me, I don't need to lie about this." Your hands moved to his chest, feeling the steady, powerful beat of his heart beneath your palms. "You're gorgeous. Always have been, always will be."

His expression softened slightly, though doubt still lingered in his pale blue eyes.

"The way I see it," you continued, "every bit of softness you've gained is a sign that you're finally living instead of just surviving."

Something shifted in his gaze then—understanding dawning as he considered your perspective. His large hands settled at your waist, the corner of his mouth lifting in the barest suggestion of a smile.

"When you put it that way," he conceded, his voice warming, "suppose I shouldn't complain."

"Definitely not," you agreed, rising on tiptoes to place a gentle kiss on his lips before pulling back with a mischievous glint in your eyes. "Though if you're still not convinced, I'd be happy to stop talking and show you exactly how gorgeous I find you." Your hands trailed deliberately down his chest toward his waistband. "Actions speak louder than words, after all."

"Always did prefer direct methods myself," he murmured, all traces of insecurity vanishing from his expression as he lifted you effortlessly, carrying you toward the bed with renewed confidence that proved some things—the ones that truly matter—hadn’t changed at all.

[goldcleaver]

I'm gonna put my two thirds of a classics degree to work here

When I said Phaidei can be seen as an allegory for Odysseus and Penelope, I meant it

Penelope encounters the returned Odysseus posing as a beggar. From a mural in the Macellum of Pompeii

Spoiler warnings: 3.0, 3.1, 3.2, as well as leaks towards the end.

TL;DR: Mydei is Penelope, Phainon is Odysseus.

Mydei and Penelope

Now, I know it may seem tempting to say that Mydei, being the big, strong, burly man that he is, is a parallel to Odysseus, but he’s actually Penelope! This whole fever dream of a "theory" actually stems from the parallels between Mydei and Penelope, specifically. Phainon was a secondary thought lmao.

Point 1) The theme of buying time

It cannot be understated just how much of Mydei’s core themes center around buying time, not just for others, but also for himself. 

On multiple occasions, he goes to some pretty extreme lengths to do so, namely in 3.0 when he offers up his own immortal body as a means of keeping Nikador occupied in Castrum Kremnos. In that moment, he completely puts his own safety on the back burner – the team needs to hold Nikador off long enough to render them immortal once more, and Mydei has the solution, no matter the personal cost of dying a couple of times. Later, in 3.1, he puts his own personal feelings aside to shoulder the divinity of Strife, despite the fact that he was hesitant to do so in 3.0, simply because it would be for the best. Then, at the end of 3.1, he completely disregards his own wants and fears, and takes the fight to the Black Tide on his own because he is the only one capable of doing so. By sacrificing himself in this manner, he can buy his fellow Chrysos Heirs enough time to usher in the new dawn, and the miracle of Genesis.

But Mydei doesn’t just buy time for others, he also does so for himself. Throughout 3.0 and 3.1, his story leads up to one massive decision: what to do about the Kremnoans. He is torn between claiming the crown – his birthright – and leading his people back to Castrum Kremnos, or leaving them in Okhema. 

However, to the Kremnoans, Nikador is synonymous with kingship, judging by Krateros’ reaction to Mydei surrendering the Coreflame to Phainon. In Krateros’ eyes, Mydei giving up Nikador’s divine power is the same thing as him “giving up the throne of Kremnos and forsaking his people”. 

As previously stated, Mydei is hesitant to claim Nikador’s coreflame for fear of ending up like his corrupt forebears and leading his people down the wrong path, so obviously he wants to put off that decision for as long as possible. First, he enters a (frankly, pointless) competition with Phainon just to decide who gets to deliver the final blow to Nikador, and gives up his win ridiculously easily if Phainon loses. That way, they can ignore the decision they have to make for a while longer. Then, when Nikador is dead, he is quick to surrender the Coreflame to Phainon, and promptly shuts down Phainon’s attempt to discuss the subject any further. So, by sending Phainon to the trial of divinity, Mydei can avoid making his own decision regarding the fate of the Kremnoans, if we take Krateros’ words about kingship and Nikador’s powers into consideration. Effectively, Mydei makes sure the decision is out of his hands – he didn’t technically reject the Coreflame, after all. 

So how does all of this connect to Penelope, exactly? 

Well, Penelope’s themes also center around buying time – for herself, and for Odysseus. She also has a big decision to make: who should succeed Odysseus as the king of Ithaca, and just like Mydei, she wants to put it off for as long as possible. Naturally, she doesn’t want to choose, and comes up with increasingly desperate ideas to keep the suitors at bay. In the end, she does succeed; she buys Odysseus enough time to return home, and as such she never has to choose a new suitor. Unlike Mydei.

You see, Mydei actually fails in avoiding his decision. In the end, he is forced to take on the Coreflame when Phainon fails the trial. As a result, Mydei has to make a decision regarding his people and his potential kingship. In this sense, Krateros and the rest of the Kremnoans are the suitors, encouraging Mydei (Penelope) to make a choice.

If we view Mydei’s actions through this Penelope-esque lens, we can draw some pretty convincing parallels!

Point 2) The challenge

At the climax of Penelope’s story, right before her reunion with Odysseus, she makes a last-ditch attempt to hold off the suitors by presenting them with a seemingly impossible challenge. She sets up twelve axes and demands that the suitors shoot through them flawlessly using Odysseus’ old bow. What she doesn’t tell the suitors is this: the bow is nigh impossible to string. Then, as a sort of fail safe, she sits down behind the axes. That way, if a suitor succeeds, she is immediately killed and doesn’t have to marry them.

While this is more far-fetched than point 1, a connection to Mydei’s actions can still be made, in the sense that he, too, has made arrangements for the worst case scenario. In case he is corrupted by the Black Tide, and thus cannot buy the Chrysos Heirs enough time to bring about the miracle (i.e buy Odysseus enough time to return to Ithaca), Mydei has arranged a fail safe for himself by telling Phainon about his weak spot. Phainon is the only one who knows about it, and as such, he is the only one who can shoot through the twelve axes with Odysseus’ bow. The parallels may not be perfect, but the narrative is very similar.

Point 3) Sparta/Castrum Kremnos

My last point is their origins. Penelope is Spartan royalty, though she was never its ruler. It’s no secret that Castrum Kremnos is vaguely based on ancient Sparta, and Mydei is the prince-turned-king of Castrum Kremnos. It’s a pretty obvious connection, but I’ve chosen to highlight it, nonetheless.

Phainon and Odysseus 

I'll admit that Phainon's connection to Odysseus is vaguer than Mydei and Penelope’s, but I can totally see it. 

Point 1) The one time is being bought for

Penelope buys Odysseus time to return to Ithaca, Mydei buys Phainon and the other Chrysos Heirs time to a) render Nikador mortal, and b) bring about the miracle of Genesis. Now, post-3.2, we know that Phainon is meant to take over the authority of Kephale. If the plan proceeds smoothly, he will be the last one left alive to reforge the new world with his, in Anaxa’s words, “complete, intact memories”. While we cannot be certain that Mydei knows this, it can still be argued that Phainon himself is the one Mydei is buying time for.

Point 2) Nobody

Odysseus initially evades Polyphemus by calling himself “Nobody”. Phainon is called the “Nameless Hero”, and we have no idea what his real name is. Just like Odysseus, he has crafted a persona for himself.

Point 3) The journey to Ithaca

Phainon going on the Flamechase Journey is his version of Odysseus' journey of going to war and then trying to make it back to Ithaca. They're both put through the wringer a million times over on their journey, and express desires to go back home. In the end, they are both crumbling under the weight of their past actions and losses, and become increasingly more brutal because of it, if Phainon’s behaviour towards Oronyx in 3.0 was anything to go off of.

Also, LEAK WARNING:

.

.

.

Going off leaks, we know that Phainon is both the Flame Reaver, and the final boss for Amphoreus. For whatever reason, we can guess that he lost his humanity somewhere along the line, and, if you can forgive the EPIC reference, became the monster. In the Odyssey, Odysseus ends his journey by slaughtering the suitors vying for Penelope’s hand, showcasing his potential for great violence, much like Phainon. 

TL;DR: Mydei is Penelope, Phainon is Odysseus.

Now, this was obviously mostly for shits and giggles, but the parallels are pretty convincing, ngl.

Bonus: Phaidei = Patrochilles

Now, additionally: they can ALSO be seen as an allegory for Achilles and Patroclus, especially since the game has already drawn parallels between the Iliad and the Amphoreus story.

The game is obviously hinting towards Mydei being Achilles considering his whole weak spot-thing. Naturally, that makes Phainon Patroclus. If we regard Mydei as the “true” heir to Nikador’s divinity, Then Phainon was technically taking Mydei's place in the trial. Ultimately, he fails to pass, which is a nice parallel to how Patroclus dons Achilles' armour to lead the Myrmidons, and dies against Hector, who Achilles later slays in a fit of rage. In this case, Hector is Nikador, who first dies by the team’s hands during the fight, and then later dies by Mydei’s own hand in his trial.

[butterbananabread]

Boys will be boys {B. Chan}

Pairing : Bangchan x fem!reader WC : 4,6k SS : 19 Genre : angst, fluff, smau Warning : car accident, pregnancy, fluff, angst, talk about adoption and abortion, morning sickness, miscommunication, bad ending

“You're pregnant.”

The doctor's voice vibrates in your ear, muted. Hidden by the deafening noise of the machines at your side. Your head hurts and the noise seems to get louder. You can hear voices mingling, trying to reach you. But all you can hear are these words repeating themselves in a loop, trying to get into your brain as you dismiss them with a wave of your hand, refusing to let them in.

The accident wasn't serious; Jeongin had yelled at you to wake you up. If you were still stunned, you knew to step on the brake and he immediately left the car to take your place at the wheel, calling the emergency services because of your condition. However, he was stunned: his cheek had been scratched during the emergency braking and his mouth was slightly cut. Nothing serious.

Yet, as the doctor has just given you some disturbing news, you nod slowly before turning to Jeongin, instinctively placing a hand on your friend's cheek. "You're hurt. Chan is going to be very angry with me. We need to tell your manager and you need to leave urgently."

He looks at you with round eyes of surprise, shaking his head and gently withdrawing your hand. "Noona, you're pregnant. I don't think you quite understand what's going on here. My priority isn't the tour."

"it should be. I'm not pregnant. I got my period this month. Everything is fine. Everything's fine. Just. Fine. Perfect." Your voice trembles, though. And even though you don't show your panic, he squeezes your wrist a little tighter in an attempt to calm you, to help you keep one foot on the ground. He glances desperately at the doctor, and again your ears begin to ring.

Jeongin helps you to your feet, the doctor speaks beside you. An ultrasound, a denial of pregnancy, you're not listening. But Jeongin is listening. He's attentive, as if he were his own son. All you can remember is that Jeongin still hasn't left. You don't listen to anyone, you refuse to look at your friend's smiling face and you refuse even more to know the sex of the child, when you're told you're already at the beginning of the second trimester.

Pregnant. Four months pregnant. Pregnancy denial.

Your head is spinning, the sounds are getting a little more mixed up and you're ignoring everything that's going on. All you remember is that the next thing you know, you're on a plane, sitting in first class next to an ever-pampering Jeongin.

"I wouldn't say anything to him. Not until you're ready. But noona, it's okay. That's good news, isn't it? I can't wait. I won't be the maknae anymore." He laughs, trying to lighten the mood. But your gaze is elsewhere. Lost in the clouds.

The first venue of the world tour was in Singapore. On arrival, Jeongin was greeted by the JYPE team who came to pick him up, and he messages you the address of the hotel where they're staying and calls you an uber. Even if he wants you to come with him, you can't simply afford to walk alongside him for too long without attracting curious stares. You arrive at the hotel much later and look at your phone. Jeongin has sent you a message, telling you that he's already left for training to catch up. And you're left alone in the hotel room he's paid for.

Your work. You haven't called your work. Or your friends. Or anyone. You still haven't processed the information, as if something were preventing it from reaching your brain directly, as if it weren't real.

You look down at your bag and reach for the Fendi bag Chan gave you and gently open it, pulling out the envelope containing the sex of the child and the ultrasound. You look at the envelope without opening it and put it back in your bag, sniffling, unable to cry for all that. Even though you've seen the envelope, you still don't believe it. You'll never believe it.

One year ago...

She's crying, knees to her chest, sitting on the bar bench not far from where the event is taking place. You slowly approach and sit down opposite her, ordering a cocktail and watching her cry. Soon, you're joined by the other girls. Her face is flushed as she slowly lifts her head to look at everyone and smiles slightly as she dries her tears.

“Sorry- it's just… I wish I'd been invited to the party with you.” Han's girl bites the inside of her lip, looking away as everyone comes over to give her a hug. Everyone's been invited. Most of the girls were invited. Except Han's daughter, who was invited to stay in the bar not too far from the party. That way, if Jisung felt tired, he could come and see her.

“You've got a right to be pissed off about this, babe. You should have a chat with Jisung. Slap him on the wrist.”

“He treats you like you're just his friend with benefits and nothing more.” The cheerleader grunts as she squeezes the girl a little tighter, stroking her back. You tilt your head as you watch them and come to hold your friend's hand.

“No, go ahead. Go have fun. Just… Do you ever want to send me messages…? I just… don't necessarily want to stay here all alone without anyone to talk to…”

The girls look at each other and you nod, stroking your friend's hair before placing a kiss on her forehead and getting up to leave with the others, offering her the cocktail you ordered before leaving for the event.

The event is a big one that takes place once or twice a year. Everyone gathers there, mainly the idols of the kpop industry, and several collaborators go there. You're used to going, as you've been going there with Chan for three years now, ever since the two of you became a couple. But during the evening, you never speak to him: he doesn't even look at you. You go as an emotional support, but you never look at each other.

You're used to it and it doesn't bother you, having your own habits. Usually, you sit down with Yuqi and Minnie and chat together. Sometimes other people join in. The evening goes well, at times you're on your phone, texting the girls or Chan while Yuqi recounts her latest visit to China.

The evening goes well for a long time and finally, when it all comes to an end, you join Chan in the car that picks you up from the back of the event. Getting back into the car, you look up at him as he places his hands on your hips, coming to rest on your lap as he gently kisses your neck.

“Thank you for coming. Seeing you, even from a distance, made my day. Even if I was rather jealous when Vernon came to talk to you.” He mumbles as he strokes your thigh, and you have to put your hand on his to squeeze gently. You caress his cheek, forcing him to raise his head and allow yourself to kiss him, sticking your lips against his. His hand moves up your back as he presses your body against his.

“This is normal. I know it's important to you.”

He shakes his head, settling back a little more against his seat as he strokes your thigh. “You say that, but that's not the case for everyone. Ji left early because apparently his friend ended up drunk at the bar and left early without waiting for him. Jeongin's girlfriend apparently left with a Chanel representative to discuss the new clothing collection? Not to mention the firefighter who left early without telling Changbin; he was super uncomfortable when he noticed she was gone. All this makes me despair. At least I've got the best of girlfriends, that makes me feel better.” He passes a hand over his eyes, continuing to stroke your thigh to relax.

You look at him, then gently take his face between your hands. “Stop it. It's not done.” He looks at you, not understanding what you're saying. “Unlike the girls, I'm used to these parties and my needs are different. The way you treat me and the way we've built our relationship is different from the way they've built their relationships with them. I'm not better or worse than the others. I have different needs. And honestly, not being your priority doesn't bother me. Being second in your interests is fine with me.” You place a kiss on her cheek and then on the tip of her nose, smiling softly.

“I've known you for years. We grew up together. I've seen you work hard to become who you are today. So I want your top priority to be your music. I accept second place. You're not my first priority either, after all.”

“Hey!” He laughs as he comes over to tickle you, as if to punish you for your words, and you laugh into his arms, clinging to him as you beg him to stop torturing you. After a few seconds, he stops and comes to kiss you again. “I love you, y/n.”

“I love you too, Chan.”

“One day, you'll be my only priority, I promise.”

You smile at him and close your eyes, sticking your cheek against his shoulder as you walk home.

The silence is terrifying. Because in the silence of the hotel room, all you can hear is the heartbeat of this child growing inside you. Your hand reaches for your belly, but you pull it away so as not to touch it, still refusing to admit that it's real. You open your computer, the only item you've managed to take with you. You close your eyes, trying to think of what you want to type on the search bar. “How to take care of a child”? “How to have an abortion after four months”? “How to put a child up for adoption”?

Your father will kill you. Pregnant before marriage? You remember the case of Chen from Exo, all the criticism he'd gotten for getting a woman pregnant before marriage. If he's happy today, he had to go through a lot before he could rest on his laurels.

Your computer screen shuts down, going into sleep mode, and you stare into space, waiting for an illumination. The envelope gently awaits you on the bedside table. The truth refuses to cross your lips. You don't feel ready at all.

The bedroom door opens slowly and Hyunjin's angelic face appears. He looks at you for a few seconds as a smile grows on his lips and he runs towards you, jumping on top of you. His action causes you to fall backwards and you smile at him, stroking his hair as he hides his face against your neck.

“Noona, Innie told me you're not well? Is that true?” He raises his head for a few seconds to look at you with a pouty face. “I went to buy you some clothes, he told me he forced you to come without even giving you time to pack a suitcase. I've raised him really badly, I deny him all his rights as my child.”

As you laugh at his words, holding him against you, the door opens a little wider and the whole little group enters the room. Minho places a bowl of soup on the bedside table, glancing at the envelope without touching it. Jisung comes to rest beside Hyunjin, pushing him so he can hug you too, and Chan watches from a distance, arms crossed. He looks worried but refuses to come closer, letting the boys hug you first.

“Jeongin's hurt. Are you hurt too?” He details your face and you blink, caressing your cheek before shaking your head. Yet he frowns as he approaches. “You've got cuts all over you… He told me he took the brunt of the shock. What happened?”

You open your mouth, but no words come out. The fear is still there, deep in your belly. So you place your hand on his and pull him back to you. “Can I sleep with you tonight?”

He smiled, amused. “Because you thought I was going to let you sleep alone? Of course we're going to sleep together tonight. Tomorrow after the concert, I'll look into an early flight for you so you can go home and get some rest.” He pulls you back onto his lap, placing a kiss on your forehead and Hyunjin begins to smile while Seungmin takes on a disgusted look because of Chan's action. You laugh a little. Being with them relaxes you. You almost make people forget your condition. But Jeongin's glance towards your belly and the envelope beside you reminds you of your situation and you squeeze Chan's arm a little tighter.

“Can I stay a little longer? I've got a vacation to drop off at work, so I could stay here a bit longer, couldn't I? The next gig's in Australia, isn't it? I'd love to go and see our family.”

Chan tenses. You can feel his hand slowly detach from your waist. While Jeongin's eyes twinkle at the idea, Felix and Minho look a little more uncomfortable, as if they know something you don't. You frown as Chan runs a hand through his hair. “Not really. It's kind of annoying, if you come. Love, you know I love you, but I can't afford to spend time with you. We'll hardly see each other, anyway, and I'd like to spend time with my family. Just me. And my family.”

You can hear his emphasis on “my” and feel your heart stop beating. Replaced by another heartbeat. The child's. The doctor's words are still pounding in your head. A child. A family. “I'm not a member of your family?”

“That's not what I said, love.” He looks at you, surprised by your words. Normally, you never insist when he tells you no.

“Hannah doesn't want to see me? Why can't I come?”

“Why are you acting like this? Why are you so clingy all of a sudden?” His voice is slightly louder. Enough to startle Felix. Changbin and Seungmin wince, leaving first, quickly followed by Minho, Jisung and Hyunjin. Jeongin stays a little longer, wanting to intervene, but Hyunjin comes and grabs him by the arm, forcing him out of the room.

“Clingy?” Your voice is low. You realize that all of a sudden, compared to usual, you're expressing yourself a lot more. You're asking for a lot more. It's true that he's not used to you asking for so much.

“Yes. I'm willing to stay with you today. But do you realize that, because of you, Jeongin has been late and is not at all ready to go on stage tomorrow? That he's hurt his face and our make-up artists have more work to do because of it? And you want me to spend money to take you to Australia with me? Just because you don't want to be alone? You've got a group with the girls. Spend some time with them.”

You gasp, shocked at his words and get up from his lap, walking around the room, thinking about it. Four months. That's all you hear over and over again.

“What's wrong?”

“Excuse me?”

“What's the big deal about being clingy? I've never asked you for anything. I've never forced anything on you. From the beginning of our relationship, I've always understood your situation, I've always made every effort in the world to be the most perfect woman. So why is being clingy a problem now? How is that a negative term?” Your voice gets louder. He remains silent, surprised to see you in such a state.

But what about you? You begin to hear your child's heartbeat a little louder in your ears. With each beat in your ears, the tears get bigger, more visible on your cheeks. You feel like you're being destroyed on the inside.

You're not one to get angry. But it's the only way to run away from what's growing inside of you. It's the only emotion you are able to feel when you think of his words, of the way he acts around you.

“I'm clingy, because I need you. Because right now, I need emotional support. I'm clingy because I want to be your number one priority. Your main focus for once in your holy life. Because I need you by my side. Because I need help. And if it bothers you that I'm clingy, then that's okay! You're right, I've got friends. If you refuse to make me your priority, I'll make sure you're not mine anymore either. But never, ever say clingy as if it's something negative when it is just there to show how much I trusted you to take care of me when I feel weak and alone. My only mistake was to think you would care about your fucking girlfriend, for once in your life!”

You pick up the envelope from the bedside table and leave the room, closing the door behind you, not even giving him time to reply. Not even giving him time to digest your words.

With tears in your eyes, you sniffle as you go to reception to ask for a room just for you. You rub your cheeks, trying to calm yourself; it's rare that you cry so much. It's rare that you let yourself be so miserable. But now your body is reacting in a peculiar way and you're blaming it all on the doctor who gave you the worst news.

“Noona?” You turn your head towards the voice and look at Minho, he looks worried. He approaches you, handing you a handkerchief and looking at you for long seconds. “Are you all right?” his words are soft and his gaze full of concern. He's never seen you cry, and you wish he'd never seen you like this. It's humiliating.

“No, it's not okay. Chan's actiong like an asshole. Minho, when you see him, tell him it's over between us, please. I'm taking the last flight for Korea.” Keeping your mouth close was never your strong suit. But you're normally much more diplomatic than that. You sniffle again, drying your eyes with the handkerchief, and end up leaving the hotel. In the end, you don't even want to stay in the same hotel as him.

Two months ago...

He's sitting at his recording studio. Jisung is concentrating beside him, headphones on, arranging the sound for the third time in less than five minutes while Chan goes over the lyrics to their latest song. He bites the inside of his lip, searching for a better way to express his feelings through the lyrics. Changbin raises his head and looks at them for a few seconds. “Chan hyung, didn't you have a date tonight?”

Chan is startled and immediately picks up his phone to look at the time. It's after midnight. He grimaces, remembering that he'd promised to take you out for your birthday. It's not the first time he's had setbacks, but he promised to make an effort this time. An effort that disappeared as soon as he had the idea for a new music. Isolating himself in his studio with the boys, music became the only thing he could think about. He ran a hand through his hair and let out a long, plaintive whine as he looked up at the boys.

“I screwed up. I don't know what to do.”

“Call her! Talk to her, work things out.” Changbin insists, looking at him, wondering why he still hasn't done anything to fix the situation between them. Jisung raises his eyes for a few seconds to look at them, then turns towards the door when he hears someone knocking on it. He gets up to see what's going on there.

“Did you guys order food?” He takes the bag of food the deliveryman hands him and returns to his seat, setting everything on the small table so they can eat. Changbin approaches to taste the tteobokki, his eyes on Chan as he calls out.

“Hm… Channie? What's up?” Your voice is sleepy and he winces a little more, realizing he's probably just woken you up.

“Love. Did I wake you up? I'm sorry. I wanted to apologize for forgetting about the date today. I got lost in my recordings. I'll make it up to you tomorrow, I promise. Tomorrow you and I are going to spend the whole day together. We'll do whatever you want.” He stands up, pacing back and forth while the other two watch him as they continue to eat.

He can hear your laughter on the other side of the phone as you yawn, slowly waking up. For a second, he thinks he should add it to his recording so he never forgets that sound. “Don't worry about the restaurant. I went out with the girls as soon as Felix told me you'd left for the studio. I knew you'd forget. I used your card to pay for my clothes, as punishment.” You laugh softly and Chan melts when he hears your voice. He's never heard a sweeter melody in the world. “I ordered food for you and the boys before I went to bed. Did you eat? I imagine you must be hungry.”

Chan turns his head toward the boys and the food. His heart misses a beat. He places a hand on his chest, dropping onto the sofa and nods, unable to speak for a few seconds. His eyes sting, the urge to cry rising in his throat. Jisung and Changbin look at him as if something strange is happening and stop eating for a few seconds, wondering what's going on.

“Yes- Yes, the food arrived all right. The boys were starving. Thanks, love.” He bends down to pick up his chopsticks and looks at the spice-free dish you ordered especially for him. It doesn't take long for the boys to realize what happened.

“Thanks Noona! You're the best!”

“Noona, please become my eumma!” Jisung moans as he clings to Chan, ready to snatch the phone from him to talk to you and thank you for the food. Chan pushes him away with his hand, getting up again to walk away from them and out to chat with you in the hallway.

“Tomorrow, what do you want us to do? I need to be a better boyfriend.”

“Hmm… Whatever I decide, you'll have to accept, right? I decide everything tomorrow?” He can hear the coffee machine in the back. Normally you'd be asleep but he just woke you up. Now you make yourself a coffee, you're not likely to sleep for a while. He knows this, but it would be hypocritical to say something about it.

“Whatever you want, my love.”

“Then I want us to spend a day in bed. Sleeping, cuddling. Maybe watch a movie. But I don't want us to leave bed tomorrow. You'll need your rest after your all-nighter at the studio.” You pause for a moment and he can feel your smile curl on your lips. “I could use some rest too, I'm not just thinking about you, so I forbid you from trying to stop me from enjoying you, tomorrow.”

He stays on the phone with you for a little while, tears still threatening to fall as he feels his voice tremble. All your actions are full of tenderness and love. It's as if you've never blamed him for anything, despite all his nonsense. He closes his eyes, vowing to make you his sole priority one day. To return all the love you give him every day. And when you finally hang up the phone to get some work done, he goes back into the studio with the boys.

“Noona really is the best. I needed to eat.” Jisung lies back on the sofa, stroking his belly to rest from his meal, and Changbin looks up at Chan, frowning as he sees him about to cry.

Chan flops onto the sofa beside them, eyes staring at an invisible point in the distance, unable to blink for fear of starting to cry.

“I'm going to ask for her hand. I'm going to marry her. As soon as we get to Australia, I'm going to get my grandmother's wedding ring and I'm going to ask for her hand in marriage.” The conviction in his voice left no room for doubt. Changbin smiled a little wider, glancing towards the computer a little further away.

“So I guess we should write a song for your proposal.”

Your phone continues to vibrate at your side while your head is in the toilet throwing up first thing in the morning. Your friend left early for work; as a sound engineer, she's busy early for the boys' concerts. But she left you her hotel room without the slightest inconvenience. You clean your lips, brushing your teeth to remove the unpleasant taste left in your mouth, and glance at your phone.

Chan is calling you for the fifth time since this morning. He hasn't slept, you know it. But you can't give in. No matter how much you love him, you know that a child is not what he needs right now. If this gets out, the whole group will be in trouble because of you, and you refuse to be responsible for the group's downfall.

Still, your hand trembles, and you pick up the phone. “I told you to give me time.”

“I can't. Love, Y/n, my Y/n, between you and me, I'm the clingy one. Not you, never you. You're right, you have every right to be. I acted badly, I spoke badly because of stress. I'm far too used to you looking after me, listening to me and calming me down, I didn't expect you to explode like that and I blame myself. Please come back. Please, please, please come back…”

“I haven't even been gone two days, Christopher.”

“Don't.” His voice trembles, you can hear him crying the way you call his name. You close your eyes as you rest on the bathroom floor. You're cold, you're alone. Slowly, your hand moves closer to your belly again, but you still can't touch it.

“I needed you.”

“I'm here.” He talks so fast, so desperately. It's as if he's ready to reach across the phone to you. “Please don't give up four years of relationship for a mistake on my part.”

“It's a mistake on our part. But…” Your hand settles on your belly and you caress it gently. You're pregnant. “But I want to own my mistake. And to do that, I have to let you go. Because now our priorities aren't the same. I have needs you can't fulfill, Christopher.”

“Don't. Stop calling me like that. Stop putting distance between us.” His voice becomes a whisper and all you hear are his muffled cries, as if he doesn't want you to be able to realize his condition. But you can. You hear it. You feel him. He's just as much of a wreck as you are. “Please forgive me. I love you. Stay with me. You're my only priority, please.”

“I'm not. And that's alright, Chris. I'm glad you have the boys with you. Take care of them and take care of yourself. Thanks for these four years.” And you hang up before he can continue talking, letting his pleas for forgiveness disappear into nothingness as you start to cry, your hand against your stomach. Chan is meant to be on stage. To be with his fans, his family. You're not meant to be someone's priority. You like being the only one who puts everyone else first. Even if it means forgetting yourself in the process.

[valentine-cafe]

May I have a churro and an egg tart please!?!?

[Afab gn reader]

Just thinking about "dumb" human reader again!! And you just really want to go on one of those picnics with Jingyi and Alessio!! But you just can't leave their apartment!!:( You get it!! You really do!! But you'll still beg them to let you go with them!!

-🍄

🍒 𓂃 𝑶𝑹𝑫𝑬𝑹 𝑼𝑷 : churro & egg tarts !! . . . naga & inhuman rockstar ⊹ afab gn reader .

. ᘛ 𝑓𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔​​​​​​​﹕verse 1311 ꮽ  jingyi agresta & alessio agresta arias

 𐔌𖹭 ˖ ࣪  who's that ?⠀﹕a stoic naga mechanic & his inhuman rockstar boyfriend

ּ  ֗ recepit ℘ ... you beg them to go on a picnic ⊹ cw ٬٬ none. 

"Well, I don't really see the issue with it." Alessio shrugs from the couch, mindlessly he scrolls through his phone. Clearly, he does not see your desperation, nor does he understand it.

"Really!?"

Your cheery voice earns a questionable side glance from him and another over the kitchen island as Jingyi attempts your lunch for the day.

"Why do you sound so surprised?" Murmurs the rockstar, arm propped behind his head and brow high in the sky. "Sure we can find a nice rooftop to have a lil' date. Or maybe by east's lake?"

"Well," you ignore his second words for a moment as you cling tighter to the woven picnic basket. "You always say I gotta stay here. . . so I thought."

His eyes widen a bit. His phone's discarded. You're immediately dragged to his lap with a single, long arm. "Yeah, when we're not here. Doesn't mean you're stuck here. What the hell do you take me for?" You frown and flush your hands to his chest. Then pout. Bat your eyes.

"I thought . . . "

Clinking glass and plastic carries your eyes to the counter where your quiet lover seems to already be setting up for your newly announced date.

"Don't be silly, baobei." As always, his voice sounds blank. His words bite. But you smile all the same while Alessio massages at your hips.

He deeply chuckles, hoist you closer to his chest. "Poor thing. You keep walking on eggshells they're gonna call the cops on me."

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