#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!

[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

[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.

[mi55delulu]

5:38 a.m.

pairing: team lead!jungkook x hr lead!fem reader — read prequel here.

wc: ~4.5k

synopsis: in which you and jungkook have a night in.

genre: coworkers au, romcom, established relationship, fluff, smut

cw: some office lingo, cute banter, they’re both huge simps, kisses, 18+ ONLY - MINORS DNI 🔞, fingering, oral (f receiving), jk is a munch

a/n: heh, sorry … march slipped away and i’ve been dealing with some stuff, so i didn’t really have the inspo to write. nonetheless, here is my april offering! i know i said timestamp drabbles won’t go anywhere but i’m a liar 😎

—

Date nights happened every Friday.

Jungkook liked planning them. Basketball games, live bands at the local park, pub crawling — you name it. They’re special because he gets to do them with someone he likes. What better way to end the work week and start the weekend than with you?

It’s finally Friday or in corporate terms: TGIF. Making it to Friday always came in the form of relief only for him to repeat the work cycle after a short lived break. He didn’t mind. Jungkook got to see you for five days in a row. Now? Fridays were his finish lines because you came as an extension.

Today is Friday — date night … er, was, until you confessed you were too tired to go out tonight. He supposes he can just use this time to start on his laundry or build that Lego set he got from his friend, Jimin, a couple months ago. Sometimes space from your partner is good. He knows it is. He adores your company all too much now that you’ve both began seeing each other for the past two months. Sure, he’s had years with you at the company — befriended you, watched you grow, and unknowingly pined for you until it finally clicked that he’d like to get to know you more outside of work. Still, dating your coworker posed risks. He’s witnessed many of his own peers and employees go through awkward dating phases.

As far as he was concerned, he made sure to follow his golden rule: never date your coworker.

Thank god he wasn’t a stickler to rules. At least, for you.

Jungkook closes your car trunk after you load your bags. You scan the parking lot to make sure there was no one around before you linked your hand in his.

“I’m sorry, my brain can’t handle being around people at the moment,” you confess. You’ve been under a lot of pressure in your area with the mass hiring event the company is hosting next week. It’s understandable why you’d want some alone time.

“Don’t apologize, I get it.” He presses a reassuring kiss on your forehead, noticing how your body naturally leans towards him, “you deserve a quiet night to yourself.”

He’s usually good at saying the right things, but the frown on your face has him second guessing. Totally wasn’t his intention to make you upset especially on a Friday where people celebrate their long awaited freedom.

“I didn’t say I wanted to be alone.”

Oh.

“I also said people, not you.” You clarify.

He smiles. Likes how straightforward you are with him. There’s no beating around the bush. Even before dating, you’re honest and assertive with what you want. It’s one of the many qualities he appreciates about you.

Tilts his head, “yeah? What do you have in mind?”

“Come over to my place,” you pause to think, “we can cook and eat dinner together if you like. I’ve been meaning to start on the Iron Man movies you recommended.”

Jungkook chuckles, pleased with your suggestion. It’ll be his first time over at your place. He wonders how your home looks like.

“Aren’t we going to the farmers market tomorrow morning? Iron Man might be too long of a watch. We can watch something shorter.” That way, you’ll both have time to unwind and sleep earlier for the farmers market.

Efficient. He’d figure you’d like that too.

Yet, it earns another frown from you.

“I don’t mind the duration …” your hand sways in his, “just want to spend time with you.”

It’s these moments where Jungkook is glad he broke his rule and decided to pursue you despite your initial ignorance to his attempts. Granted, he has a lot to learn from you in terms of being more upfront.

“But if you’re wanting efficiency,” you start, “did you want to stay the night? Drop off your stuff at home and pack some clothes for the night.”

“If you want,” you add.

Having worked with you for many years, Jungkook witnessed many instances of you making the impossible possible. Truly admirable how you understand and know company policies like the backside of your hand, so you’re prone to finding a way.

Just like now and how he wonders if you know his heart like the backside of your hand.

Yes, staying over was the most efficient suggestion.

But also, you’re going to be the death of him.

“I’d love that,” he smiles, “I’ll be over in an hour.”

—

When Jungkook appears at your door 45 minutes later, a tinge of regret sets at the pit of your stomach. He’s showered. Hair down and slightly damp. You’ve seen him in regular clothing outside of work, but him in sweats and a crewneck with the bottom of his oversized shirt poking out from underneath? Deadly combo for your heart.

Among other parts of your body.

He’s been making you feel … a lot these days. The subtle glances he’d throw at your direction if he was headed to a meeting on your floor. Not to mention his borderline suggestive Teams messages … which, you’ll have to give him a talk about eventually because you know IT is watching. Nothing too inappropriate … just says things like how he’s sorry for your slightly smeared lipstick (after sneaking a kiss in one of the conference rooms) or that he was thinking of you.

It leaves you hot.

Makes you feel like a pubescent teenager with their first boyfriend. Except, Jungkook wasn’t your first and technically hasn’t asked you to be his girlfriend. You’re not concerned. He hasn’t said or done anything to make you feel like he wasn’t dating you with genuine intentions.

“Come in.” You open your door wider to let him pass the threshold of your foyer. He sets his duffle bag down next to your couch and studies your living room.

You tidied up the best you could after you got home. Not much you needed to do being that you kept your living space relatively clean, but it was Jungkook’s first time over. You wanted him to feel comfortable in your home.

“I’ve always thought you were a white and beige decor type of person,” he marvels at the different paintings on the wall and little trinkets on your bookshelf.

“Is that supposed to be a bad thing?” You step closely behind him.

He straightens himself and shakes his head, “no, just full of surprises.”

You’ll take it as a compliment.

“Let me guess …” you hold your chin, pretending to be in deep thought, “black leather couch? Super hero figures?”

His jaw drops, “how’d you know?”

“I’ve seen your cubicle.” You link your pinky finger with his and lead him into your kitchen.

“Touché,” he waits closely behind you for his turn at the sink, “doesn’t explain your cubicle though. It’s empty.”

“It’s not empty,” you defend, moving to the side to let him wash his hands, “just … minimal.” You liked keeping your desk space clean. Often, people decorated their cubicles with photos of their loved ones or whatever current fixation they may have. You preferred an optimal space. Work is work. Plus, it tickled you when people wrongly perceive you.

“I’ve been thoroughly deceived,” Jungkook wipes his hand on the kitchen towel and turns to face you, “so what are we cooking up tonight, Miss Minimalist-Who-Isn’t-Really-One?”

You warm.

The evening is spent preparing dinner with Jungkook. His cooking skills lacked finesse, but he has a knack for throwing in seasonings that pair perfectly. He bumps the side of his hips to yours, reaches for the spices in your cabinet so you wouldn’t have to use your stool, and washes your pans after usage. This all feels so … domestic.

The crazy thing is? You wouldn’t mind having this every night with Jungkook.

You’re both seated on the floor of your living room, back against your couch with your food on the coffee table. Even with the movie playing in the background, you’re more invested in how Jungkook’s knees brush against yours and the sounds he makes when he’s eating something good.

It’s over the top and unnecessary, really. In the past, you’ve shuddered at chewing sounds. Hell, your friends would do it on purpose to annoy you. Those same friends would lose their marbles at the idea of you finding Jungkook’s eating habits endearing.

Crazy how liking someone can change you.

“Is the food not good?” He asks.

You look down at your plate.

“You’ve hardly touched your food,” he juts his chin at your plate.

“Slow eater,” you shrug.

“Liar. I’ve seen you eat at work.”

“Because we only have 30 minutes. Here,” you scoot your plate and begin transferring over some of your food to his plate, “help me.”

Just as he’s seen you eat, you’ve seen him too. You know his appetite and you also know he was being generous when splitting up the portions. You don’t mind sharing — there’s something fulfilling seeing him enjoy food, especially for a meal made together.

“Promise it’s good though. I think I’m still full from our potluck today.” You pat your stomach.

Jungkook eats with no reserve, “ah, for Rin’s goodbye party?”

“Mhm.” Rin, one of the senior leaders, was transferring to another company. It’s tradition to do goodbye potlucks as a result of the company’s policy to not delve into the party funds for these type of gatherings. Cheapos, but oh well. Rin brings her signature chocolate cupcakes all the time and this was everyone’s last chance to have it before she leaves. Unfortunately, Jungkook is located in another program area so it’d be awkward if he just stopped by for the food.

“Ugh, still upset you didn’t save me a cupcake.”

“You know those go out the first 10 minutes. Can’t blame me.” You know he’s feigning sadness. Finds it cute when he sulks — knows it’s an absolute privilege to see other sides of him outside of work. You’ll never take that for granted. It’s how you learned he has a full tattoo sleeve and a motorcycle license. If he thinks you’re full of surprises, he’s just the same.

Perhaps that’s why the both of you work so well together.

Bellies full and dishes washed, you and Jungkook are seated on your couch for the last half of the movie. His arm rests comfortably on the couch’s frame, hand just an inch away from the back of your neck.

“You’re so far away. C’mere,” Jungkook’s fingers caresses your cheeks, sending a rush of butterflies to your stomach. You scoot closer, head naturally falling on his chest as he places his hand on your waist. The movie plays in the background but you’re not even sure what’s happening anymore. All your attention is directed at the faint scent of his detergent and the thumb mindlessly rubbing your side. Such a small and innocent act, but it has your mind going to other places.

“I like this.” His voice interrupts your not so pure thoughts.

“Huh?” You straighten yourself up.

“Friday nights,” he keeps you close, “just like being with you in general. Do you?”

“I do,” you answer without hesitation, “I like being with you too.”

“Good.” Jungkook tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear and presses a kiss on your cheek. It’s small, fleeting, and delicate. Makes you want more. You never shy away from affection and Jungkook will always meet you halfway. He’s already there, head turned waiting for you.

Your lips meet his. Again, it’s small, fleeting, and delicate. Makes you need more. You frown when he pulls away. He’s not far though, forehead still connected to yours. You get lost in his hooded eyes.

“Did I upset you?” He tilts his head, “you’re always frowning around me.”

“Didn’t want you to stop,” you press another kiss on his lips, hand clutching onto his crewneck.

“Cute,” Jungkook’s breath fans over your skin as he chuckles into your lips, “you’re gonna be the death of me, you know that?”

He doesn’t let you answer. Simply kisses you more earnestly, drinking in your sighs and soft mewls. The prior hectic work week now long forgotten as you melt under his touch and company.

“Can’t die on me,” you shudder as he trails wet kisses down the column of your neck. You gasp when he sucks on a particularly sensitive spot.

He warms at your reaction and soothes the area with gentler kisses, “yeah, you’re right. Like you too much to leave you all alone in the shuttle.”

You nod, heart full from the revelation: he likes you. A no brainer, but it makes you happy hearing it come directly from him. People say it takes 30 days to form a habit. You like them — habits turned routines. You’ve had years with Jungkook and yet, you don’t think of Jungkook as a routine. Just a way of life — someone you seek out during the day and the next.

He pulls away with a serious look.

“I’ve been thinking …” his voice trails off, “about taking things a step further, as long as you’re okay with it.”

“As in?” You know what he’s implying, but you want to hear him say it.

“As in I want us to be together. Officially.”

You’ve been asked out before in the past: love letters, text messages, mid-sex — yeah, that was an odd one. But there’s something so sweet and mundane about how he’s asking you in the comforts of your home. Jeon Jungkook was always a source of familiarity — a constant at work. He’s still that even now.

Misjudging your silence for rejection, Jungkook repeats your name with a panic-strickened expression.

“Sorry, this is probably too soon, forget I said anything. I know we just started seeing each other and the whole dating your coworker dynamic might be weird, so …“

“Jungkook,” you laugh, “you think I’m going to say no?”

“Uh, yes?” He swallows.

“When have I ever said no to you?” You lean forward.

“Plenty of times,” he recounts with a playful grin, seemingly more calm now that you’re talking again, “Soobin’s salary increase, not wanting to try my caprese salad, and you still haven’t let me preview the interview questions.”

“First off, Soobin is capped off at his level. If we give him a raise, we’d need to reevaluate the entire company too. Before you say anything, we’re at a budget freeze. Also, I hate tomatoes, you know this. And previewing is—“

“Off the tables. I know, I know. I was just kidding,” Jungkook interrupts and takes your hand in his, “you’re right though. You rarely say no to me. But in this case or anytime ever, you can.”

You never had an issue with saying no until Jeon Jungkook came along. Damn those eyes and honey-laced voice he has no control over. You’ve questioned whether he’s aware of his effects; though, what does it matter when you’re willing to find alternatives to his requests?

“Huh. Wish I had that option for all your past personnel requests,” you tease. Jungkook rolls his eyes and snorts. He’s always been persistent at work, but in these circumstances, Jungkook was more than willing to wait on your terms.

You know this.

You shake your head, “can’t say no to you purely because I don’t want to,” you soak in his expectant expression, “and … I want to be with you too.”

People tell you that falling for a coworker was a recipe for disaster. You’ve seen it in your profession. Conflict of interests, gossip, and tension at the workplace if things go sour. Though, dating Jungkook never felt like a risk or a gamble. With every surface you scratch at, you feel even more immersed in Jungkook.

“Really?” He blooms, dimples making your heart stutter in your chest.

“Yeah,” you nod, “I like you a lot … always have.”

The confession shouldn’t surprise anyone. And yet Jungkook looks at you as if he won the lottery.

Struck gold.

Peppers kisses all over your face, follows after your body as you lay down, calls you cute, and revels in your giggles. Sure, he makes your job … challenging at times, but being with this Jungkook? Affection and intimacy comes easy. Simple. Natural.

“You like me too, yeah?” You husk into his lips, feeling his nose graze your cheeks as he nods.

“Course, I do,” he murmurs, “more than you’ll ever know.”

“Will you show me?”

You really will be the death of him.

Just like how you can’t say no to him, Jungkook can’t either.

Feels right when your hand wraps around his wrist and guides it right above the waistband of your loungewear, “please?”

Jungkook is a simple man.

Loves that one yellow floral dress you wear when the weather gets a little warmer — an indication that Spring is here. To new beginnings. Doesn’t realize you’ve purposefully worn that dress in the past because you enjoy the way he lights up every time he sees you. Recently, his new thing is whenever you fix the collar of his dress shirt at work. Yes, he’s a simple man. And just like right now how it doesn’t take much for him to get worked up when you look up with pleading eyes reserved only for him.

Jungkook leans in, thumb pads over the plush of your lips. It’s only natural for you to kiss them. Only natural for him to replace his thumb with his lips. Greedy. Weak. Feeble. His resolve further crumbles when your fingers grasp at his crewneck, pulling his body closer. Gets a little messy in his kisses and licks the seams of your lips. Permission? Granted, always.

“Oh!” You gasp. Music to his ears. Jungkook pulls away only to watch your expression change as he trails his hand past the waistband of your pants. Could feel your heat and slick gather at your panties.

“This okay?” His middle finger applies more pressure down your slit.

“Yeah,” you nod, “keep going.”

Call it stress or your recent dry spell, but when Jungkook’s fingers part your panties to the side and begin rubbing at a pace that has you falling apart, you come undone in under a minute. Couldn’t help it even if you tried.

“I-“ you moan into the crook of Jungkook’s neck with your eyes shut tight, unable to formulate a proper sentence let alone warn him of your orgasm. He knows though, doesn’t have to see your face to know that you’re cumming. Wishes he could. Instead, he’s met with the sudden wetness coating his fingertips, the twitch of your clit, and your muffled cries.

“It’s okay, cum for me,” he reassures while planting kisses on your shoulder, “that’s it, baby. Let go.” His fingers never ceasing in movement.

It’s never happened this fast before, not with other partners nor on your own. But you lay there, breathless and slightly embarrassed. Clarity seeps through your veins: You are dating Jungkook. Jungkook just made you cum on your couch. You like Jungkook. A lot.

A shy laugh bubbles out of Jungkook. You’re not sure if it’s your own sweat or the condensation from Jungkook’s warm breath on your skin.

“That was quick.” He teases. You swallow, squirming underneath him to push at his chest. He doesn’t move. Stays. Fingers are still moving up and down your wet sex. It’s comforting as much as it’s getting you worked up again.

“Embarrassing,” you correct, “mmf, Jungkook,” you bite back a moan at the feel of his middle finger push at your entrance. He doesn’t do more than that. Just applies the right amount of pressure to have you sigh in wanton.

Your hand runs down his torso, also wanting to return the favor, but Jungkook shakes his head.

“Work’s been so tough on you,” he removes his hand out of your pants and sits up on his knees, “let me take care of you, you deserve this.”

Not reciprocating isn’t your style, especially if you really like someone. Feels wrong to not make them feel good too. It isn’t out of obligation, it’s because his pleasure makes you feel good too. Judging by Jungkook’s tented sweats and flushed skin, you know he’s enjoying this. And so when you nod for him to continue, you swore you caught a glimpse of his cock twitch.

Before you know it, your pants and underwear are somewhere on the floor. Jungkook takes off his crewneck and and jokes it’s in solidarity, but immediately folds at the sight of your pout. His t-shirt eventually joins the rest of your clothing on the floor.

You gulp, mesmerized by his lean physique. You always knew there was something more underneath his typical business attire and oversized clothing. Just never realized where his tattoos began and ended … whether there’s more you’ve yet to discover. The freckles. Sunspots. Scars and stretch marks. All of it.

“You’re so pretty.” He says while kissing down your exposed stomach. His hands push the back of your thighs up towards your torso, parting your legs at the same time.

“Oh god,” you screw your eyes shut again as Jungkook places a delicate kiss on your sex, just a hair away from your clit.

You tremble, mouth agape from Jungkook’s tongue trailing up and down your pussy. Slow. Purposeful. Wet. So fucking wet. Maps all the areas that get you breathless and whiny. Saves those landmarks for future visits. Jungkook doesn’t tease — not this time at least. Because the moment you cry out from the small flick of his tongue in your clit, he’s all in. Lips suctioning around your clit, Jungkook finds home between your legs. You whimper, back lifting off your couch and toes curling.

He eases away and places a small kiss on your thigh to get your attention.

“Want you to watch. Will you do that for me?”

You can’t say no to Jeon Jungkook. Not when his nose is flushed, lips and chin dewy from eating you out. Not when his usually well-kept hair is slightly tussled, but he still looks so effortlessly good. Not when he asks you so nicely with those glassy eyes.

Simply because you don’t want to say no.

When you wordlessly prop yourself up with your elbows and tilt your head to the side, Jungkook chuckles and dips back down to your clit, “gonna make this so good for you, ‘kay?”

His eyes are unwavering. Locks eyes with yours for a second to make sure they stay open for him and only closes it to refocus on the task at hand. His moans vibrate into your cunt, brows furrowing deeper upon your breathy moans. Works harder to draw out louder ones.

Jungkook thinks there’s nothing better than having you like this. Performs even better when you spur him on with words of encouragement. ‘There,’ ‘Yeah,’ ‘Uh-huh,’ ‘You’re so good,’ ‘Mhmm,’ ‘Faster.’

He knows you’re close when you start rutting your pussy against his face at a steady rhythm. Easily glides two fingers inside and thrusts at an even pace. You lurch forward, shoulders hunched over at the sudden intrusion.

“Jungkook,” you pant, “y-you’re gonna make me cum.”

“Want you to come,” he encourages with a moan, “go ahead, show me how good you feel.”

It’s right there. Another lick followed by the curl of his fingers has you gushing around him for the second time tonight. White splotches bloom behind your eyelids. Jungkook keeps his promises. Makes it good for you by sucking on your clit to draw out your orgasm.

Your body plops back down on your couch, shaking from both the aftermath of your orgasm and how Jungkook continues to lap at your sex.

A few seconds pass and Jungkook finally makes his way back up to you, forehead knocking against yours clumsily. You smile into his kisses, taking in the taste of you on his tongue.

“Needed that, didn’t you?” He exhales against your lips, grins cheekily when you concur, but also realizes how tired you must be with the lack of comebacks.

Jungkook stares at the clock on your wall after you yawn, “let’s get ready for bed, hm?”

“But you,” you stare down between you and eye his hard length poking at your thigh.

“Will live,” he chuckles, “next time, okay? ” Jungkook seals the promise with a kiss.

—

You startle awake in the early morning. Half of it thanks to Jungkook’s movements and the other due to forgetting you had a guest. The dark blue morning hues don’t cast enough light for you to recognize the other person in bed with you. You recognize his scent though. Body naturally gravitates toward his warmth.

“Jungkook?” Your voice croaks, eyes fighting to stay open.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” You feel your mattress dip from his movements.

You chuckle, “a little. You were moving around quite a bit. Not used to another bed?”

“No, no, bed is fine. Great even, might need to get the same one at my place” he clears his throat, “ah well anyways, I was just …”

“Hm?”

“Just thinking.”

“About?”

He sighs, shifts his arm underneath your head to eliminate the distance between. The brief pause has you anxious and yet you wait patiently for what he has to say.

“We’re, like, together-together, right?”

“Yes, why?” You answer without hesitation.

He exhales, “so we’d have to sign some sort of nepotism form?”

Having processed multiple nepotism forms, you know couples typically avoid doing this in the event there’s an eventual breakup. No one likes being talked about if there was a split, but also no one likes being caught breaking company policy. You’re a stickler to rules. Except, it feels a little different now that it involves your own personal life.

Was Jungkook afraid of people knowing? Did he have fears that the relationship wasn’t going to last?

“That’s what’s keeping you up?”

“Why wouldn’t it?” You can sense a pout even in the darkness of your room, “I love working with you. Bugging you is the best part of my day.”

Ah.

“So you do do it on purpose,” you gasp jokingly knowing full well of his intentions.

“You’re ignoring the part where I said I love working with you,” he hugs you tighter, face smushed against his bare chest, “who else is going to help me with my wacky requests? Or entertain my Teams messages?”

“Speaking of your messages …”

“You just love giving me bad news, huh?”

“You know IT can see all our messages. We could get in trouble.”

“I’m not worried. I know a guy …”

“And this is why we need to fill out that nepotism and disclosure form.”

You grin into his warm chest, “also, you’ll probably have to work with Sora on your future requests.”

“You’re joking,” he deadpans, “now I’m really not going to be able to sleep. She takes a minimum of five business days to reply to my emails.”

“That’s cause you knocked over her yogurt in the fridge,” you laugh.

“That was two years ago!”

You place a small reassuring kiss on his chest, “I’ll find a way. You know I always do.”

—

a/n: in lieu of missing my march entry, i shall give you three random life updates: 1. i am following eagletok despite being afraid of birds (shadow and jackie otp) 2. back on dating apps aka hell! had a lowkey idol x fan moment when one of our city radio hosts liked me on there. so, god if you’re listening … i would like this yn moment with any of the bts members pls, thx!!! 💞 3. cried almost every ep of WLGY🍊

next update will be a namjoon fic that me and my bestie been plotting since 2022. don’t ask how much i’ve written … you will be sorely disappointed. but it has potential!!! till next time. ♡

[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.

[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.

[burning-sol]

"pirating this thing in your own private time is still supporting the author" okay so like i understand the energy we putting out here but i think we need to dial things back. what is the person reading a harry potter book that they got for free/second hand and talking about it with other people who, i would presume, hold the same belief that jkr is a bigot that should not be financially supported in any way... what is this condemnation of a very specific subset of people doing to help trans people?

should we not be, say , attempting to take down the sites that host harry potter merch mayhaps? going to the universal theme park and causing disruption? actually going to your local book store and getting them to stop distributing harry potter books? things that put an actual dent in her profits rather than getting mad at the hypothetical influence spread by people who are clearly already on our side and hate her too? like. do we understand how the population of people already making the moral decision to pirate her products to not give her profit are maybe not the priority when there are people who DO buy her products because they are bigoted, irreverent, or ignorant?

also idk i think maybe making the pirated work more easily available is a valid strategy in itself to impact her profits. i think maybe allowing people the space to revisit the work and see with critical eyes the bigotry that was embedded in the work from the beginning promotes a greater understanding of the building blocks of fascist ideology. i think restricting the very nature of what people think and condescending to them about how their nostalgia is a moral failing is perhaps promoting a toxic environment.

and, to be clear, i think you're valid if you genuinely just dislike people if they engage with harry potter in any way. you are allowed to cut out whoever you want from your life. it IS a deeply upsetting thing to know that people care about a work that has caused real, tangible harm to communities...

but like,, i personally dont care about if people like art that's made by bad people if they're being responsible and conscious about how they access and talk about that media. i am moreso distressed when i walk into a grocery store and see harry potter merchandise on the shelves than i am abt people doing piracy. i am more distressed about the bigots that praise jkr and use their online presence to doxx trans people than i do about spiteful former fans deciding they want to continue making fan content for the sake of communities that are over a decade old. i am intensely more distressed by the actual harm i know is being done rather than speculating about how much more influence a group of well-intended people are giving to a property that already literally has so much influence there is an international harry potter day.

i mean.. i concede i care somewhat. but. mayhaps we can acknowledge our rightfully, intense hurt is capable of being misdirected. mayhaps we need to bring back in the reality that majority of people arent even doing us the the respect of pirating harry potter and that's more of an issue. does that make sense? am i making sense. i am tired.

[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."

꒰ ۪ ˖ ࣪ 𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑢 ... info ꮽ mlist ꮽ verse ꮽ wiki .

[jujubas1226]

For all the elriels affected by this toxicity

I don’t usually post much because I believe that, after four years, repeating the same discussions and countering the same arguments isn’t going to get me anywhere—it’ll only drain my energy. So I prefer to just stay in my little corner thinking about what the next book might be like (although even that has become a bit repetitive 😅).

But lately, I’ve seen quite a few people opening up about how the toxicity of this ship war has been affecting some of you to the point of feeling discouraged from engaging with the fandom. And that’s really sad to read, especially because the main reason isn’t boredom or frustration with the ship itself, but the fact that other people invade our space (directly or through answered asks) just to provoke and insult us—and even in general ACOTAR spaces, we still get hit with baseless hate.

It’s not easy dealing with all of this, but it’s important to remember that it’s only happening because we’re at an advantage. Our ship is labeled the most likely one, while the others are seen as “unconventional theories” or the ship that will take the longest to happen (if it ever does), because it hasn’t even begun to develop yet. We’re more recognized, validated, and encouraged—and they just can’t handle that.

So their defense is to attack. To go after whoever they think should be targeted. To insult the character they hate the most (Elain) or the one who’s not acting the way they want him to (Azriel). To insult those who support them being together. To twist everything they can get their hands on in a desperate attempt to assert themselves.

Don’t let them hurt you. Let them bark alone. Block them, use tag filters (even anti-el*cien, anti-gw*nriel tags and such, if you want to stay as far away from this mess as possible). Ignore them and focus on the positivity brought to us by the amazing people surrounding this ship, on the arrival of Elriel Month, and on the taste of victory that’s starting to bloom on our tongues.

A big hug to you all ❤

[nagareboshiko]

After their first encounter, their- friendship or whatever that bond of theirs could be called, it had been a slow and steady path between the two of them. As if after a storm, the tide had retracted back, and it was trying to make its way back gently to the shore.

He had intrigued her from their first exchange, her memory was a little bit fuzzy on that summer night, but she remembered enough to know perhaps what she concealed as a one time attraction had never been really that simple of a matter.

Objectively, no one could deny he was handsome; the perfect model looking guy with long legs, a body that she knew to be trained, she had scraped with her own nails the lines of his muscles. The wavy ginger hair as soft as it looked, where she had loved to bury her hands in, said locks burning under the sunrise and complementing a face dusted by galaxy of freckles. Those blue eyes that even the bravest ones could drown into.

He was witty, caring with her, funny- she had to stop her own train of thoughts, almost afraid that he could read her helpsness through her eyes.

She was down bad. Too bad, she knew that. But surely there were more pros than cons, right?

Despite all attempts to ignore whatever stomach turn he'd cause within her body, she found herself willingly, even if subconsciously at first, follow the rules of his own storm. She didn't mind dancing to his own music, she wanted him to be close to her, to feel again how much he needed her the same way she might need him. Even if it was just a physical crave, let her be consumed by it, by him.

Even if it was just lust, even if it was just two stars colliding against each other until they burnt together. Let them burn.

That was the kind of pull he had on her. Every time he looked at her with a sentiment she understood better now, every time his grin hid more than innocence. So many moments she had almost reached out for his hands, for his face. Many almosts, but always afraid to cross that line she had restricted herself with.

No wonder the incident of the cleaning cupboards had her basically climbing on him. Life was too short to have regrets. She read that somewhere on Tumblr.

Ugh, the way he said her name had her fingers gripping tighter at the fabric of his top, voice as low as when he had breathed heavily against her ear.

She only raised a little. He had already made half of the work by leaning down. Her lips found his, firmer compared to a couple of hours ago in the library, finding it harder to speak too far away from his mouth now that there were no potential unwanted eyes on them.

"We could study if you wanted to." Her breath fanned against his mouth, eyes barely raising to meet his own. "I could tell you about Epicureanism." She kissed him again "and whatever the pursuit of happiness comes through cultivation of pleasure" and however that linked with capitalism, but she didn't continue that thought of process as she her mouth was too busy on his again.

Or talk about stars, whatever really as long it meant he'd keep his hands on her.

She was in his apartment. She brought the scent of something sweet and soothing with her. At some point he had wondered to the kitchen, heard her remove her shoes and place her bag down while he filled the kettle that didn't get turned on before filling a large glass with water.

"Study." Right they were meant to study. He sighed internally. The time they had been apart from one another made everything so much worse. Like a fire that ravaged a forest, all it took was a spark and she must know she was igniting every tree she touched.

"I'm a decent cook, you know. One day I'll make you a proper meal." He spoke into the glass raised to his lips, taking a sip as he mulled his proposal. He liked the idea of that actually, might be hard to have a candle light dinner at his desk for one but he knew he couldn't make it work.

Thankfully, Ajax had swallowed before she spoke his name because fucking fuck fuck it sounded so good in her mouth.

He placed down the glass and despite the action being gentle the sound of it touching the counter echoed in his ears. The man turned and finally faced her since looking away. She was beautiful. Truly a beautiful woman. Absolutely, purely, high level, museum worthy, beautiful. Ajax looked down at her, his back at the edge of the counter, as he subconsciously held his breath thinking about how the winters setting sun caught in her eyes made them seem like bottled starlight. His heart was loud in his chest. She was close. He wanted her closer. So close they melted into one another. She was a smart girl. Surely she knew there was no way they were going to be able to concen on a text book when nothing stood between them now. Ajax tentatively reached for her cheek and closed the distance, his head craned down as he guided hers up. "Lumine..." He began, voice lower as though someone else could hear them. "When you said you wanted to study, did you really mean it? Because, if I'm honest, I don't think I'd be able to concentrate with you here..." His jaw clenched as he consciously remembered to breath again, the very last of his will stopping him from eating her alive.

[theanonymousninja247]

✨ Star Friends ✨

When I found out that @chessman-protocol boy Crit liked Astronomy, let’s just say I was beyond estatic and immediately planned this little comic. Here’s to my boy Vincent doing his best to make friends with folks who share similar interests 😅💙

Funny enough, I didn’t realize I put this in Vincent character’s until I looked at the whole thing, but Vincent very much shares the lack of stranger danger the way I did/ I do to this day. To quote one of my past managers I’m “abnormally friendly” or whatever

I can’t tell you how many times even as a small child (drove my parents nuts) that I saw a cool person with whatever connecting factor and I just straight up walked to them and was like “Ok cool. We’re friends now.” And nobody’s really stopped me? So apparently I have friends now. 😆

Vincent however is just a wholesome baby boy who doesn’t realize he’s actually an intimidating hunk of a turtle and randomly walking up to strangers and not saying anything can be taken the wrong way.

Like I said, he’s trying his best. He wasn’t exactly the most socialized if you can’t tell, but he does love dearly and is certainly a boone of a friend to have once you get past the inevitable social awkwardness. He’s loyal to put because he really doesn’t know better, and I adore him for that. Anyway, dunno if Crit knows any ASL or not, but either way Vincent is just excited to meet somebody else who likes space ✨🌌 💙

[theskyexists]

Ok looked at all the vampire f/f books listed on sappfic.com or whatever and. Thats not a lot comparatively and also I had an idea! Who wants to read the one scene i already wrote for it

[maiyuyuns]

my reaction after ()’s attempt to gaslight me for the uncountable time into trying to repair this broken relationship that they ruined

[tonycries]

The Way You Kiss Me - G.S.

Synopsis. The four times Satoru tries really hard not to kiss you - his best friend’s pretty younger sister. And the one time he doesn’t.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! Suguru’s sister! reader, childhood enemies to lovers, PINING Satoru, like really really disgustingly down bad, creampíe, oral (fem receiving), pússytalking, needy JEALOUS! Satoru, running away from it, spítting, punching is Suguru’s love language, mentions of aIcohol, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 7.4k (That’s wild)

A/N. BOO! Surprise upload. This was so fun to write omg.

“You sure this is how the grown-ups get married?”

“Duh, I know everything.”

“Nuh uh, Toru.”

“Yuh uh!”

The first time Gojo Satoru kissed you was underneath that dingy playground slide that the two of you always raced to after elementary school. 

Usually, your older brother, Suguru, would walk home alongside you two - but this time, he’d just so happened to have been held back for throwing paper planes at the teacher that day.

A sign from the universe, Satoru internally celebrated, something he’d learned from those sappy romance novels his mother left lying around the house. No matter that he was the one that made those planes.

You were six back then, standing in front of a determined Satoru - reaching up on his tip-toes, face pink, smelling of those cheap strawberry lollipops he’d sneak into class and taunt you with. At the much older and wiser age of seven, he’d insisted on being the first one to lean in.

Just barely even grazing your dramatically puckered lips before-

Satoru learned two things that fateful afternoon:

Even as a seven-year-old, Suguru’s punches really hurt. 

Never mess with you. Anyone but you. 

Life only seemed to go downhill from there - because that last lesson was proving to be hard along the years. Really. Fucking. Hard.

Little did Satoru know that this would be the start of some strange, unpredictable little dance of push and pull. No, you definitely weren’t his wife. Nor were you exactly best friends - not really, that spot was reserved for your brother. But you didn’t think you could ever be just that either.

And the punch that’d knocked his wobbly tooth out onto the playground floor that day was a painful reminder that whatever that was - whatever weird thoughts he had later in middle school about how you’d tasted like candy - didn’t matter. No matter how part some tucked-away little part of him wanted it to.

Hell, eleven years later and Satoru still can’t walk around that familiar block without feeling slightly queasy. Which is why, after that failed first kiss, he knew there wouldn’t be a second. 

Instead, he settles back to teasing your pouty self, pushing all your buttons, tugging on those cute dresses you wore. Face burning so strangely with- humiliation? when you bickered right back, calling his haircut a “tragic attempt at modern art.”

“So you’re saying I look like art?” A gangly, now-seventeen Satoru blocks the bustling high school hallway, ignoring the bell. Grin only growing at your frustrated huff, he half-jokes, “Aww, if you’re that soft on me, sweetheart, maybe we should go to prom tog-”

You slam your locker, effectively shutting both it and Satoru at the same time. “I’d rather go with Yaga.”

“...you would not.”

“Would to.”

“Would not.”

“Would to.”

“Would- Sugu–!”

And all Suguru can do is wrap two hands around his neck, mock-choking himself, wondering if it was really too late to embrace a quiet life as a monk. “You’ll both be MLA cited in my farewell note.”

He was used to it, though, forced to watch all this chaos since quickly mending his friendship with Satoru over ice cream the day after the punch. Convinced that this was some punishment for a past life’s misdeed.

With a squawk of protest, Satoru’s turning back to you, eyes crinkling with a hint of mischief you knew too well, “Would not.”

Your face burns, “Would to, Toru.”

You didn’t go with Yaga. but Satoru didn’t exactly count that as a win in his books, either, because you did show up that night hanging off the arm of some jerk from the football team. 

And there you were, all dolled up - which he very objectively noted - way too prettily for some bastard like him. Stars in your eyes, and everything he couldn’t have in that smile. 

Everything. 

Way too gorgeous, even when he finds you sitting outside the gymnasium later on in the night. Too busy bawling your mascara off to even throw out your usual greeting insult his way. Murmuring out wetly about “that asshole” and how he humiliated you by stranding you in the middle of the dance floor for someone else. 

“Well, he was a jerk anyway. Even Yaga would’ve been better, hell, I-” Satoru stops short to his horror at the way you only cry harder.

Way too irresistible, especially as his body moves before his mind - holding out an open hand before he knows it. “I’m a much better dancer than him and you.” And oh Satoru will forever remember the way his heart lurches as you blink your teary eyes up in confusion, “Well, aren’t ya gonna take up the challenge?”

Weirdly, it wasn’t weird at all. 

If anything, you had to hold back your laughter the entire time at the way the great “campus sweetheart” Gojo Satoru was so on edge.

Just a friend comforting a friend, right?

So why was he avoiding your gaze with the subtlety of a sledgehammer, summer blue eyes pointedly trained right over your head. That pretty pink blush dusting his cheeks reflecting the hands hovering in midair over your waist. So close - and yet, fear in each and every turn and swirl.

Yours were searing into his broad shoulders as you tried to guide him to the muffled music from inside. And shit.

That night ended with a second kiss. 

You don’t know who leaned in first, just that Satoru’s soft lips were just fleeting on your glossy ones - barely even a touch. And that shit shit shit- this was Satoru. This was you. 

Everything. 

But it seems that every time Satoru was about to kiss you dangerously close to the way some tiny, forbidden part of his heart wanted to - the universe throws an obstacle at him. An obstacle that was six feet and named “Suguru”, currently running at break-neck speed out of the gym.

“MOVE YOUR ASSES!” he cackles, “THE FOOTBALL TEAM ISN’T TOO HAPPY ABOUT ME BREAKING THEIR STAR PLAYER’S NOSE.”

And not a word is uttered about the kiss as the three of you speed out of the school parking lot in Suguru’s busted-up black hellcat, the wind mussing up the hairstyle that took Satoru over two hours to perfect. Sneaking in glances at the sight of you singing along at the top of your lungs to some overplayed pop song on the radio. 

He learns another two things that night:

Apparently, Suguru’s right hook still really fucking hurt. And thank god for tonight’s casualties of noses, because it was a wonder that he didn’t look too hard at how close Satoru was with you. 

He didn’t…dislike the feeling of your lips on his. And judging by the way you meet his eyes in the rearview mirror - you didn’t either.

It’s mainly that last one that makes him gulp.

Neither of you remember the third kiss - though, Satoru’s sure that at least 80% of Shoko’s instagram followers did.

According to a very hungover Shoko, and the many, many forms of documentation, it had happened on the New Year’s eve during your third year in university. In which you were much more used to the raging parties that would be hosted at Suguru’s apartment, and only slightly less intimidated by them.

“And you’re a lightweight too, dumbass. You were gone.” Shoko sighs from across the café table, eye bags deeper than the last time he’d seen her. “Like gone gone.”

God, what a way to start the year.

Satoru bites back a remark about how “gone” Shoko herself had been. Sitting up straight in his seat, regret immediately hitting his senses faster than the guilty throbbing at his temples. He winces, managing out a semi-disbelieving groan of, “Gone gone?”

And she’s only nodding wearily, subconsciously tapping out the rest of her cigarette ashes onto his untouched plate of sweet pastries. 

“I’m talking dancing on expensive coffee tables and fighting to stop you from giving everyone there a strip show.” She cracks a smirk through a waft of smoke, “Though, she would’ve loved that I’m sure.”

“Har har har, you’d make even Nanami laugh with that one.”

“Eugh, gross.” Shoko taps through her phone briefly, swirling it around to show Satoru a few pictures that definitely gave him a mini-heart attack at 8:57 in the morning. “You look like you’re about to pen really bad poetry.”

And perhaps this was Shoko’s plan all along - to shock Satoru to the core hard enough that she can note it down as one of her sketchy psychological experiments. 

But he knew. Could feel it in the hazy fragments of memories - or, at the very least, in that entire highlight that Nanamin had oh-so-conveniently put up on Instagram titled, “Blackmail.”

You knew. 

You’d kissed him back. 

“I don’t have a-.” you slur, stumbling ever-so-slightly as you try to meet Satoru’s glassy eyes. Because shit the years have had him shooting up faster than you could look up. “-a New Year’s kiss, y’know.”

You were older - more gorgeous, if that was even possible now. That tight dress hugging your body so unfairly in a way that had him forgetting you were his best friend’s sister. 

The one person in this whole world that he couldn’t have.

But Satoru leans in closer, more because he wants to than anything - he could pick out your voice anywhere let alone over the thumping music currently filling his crowded living room. Lips loose as he tries to play up the cool-guy facade he’s been dubbed with since freshman year, “Hah, loser. Because I do.”

“Where?”

At this, Satoru is stumped - damn, you were good. 

“Not- uh here?” If he was in any clearer state of mind, he’d have been embarrassed at the way his voice cracks so traitorously as your unsteady hands pull him in closer by his overpriced button-up. 

Your body was flush against his now, so addictive. Gaze half-lidded and flickering between the sliver of milky skin exposed on his chest - from that impromptu striptease he’d almost started earlier - and the blue eyes that were currently locked you. You whisper a strained, “Liar.”

Close - too close. So dangerously close.

He breathes out against your lips, the smell of booze and you so heady in his mind. And the heavy words falling from his lips sound like lies, even to him. “Not.”

“Toru?” you hum, a sound that has him gasping. “Shut up.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

And there went your New Year’s kisses. At exactly 11:37PM, if the photos were anything to go by. 

And holy shit were there many. All of which showed your arms looped around Satoru’s neck, crashing his lips to yours. His own, resting against your waist, a scandalously red blush - whether from the alcohol or you - adorning his cheeks. Looking more blissed out than he ever remembers feeling. 

“I’m a dead man, Shoko.” 

There’s a lengthy silence, leaving Satoru stewing in thoughts of how Suguru would react once he finds out. And whether or not he’d be able to rise from the dead just to see how pretty you’d look at his funeral.

Morbid thoughts broken only by Shoko’s cough, “Hey, can I keep your eyes for experimentation if he actually catches you?”

Subtly, he sends himself those photos from last night.  

Luckily for Satoru’s eyes, they never ended up being donated towards Shoko’s questionable contributions to the world of medicine. 

And by some grace of the gods above, Suguru never mentioned a word about the kiss that would’ve inevitably made its way to him. Or maybe it was because Satoru stole his phone until he managed to pester Nanami just enough to take down that highlight. But, semantics. 

His heart, however, might as well have been part of some experiment.

Because it’s been working overdrive since that night - mind reliving that moment over and over and over and- shit, he’s fucked. So, so fucked. 

Fucked enough that it took Satoru months just to muster up to even look in your pretty eyes once more, unless he wanted to get lost in them forever. Fucked enough that he dared to wonder again and again when there might be a fourth kiss - if there would be a fourth kiss. 

He just never thought it would happen the way it did - with you, standing outside his front door. 

“I’m sorry, Toru.” you mumble, “It’s just- I think we both need to grow up.”

You’ve freshly graduated now, looking more and more irresistible each time he sees you - even when you’re looking at him like that. 

Rolling his eyes, “Ha, is this another way of saying you want my secret to getting taller? Because the first thing is to-”

“I’m serious, Satoru.”

And oh how he wished you’d say something - anything - else right now. Call him anything but that. Maybe even throw an insult his way, tell him those new sunglasses look ugly, or about how you got that internship he would’ve died for. 

Satoru manages to choke out a heavy, “I don’t understand.” But that uncomfortable coil of something curling at the pit of his stomach said otherwise. And it causes him to finally breathe out a hesitant, “Maybe you’re right.”

As if that was all the answer you needed, you’re stepping out of the front door. Slow, and deliberate like you were giving him another chance - a thousand more. Sighing out a defeated, “It’s been years.” It has. “And we’re just running in circles.” You have. “I’m starting to think this is just some game to you.” It wasn’t.

“Wait!” he grasps your hand - soft. The look in your eyes even softer as you turn around to face his desperate face. “Please, sweetheart.”

Satoru doesn’t even know what words he wants to say - let alone whether they’d come out of his heavy mouth. 

So, instead, he’s crashing them into yours. 

Brief. Fleeting. Like each one before this. Too addictive, too short, that he thinks he’s almost imagining it as you pull away gently, until he sees that look in your eyes. 

“Toru, I have a date.”

The fourth kiss.

Satoru’s letting go of you like it burned - and, truly, it felt like some deep, dark part of him was burning down right now. “Great.” That should be hm that should be him that should be- “I’m…happy for you.”

And the last.

He fucked up.

He really, really fucked up.

That first date turned into a second. The second into a third. And unfortunately for Gojo, eventually, you were nearing your one-year anniversary with that asshat you’d met during the early days of your internship. 

He’d seen the man himself once, briefly at another one of Suguru’s famous parties. Ducking out of sight before he could be introduced, yet long enough to know that he wasn’t as tall, or as handsome, or as absolutely fucking hilarious. 

What did he have that Satoru didn’t? 

The answer to that, Satoru’s reminded of every time he’s causing ruckus over at Suguru’s apartment, and sees you walking out of your room, tittering on the phone to none other than your boyfriend. So gorgeous. So not his. 

You, that loser had you.

“If you sigh again I swear I’m shoving this popcorn up your a-”

“It’s a sad movie, Suguru!” he defends, draped across your couch at another one of those movie nights you loved to organize. As usual, there was the popcorn, the god-awful movie (if Satoru picks it), and the arguments. The only thing missing, however, was you. Ugh, something about an “anniversary” and a “seafood date”. Seriously, it’s not like you even enjoyed that new seafood restaurant in town, and he’s sure that bastard didn’t know-

“Satoru.” his best friend’s deadpan voice cuts through his little reverie. “We’re watching Mean Girls.”

And he’s barely even opening his mouth to snark back before-

SLAM!

Suguru pauses the movie almost immediately, turning to the direction of the front door. “Uh oh.” 

And lo and behold - there was you in all your pissed off, beautiful glory. Throwing your keys on the table, your fiery glare passes over the two men as you stomp to your bedroom. 

“Seafood wasn’t that good, sweetheart?” Satoru calls out behind you, eyes sweeping down your figure. Heart stuttering in his chest when you turn around with your fists clenched, lower lip wobbling in a way that Satoru would both kill whoever made you feel this way and die to be on the other side of those daggers in your eye. 

Sniffing out an icy, “Fuck off, loser and loserette.”

Then in a whirlwind of rage, you’re gone - your bedroom door slamming only slightly more gently than you’d done with the front door. Leaving a deafening silence, and Satoru whining, “Why am I the loserette?”

“Deserved.” Suguru shrugs. Warily eyeing your door, as if it was about to pounce at any given second, “Let her cool down before you give her an aneurysm at least.” Unpausing the television, propping his feet back up, “S’enough having to deal with you on top of a boyfriend like that.”

And that has Satoru perking up in interest - both figuratively, and literally as he snatches the remote and pauses the movie. “Wait wait wait what-” Holding it way out of Suguru’s reach, “What do you mean a ‘boyfriend like that’?”

Scoffing, “Funny. Now give me back the remote.”

A beat of silence passes. One. Two.

Only then does it dawn on Suguru that this might just not be some strange prank to stroke Satoru’s ego, and he was actually  more serious than he’d ever seen him. Damn. 

“Bro, have you really never met the guy or something? He’s a complete tool. I don’t know what happened, but this breakup was a long time coming.”

Satoru blinks, feeling a red hot surge of anger. “What? Seriously? Why didn’t you do anything about it?”

“You think I didn’t try?” he sighs, running a hand through his hair at the other’s uncharacteristic silence. “Hah, and just imagine, the man was talking about marriage, too. As if.”

And suddenly, Satoru’s hit with an image of you walking down the aisle. Not something he was a stranger to, but it still takes him aback. The sway of the fabric beneath his fingers, your lips against his. Hell, in that split-second he even dreams up how Nanamin would be crying very reluctant tears of joy. 

Everything. Everything that wasn’t his.

His fist tightens around the remote, until he could hear the cracking of plastic. Mind whirling with the thought of you and him and you. How he wished it was him and you. “I would’ve been better.”

Oh. 

Shit. 

“I- fuck this. Suguru, since elementary school I…”

And, well, Satoru’s so busy putting that extra physics seminar he took in university to work - trying to calculate the odds of surviving a jump out of this seven-storey window - that he almost misses Suguru’s low hum, a distant, almost barely-audible little interruption, “Well duh.”

“Hold on.” he’s snatching away the remote that had somehow slithered its way into the other’s hands once again. Ignoring his best friend’s croak of protests to pause in the middle of Regina George being hit by the bus - which, he felt was strangely enviable right now. “That was- what? YOU KNOW?”

“Huh? Even my parents know, the only one that doesn’t is her.”

“...”

Satoru didn’t know how Suguru seemed so calm, but he felt like he was about to spontaneously combust. Heart stuttering in his chest as he sideglances at your firmly shut door - like he was just waiting for you to jump out and tell him this was some elaborate prank. 

Begging for you to come - it would’ve hurt less.

But you don’t.

Fuck. 

And the only response he gets is a low whistle, before a phone is being shoved in his face - flashlight illuminating that crimson blush. “Damn, the great Gojo Satoru speechless? The groupchat is gonna love this, might even send it to my sister, y’know.” 

He didn’t care - didn’t give a shit if this video made rounds to Gakuganji himself. Only one thought racing through his mind right now. 

“But why aren’t you punching me like in elementary school?” 

And Satoru knows he’s smart - intelligent even. Hell, he was the valedictorian, the youngest employee to claw their way up to being on the board of directors. But he’s never felt more stupid when Suguru breathes out a bewildered, “Dude. That was for blaming me for the paper planes.” 

“Oh.”

Then the movie is unpaused. 

---

The last time you kissed Gojo Satoru was at the doorstep to that overpriced penthouse of his, exactly a year ago today. 

The last time you saw Gojo Satoru was just a few hours ago, lounging around your living room like he owned it. Honestly, he might as well have been part of the furniture at this point - like some expensive, fluffy couch. One that prattled on about your “dumbass boyfriend” and god-knows-what else to rile you up just for the fun of it.

Which is why it was odd to step out of your bedroom - eyes just a bit puffy, throat still tight - to a suspiciously quiet hallway. 

The lights were turned off, nothing but the pouring rain sounding from outside, television paused on some rerun of The Princess Diaries. Damn, you told those idiots not to start that one without you.

“Sugu?” you call, finding his bedroom empty. “Thought tonight was movie night?” Padding across the empty apartment, contemplating whether or not to get your phone and call him when-

Ding!

Ah, there. 

You roll your eyes as you head towards the front door, ready to give Suguru a piece of his mind for going out at this ungodly hour and forgetting his key. Seriously, what if you opened the door and he was hurt, or worse, or…

Satoru. 

Speaking a mile a minute.

Satoru.

“-florist was closed and the store clerk looked at me like I was crazy but I got this for-” he pauses abruptly, as if realizing something with a jolt. “-you.”

“You- what-” you don’t know where to look - at the drenched, disheveled Satoru filling your doorframe - rain in his hair, curtaining his frantic eyes, drenching his snug t-shirt. Or at the obscenely large bouquet of cheap strawberry lollipops being placed gently into your arms. 

What follows was an electric silence - and you have half the mind to tease Satoru for finally shutting the fuck up for once in his life. 

But, no. Instead, you eye the way he stands stubbornly at the doorway, fists clenched, blue eyes locked so intensely on yours that it was like they burned. 

Face flushed a familiar pretty pink that makes you realize that shit, he might be taller, voice deeper, broad shoulders tight against his t-shirt - but this was still the same boy that cried when you stole his favorite Digimon card in middle school. The same one that kissed you underneath a dingy slide, smelling of strawberry lollipops.

It’s the steady tap! tap! tap! of the water droplets from his hair that have you tearing your traitorous eyes from his see-through white t-shirt.

Guess you’ve both done some growing up since then.

“You loser.”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

The pink wrapping of the bouquet rustles as your grip tightens. “He proposed to me today, y’know.” and yet, your quiet, even voice was the only thing ringing in Satoru’s ears. He jolts, as if some visceral, primal part of himself had been poked awake. Breathing heavy, fists clenching until he could feel the neat indents of his fingernails on his palm. Of course. He’s late. He’s late he’s late he’s late-

That is, until you’re plowing on, “I said no.”

“Huh?”

You think back to the stuffy restaurant, the man sitting from across from you - how wrong it felt. And all it took were those four words for you to realize that. “I said no.” 

Satoru snaps his head up, stepping close - so close. Voice strained like he wasn’t asking - begging. Praying, “Why?”

“We…” you raise a brow at the way Satoru flinches as you trail off. So desperate. A smirk makes its way onto your face, “...we haven’t divorced yet, right?”

And then you’re kissing him - or maybe he’s kissing you. 

Fuck, you don’t know - nor do you really care right now. Not when Satoru’s got his lips crashing against yours for the fifth time in your life, kissing you like it would be the last. Big arms dipping down to your waist, pulling you so tight against his muscled frame that he had half the mind to wonder whether it hurt. 

“Love this. Love the way you kiss me- fuck-” he’s spitting against your lips, kicking the door shut behind him. “Oh- would ya get mad if I-” he tries to get out through kisses. Only to suck on your pretty lips with a pained grunt. “If I-” Again and again, like it killed him to part. “-hah- celebrated right now?”

“Yes.” You’re letting the bouquet fall to the foor, white-knuckling that useless, drenched excuse of a shirt. “Now kiss me properly, Toru.��

“Yes, ma’am.”

Such a sloppy mix of teeth and hands and him. Shoving a knee between your legs, making up for years and years of late nights with nothing but his fist and the pretty thought of you. 

“Yeah, that’s it, sweetheart.” Satoru breathes out, as your urgent fingers that dispose of his shirt, feeling the gorgeous dips and curves of years of hard work to impress you. “Suck on m’tongue pretty- fuck-” His own fisting your shirt, pulling. Ripping.

“Toru!”

“I want you.” He’s letting the poor, tattered pieces drop in a pile on the floor, trailing a hand between your damp thighs before he can stop himself. “Oh how I’ve wanted you. And I don’t care if I have to buy fifty new outfits to make up for it.”

And it’s the feeling of his long index stroking up your sopping slit through your shorts that has you pulling away with a gasp. Delicate little strings of saliva snapping from Satoru’s kiss-bitten lips. “If we continue like this…” your voice wavers as he presses hot kisses along your collarbone. “-my brother’s gonna walk in.”

“...wouldn’t wanna relive that playground kiss, huh?”

It’s all he says before picking you up so easily, hands resting on your ass. Giving a playful spank ass you wrap your legs around his toned waist. 

And it’s sloppy.

Both his lips still hotly on yours and the way he’s stumbling urgently to your room through pure muscle memory. Pulling away only when you’re all splayed out so prettily for him on your mattress.

“Blue?” he breathes, pulling your shorts off. And it comes out strained - like the very sight of your panties - all soaked and flimsy with your slick - has whatever’s remaining of Satoru’s sanity flying out the window. “Blue? Oh, you’ve gotta have planned this, you little minx.” his hot breath hits your cunt as he shifts down the bed, tongue drawing languid, wet little circles on your inner thigh. “Because don’t tell me this was all for him?”

It was coincidence - or maybe fate - but that doesn’t stop you from giving Satoru a slow, teasing nod. Muttering out, “So what if it was?”

The only answer you get is thumb hooked around your shorts, pulling it just enough so that your brother’s best friend can spy your pretty pussy.

“Well then.” he chuckles at the way you jump when his fingertip just barely grazes your clit. “Guess I jus’ hafta prove m’better.”

A low groan is falling from his lips as soon as they meet your puffy ones, giving your pretty clit a chaste peck. Lingering long enough that he’s sure your sweet sweet juices cover his mouth.

And oh Satoru’s sure he’ll never forget the way your jaw falls slack, glassy eyes following his every move as he runs his tongue along his glossy lips. Savoring your candied taste, “Never kissed you like this before, huh?” 

Fuck, you’re sweeter than he’s imagined.

You whine desperately, something that has him smirking smugly, “Hah, what? Cat got your tongue?”

“You’re better when you shut up.” It’s all you can do to buck your hips into Satoru’s pretty face - not that you had to, because one taste of your dripping cunt and he was addicted. Surging forwards until he was nose-deep, locking your ankles around his head with a firm yank.

And you can’t lie - maybe you’ve imagined this exact scene a few times before on those lonely nights. But you just never expected Satoru to be so depraved. Desperate.

“Ngh- fuck, Toru-” you reach a hand down to thread your fingers through his hair, tugging his face up. But Satoru doesn’t stop - not even for a second. Tongue still dipping to spread your swollen folds with his tongue, looking you right in the eyes as he murmurs a strangled, “Mhm?” 

“Thought you were gonna prove you’re better, hm?”

So goading. So like you. 

At this, Satoru pulls back ever-so-slightly to laugh - laugh. His plump, glistening lips curling into a humorless little grin, “Oh I will.” Thumb circling your throbbing clit. Just dragging your twitching body across the silky sheets close to his, one hand pinning your hips down. Hard. “I will.”

Loving his new favorite place between your legs one hand toys with your clit, quick, messy little patterns. Tongue even more so. 

“Not just better.” he grunts, “Gonna make you cum so much harder, too.” Having your thighs shake with each word hissed out into your cunt, each turn of his deft fingers. “Till I’m the only thing on your mind. Me.”

And it’s all you can do to let out choked up groans of his name, back arching off the plush mattress to let him make out with your cunt deeper. Sloppier. So, so starved with the way he’s speeding up, tongue dragging across your walls. In and out in and out in and-

“Fuck! Hngh-” you angle his head - and he lets you. “There- Toru-”

Honestly, you didn’t even have to tell Satoru - he could feel it. Could feel it in the way your plushy walls are squeezing his hot tongue so harsh, until it was almost difficult to fuck your pussy so sloppily. In the way you’re letting out such delicious whines each time he grazes against those sweet spots. 

“There? Hah- I know.” he pulls away to muse, and your cute, disappointed whine goes straight to his already rock-hard cock. “Did he?”

He didn’t. And you’re shaking your head so pathetically - in a way you’d be embarrassed about usually. 

But that’s the last thing you’re thinking bout because you feel it - the cold, sinful feeling of Satoru spitting on your filthy cunt. Once. Twice. Blue eyes widening in delight at the way the mess of spit and slick drip down your slit. 

“Cute.” his tongue smoothes over the slutty pool, and the only thing your delirious brain can make out now is a low moan of, “So? Who’s better?”

It’s all you can do to choke out a broken little, “T-T-” Face burning at the way he was so clearly enjoying your struggle. And, well, no matter painfully hard it made his dick - he had to go just a bit easy on his girl, right?

“Shhhh, s’alright.” you flinch as he shoves two absolutely drenched fingers into your mouth, making so much more of a mess of it than necessary. Drinking in your cute gags, “I was asking her.” He’s making your head spin with the way he’s speeding up. “N’ she’s hah- very talkative.” Words muffled, and slurring together - like he was drunk off of you and your cunt. “Let’s hear what she has to ngh- say, huh?”

And with that, he’s alternating between lapping at your clit and squeezing into your sloppy entrance - like he couldn’t - didn’t - want to make up his mind. Oh, with your teary mewls strangled, the sound of Satoru making out with cunt is so loud. The squelches so obscene. 

“Fuuuuck.” he drawls. “Louder than I thought. I think she says I’m better, don’t you think?” 

You angle your head just right to catch the way his jaw grinds deeper into you, eating you out like his last meal. Your slick drooling down his chin so sinfully. 

“Ngh- fuck fuck fuck- ngh-” your yelps are dreamy, feeling like you were losing your mind with the way he was stretching you out. 

Like you were about to snap. Any second now. 

But Satoru’s only increasing his movements, drawing out your little moans. “And I think she’s saying…”  Getting sloppier. More erratic - and it didn’t matter if his fingers were cramping up now, cock aching with the need to be inside you. “-that she’s about to cum.”

You do - so hard and loud - both you and your cunt. 

You’re shaking, all but gushing all over Satoru’s mouth, tight pussy squeezing his tongue so hard. Barely even realizing the searing grip you’ve got on his hair as you drag your sloppy pussy all over his mouth.

But Satoru doesn’t mind - he gladly welcomes it, in fact. Tonguefucking your snug cunt senselessly, letting you chase your high as roughly as you wanted. Over and over.

Even when you’re vision isn’t as spotty as before, even when nothing’s coming out of your mouth but little whimpers. Your breathing dying down until all that rings in your barely-lucid mind were those obscene noises of Satoru’s lips all on yours. 

“T-Toru-” you whine, big fat tears pricking at your hazy eyes. “M’so sensitive.”

And of course this is Satoru, the same boy who’s been pushing your buttons for years just to giggle at your adorable reactions. Which is why he grins against your twitching cunt, “So?”

It takes everything in you to raise your head off the pillow that just seemed to be swallowing you whole, and even more to shoot Satoru a half-hearted glare. “So m’gonna ngh- assume you’re jus’ a pussy with a s-smaller dick than-”

You don’t get to finish your sentence - he doesn’t let you. Because Satoru’s fumbling with his belt, peeling off those still-drenched pants just enough for you to admire his clothed erection. 

And, shit, admittedly you expected him to have a big dick - having been subjected to way too much locker room talk with your brother - but this was ridiculous. 

“What? Too big?” He flashes you that infuriating grin. Palming his rock-hard cock through his boxers at the way your beautiful eyes trace the outline of his cock, all swollen and big. So intimidatingly big. “Damn, sweetheart, if I knew that this was how I’d get that feisty lil’ mouth of yours to shut up then I’d have done it a lot sooner.” 

And you don’t even know if you’re breathing, the pads of your fingers dancing along his bulge. Tracing those prominent veins. Thumbing that little damp spot at his fat head. “You wouldn’t have.” 

He hisses as your soft hands dip into the hem of his underwear. Voice cracking slightly, “I wouldn’t.”

Then you’re gasping - in sync with Satoru’s low moan - as you finally let him spring free. Thick cock hitting his sculpted abs, red tip smearing precum in a lewd little pool. Weeping and so so angry at the sight of you.

At the heavenly feeling of your thumb teasing under his sensitive slit, “Oh, shit.” 

He’s throwing his head back when you give an experimental pump, all the way from his pretty tip to the tufts fo white at his hilt. Fist gliding all over the thumping veins. Bucking his hips up like such a slut into your touch. 

“O-oh fuck.” he cracks an eye open at the way your hand looked so small compared to his dick, how well you were taking care of him. “Been ngh- dreaming of this since I learned what handjobs were, y’know? Hah- shit- ya gotta stop before I fuckin’ pass out.”

And Satoru thinks he could cum right then and there at the way you’re bringing your soaked index up to your mouth. Batting your lashes as you suck on them with a lewd pop! “From jus’ that?”

“You have no idea.”

That’s all it takes for Satoru to throw your still-quivering thighs over his shoulders, effectively shutting up whatever tease is on the tip of your sharp tongue by kissing your swollen folds with his fat head. Giving it one, long drag. 

Your mouth is sagging open at the slow, torturous teasing. The sheer anticipation that had your mouth running, “S-so much for ah- jus’ being ‘friends’, huh?”

“Oh, sweetheart.” And you’re flinching from Satoru’s deep, dark tone. The way he’s bracing his fingers so bruisingly on your hips, reeling all the way back till his tip was just kissing your hole. “We stopped being friends the day you married me on that playground.” 

And then he’s slamming in - pushing past that first, feeble ring of resistance, gummy walls stretching out so perfectly for him. As if he fit right in - and he tells you that. Pants it into your open mouth a little over fifteen times, in fact. 

“Shiiiit, look at you.” he can’t tear his eyes away from the side of your lips stretching so wide to try and milk him. Sloppy entrance stretching out like magic. “S’like you’re made for me, huh? This pussy is made f’me?”

“Ngh- fuck, Toru! S’too big-” you keen, feet flattening on the mattress. As if to escape. To maybe fucking breathe.  

Not even half-way in yet, but aleady torn between pushing away and sinking yourself down on his swollen cock for more more more-

“Don’t you dare run away.” he warns, looking up at you through his long lashes. “I’ve waited too long for this. N’ you’re not taking this pretty pussy away any time soon.” Inch by fucking inch. Grinding in short, sharps jabs - no rhythm of rhyme, like they were genuinely out of control. “Way too f-fuckin’-” All the way until your puffy folds was meeting his hilt. Finally. All the way in. “-long.”

And once Satoru had you split apart on his dick - had those tears rolling down your cheeks, cunt swallowing him so sluttily - it’s like something snaps. 

Because he doesn’t waste a second - he’s already wasted almost two decades, anyway - filling you up with his mean hips. Not fucking easing you into it because you always did bring out that part of him, the part that him looping two strong arms around your waist. Pulling. 

“Oh- f-fuck c’mere.” Satoru gasps, pressing your body so crushingly against his. Kissing your shaky shoulers, your sweaty forehead, the gentleness so contrasting to his hips.“God I’ve missed out- fuck fuck fuck-” 

You’ve never seen the great Gojo Satoru - campus sex symbol - so uncomposed. Eyes half-lidded, just boring into yours, mouth slack in a soft oh! as he drags his cock all over inside your gummy walls. And the sight is so heavenly that you make the mistake the mistake of cracking a minute smile.

Just barely curling your lips before - “Don’t smile at me like that.” He’s dipping down a hand to roll your ravaged clit between two bullying fingers. “Fuck, she’s gonna be the death of me. Right?”

You keen at the- stimulation? The strech? The sheer embarrassment as you realize that Satou’s still talking to your sloppy pussy? Nodding so mockingly up at you as he plows on, “Mhm, she says you needa be ngh- knocked down a god, you’re tight- peg or two. So- get- ready-” 

He’s using this as an excuse to sit up on his knees, dragging you onto his lap so easily like some ragdoll. 

“That’s more like it.”

You’re sliding deeper down his painfully hard cock - all the way till his heavy balls rest beneath your ass, clit rubbing against his pelvis every time he bounces you like some slut.  

Deep. Ruthless.

“Keep your eyes open, sweetheart.” He chuckles, and you’re screwing open your eyes that you don’t even remember shutting. Trying so hard to stop crying out at the feeling of the curve of his dick massaging your walls. “Ya gotta hngh- see the o-only one who’d fuckin’ you properly, right?”

You squeal when he’s taking your clit captive once more. Finger quick, deft. “Y-yes.”

But that wasn’t enough for Satoru - it might as well never be. Because he’s only ramming his hips up further. Like he’s pushing into your stomach, your lungs, all the way into your cockdrunk brain. Fat head alternating between kissing your poor, abused cervix and all those sweet spots he’d mapped out with his tongue.

“Sounded unsure to me.” he’s pouty against your hardened nipples bouncing enticingly in his face. Fingers quirking faster on your clit, “Maybe I should ngh- stop then?”

“No!” Your hips stutter against Satoru’s. Nails clawing down the sculpted panes of his shoulders, leaving red angry marks for him to take as a sign tomorrow morning that no, it wasn’t just one of his dreams this time. “No no no- m’sure. You’re the only one makin’ me feel this way.”

You can feel the way he’s twitching wildly at your words, dick thumping harder inside your sensitive cunt. 

He punctures each word with a heavy, calculated thrust. Hand stretching and squeezing open your cunt from behind to let him slide impossibly deeper. “Hmmm, I’m not convinced.” 

Your stupid mouth is only capable of letting out broken, choked-up little moans of his name, ankles locking around those dimples at the end of his spine. “S’you–”

“Still not convinced.”

But he’s still speeding up his movements, just dragging you up and down his cock. “Who else made you hah- feel this good?” Sure to claim you from the inside out - to leave marks everywhere. Heavy balls on your ass, weeping tip on your cervix, lips bruised as you whimper at his murmured, “That ex of yours?” Biting down your neck, “That barista that always flirts with you?” Pulling away only to breathe into your lips, “Who?”

“ I- fuck it’s only you, Toru.”

“Sound convincing to you?” Satoru hums down at your cunt, biting his lower lip at the way you were milking him so good. Your slick soaking him all the way down to his balls - so needy in a way he never thought he’d see. “Yeah-” be breathes, nosing at your neck. “She agrees- fuck does this tight lil’ pussy of yours agree.” A few tears, a few gorgeous marks down his back, and he was finally convinced. “You’re mine.”

You don’t even realize it when you’re cumming, and Satoru doesn’t either.

Both of you too caught up in each other to recognize that familiar, white-hot pleasure running down your spine - all the way down to where he was so mercilessly buried in your cunt.  

And you’re well into the blood roaring deafeningly in your ears, the sight of Satoru - all wrecked - blurring as he fucks his hips up. Harsh. Eyes rolling to the back of his head as he paints your quivering walls white. 

Cumming and cumming so hard that you can feel his seed dribbling down your thighs, making such a mess all over Satoru’s lap. Your poor, overfilled cunt soon bloated and unable to keep up with it.

“Toru–” you whine, like a prayer. Milking the fucking soul out of him while he gently paws at your messy hair.

“Shhh, I know I know, sweetheart.” Such a stark contrast to the way he was filling you up like his favorite sex toy. Not even bothering to move anymore, one hand on your hip, moving your limp body up and down his sensitive cock to fuck it deeper. The other still playing with your clit, “S’alright, my girl”

Satoru’s hands never leave you, and he prays that now that he got a taste - well, you better be alright with them not leaving you for as long as he lives.

“As long as you live, huh?” you chuckle groggily, a noise so dreamy that Satoru can’t even be mad that he said it out loud. “And all that riling me up these years. Do you have a degradation kink or something?”

“Well, only one way to find out~”

“Oh shut up you-”

SLAM!

“Yooo, I bought dinner from that- WHAT THE FUCK?”

There were only two more lessons to be learned:

Always lock the door. Always. And in case you don’t, a bouquet of lollipops will do the trick to a Suguru reeling from the newest addition to the family. 

Cheap takeout tastes better with an apologetic Suguru, and an ice pack to his cheek - and you to kiss it better.

A/N. Can you tell I kept listening to that one Artemas song while writing this?

Plagiarism not authorized.