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roosterforme · 2 days

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The Younger Kind Part 59 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: With your wedding on the horizon, it wasn't the best time for you to question your place with Bradley. But he's always patient, and Noah is perfect, and it doesn't take you long to realize that your husband-to-be is always going to see you in a different way than you see yourself.

Warnings: pregnancy topics, swearing, blowjob smut, angst, fluff, and age gap (18+)

Length: 4700 words

Pairing: Single dad!Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x babysitter!female reader

Check out my masterlist for more! The Younger Kind masterlist.

Now that you were looking at your wedding dress all spread out on the bed, you were afraid to try it on. It looked too perfect. Pristine and white. It was exactly how you imagined it would be when Natasha convinced you to order it, and it looked like it would fit like a glove over your belly which was starting to grow. But right now, you were feeling so overwhelmed.

With your reduced work hours, you were home alone until Bradley and Noah got back in another hour or so. You had the whole place to yourself to do as you pleased. Plenty of time to try this thing on and send some photos to Natasha for her opinion. Then you could unwind with a glass of juice and a nice shower. But today was starting to feel like one of those days where Bradley's perfect bungalow on the perfect street in Coronado wasn't really where you belonged.

When you felt like you were in control of things, this was your castle. You were Bradley's Princess. You were Noah's Mommy. But today you felt like a fraud. Part of you was missing your little rental house where you could feel small and insignificant. Where you only had to take care of yourself. Were you really going to marry a man over a decade older than you? Were you really capable of raising not just Noah but a baby as well?

Mortification and embarrassment flooded your body as the dress mocked you from its place on the bed. You would never be deserving of anything as perfect as this soft fabric. Or this perfect life. Why did Bradley even want you?

"Princess?"

You didn't hear him come in, but now you heard his heavy footfalls as his boots met the hallway floor. He was headed for the bedroom, and you were in tears, staring at the dress. You managed to throw the bedding and pillows on top of it as Bradley entered the room.

"There you are. I was calling your name," he murmured, wrapping his arms around you from behind and letting his hands rest on your belly.

His touch was everything you always wanted, and he hadn't seen your tears yet. You tried to pull it together as you whispered, "Actually, you were calling my nickname."

"Same thing," he whispered, his nose pressed to your neck.

"You're home early," you said, wiping your eyes. "Did you pick Noah up?"

"Not yet," he said, trying to spin you around to face him. "I thought I'd pick you up first and see if you wanted to go out to dinner after we get him. And maybe we can hit the mall so you can help me choose something to wear for that minor, little occasion that's just around the corner also known as our wedding."

You tried to fight against his grasp on your shoulders, but he spun you easily in place. You'd been too slow to remove all traces of your tears and worry, and his face fell when he looked at you. "Sorry," you whispered. "I'm just having a weird day."

"What's wrong?" he demanded softly, his grip on your hips tightening as his eyes dipped down to your belly.

"We're fine," you whispered, wishing you could convince him that was true.

"Something's bothering you," he said, his brown eyes meeting yours. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No." Then you started crying as he collected you against his rough flight suit. "You didn't do anything wrong. I don't even know what's wrong! I just don't belong here."

You felt his body go rigid as he held you impossibly tighter. This time he did use your actual first name, and you had to force yourself to meet his eyes. He looked concerned as he asked, "You don't think you belong here? With me? I love you."

But you just shook as tears streamed down your face. You didn't know how to say what you were feeling, so you just started talking through your sobs. "It's perfect though. You know that, right?" you asked, gasping for air as he looked at you in silence. "Your house and your son, and all of it. Everything here is perfect, Bradley. And the wedding dress arrived," you sobbed, gesturing to where there was some white fabric peeking out from the bedding. "And even it's perfect, and I just feel like a fraud. Like I'm inserting myself where I don't even belong. And I don't know how to be a mom."

You had your face buried against his chest, and he let you cry. He didn't say a word, and you weren't sure if that was better or worse right now. He just rubbed his hands in slow circles along your back until you were able to swallow and take some deep breaths. Then he guided you back so you were sitting on the edge of the bed next to the messy bedding, and he knelt down in front of you. His big hand came up to your cheek, and he swiped away some of your tears as he spoke.

"If anything here seems perfect, I can assure you it's because you're here now. It feels perfect to me, too, but it didn't always."

You swallowed hard, letting him trace your bottom lip with his thumb as you whispered, "It didn't?"

Bradley shook his head, his brown eyes wide and sincere. "No. It never felt like this before I met you. You showed up and made everything better until it was perfect. It happened slowly, but I could feel something shift right from the start. Each day got better after Noah fell in love with having you here. And after I'd known you for just a few weeks, I never wanted you to leave."

"After just a few weeks?" you asked as his hands and voice soothed you.

"Yeah," he replied softly. "I knew it. I'm sorry you had to put up with so much shit before we got to the point where it felt perfect, but I knew I wanted you with us. And then I needed you with us. And now I need you to understand that you belong here as much as Noah and I do."

"And Skittles."

The pup popped out of her bed and ran over as soon as you said her name, but Bradley kept his eyes on your face. "Always Skittles. And I hate to break it to you, Princess, but you already are a mom. So stop lying and saying you don't know how to be one. You are Noah's mom, and he's happier than I've ever seen him."

You closed your eyes and let all of his words fade into you. "But the baby will be different," you whispered even as you understood that you did know what to do. You handled kids and babies all day long at work, and you did it with care even though they weren't your own. And you did love Noah like he was yours. "But I think I can do it."

When you slipped off the bed and into Bradley's arms, he cupped your face in those hands and examined you closely. "You're not gonna be doing anything alone, Princess. I'm right here."

You nodded and breathed him in, and you already felt better knowing that this house and Bradley and Noah weren't as perfect unless you were here with them. "Can we go pick Noah up and just come back here for the night? I think I feel better, but I just want to relax."

"Anything you want," Bradley promised, and you let your arms go around his neck so he could help you to your feet. "We can come right back here, where everything feels perfect thanks to you."

------------------------

Bradley wasn't sure exactly what upset you so much earlier, but after you took a shower and ate dinner, he sent you and Noah to the couch to watch Mickey Mouse cartoons. When you paused in the doorway, you reached for him, and he went right to you with a soft kiss. You were wearing his sweatpants and an old tee shirt, and you belonged here. He didn't know how else to make you see that. But you seemed to understand it deep down where it mattered.

"I feel better," you whispered as he kissed your cheek. "My hormones are all over the place, and I'm always tired, but I do feel better. Thank you for being patient."

He was about to tell you that you didn't have to thank him for that when Noah called out. "Mommy? Are you coming?"

A beautiful smile found your lips as Bradley said, "You belong here."

You nodded and turned toward the living room, leaving him in the kitchen to clean up. But he didn't want to have it any other way. He promised you he'd take care of everything around here, and that included wedding planning and decorating for Christmas. One problem was the fact that he barely had any decorations, because he barely had time to do anything before you. The other problem was that you were clearly worn out this week after Disneyland, but he needed your input for the rest of the planning.

After loading the dishwasher, Bradley paused and decided to make you some decaffeinated coffee in his Aviators Look Down on Others mug with an extra dollop of French vanilla creamer. He let it cool on the counter for a few minutes while he wiped down the table, and then he took a sip for himself before heading into the living room. Noah was curled up on your lap, and your fingers were gliding gently in his hair as the two of you watched your show together.

"This is where you belong," he whispered, and you turned to look at him.

"I know," you said with a soft smile.

Bradley snuggled in carefully next to you and handed you the mug, and soon Noah started to fall asleep. When your head came to rest on his shoulder, Bradley said, "How do you feel about me asking Amelia if she can babysit Noah on Saturday so I can take you on a date?"

"A date?" you asked softly.

"Mmmm," he hummed. "Maybe go old school and do dinner and a movie. Something other than pizza and an animated classic. Actually leave the house and stay out past eight o'clock."

You laughed softly as Bradley pushed Noah's soft curls back from his forehead. "You do like to go old school, Daddy."

He rolled his eyes but smiled. "So is that a yes?"

"That's a hell yes," you replied. "A date with my hot baby dad sounds nice. And thanks for letting me have a freak out earlier." You looked up at him with his mug in your hands and his son sprawled halfway across your lap. "I love you, too. And I'm totally ready to get married."

He let your words settle in his mind. There was so much to do. The extra bedroom still needed some work if it was to become the nursery. There were still a few things to finalize for the wedding. But he wanted to do all of it, and that included enjoying every moment with you.

"Well that's good, because I'm totally ready to get married to you, Baby." He kissed your forehead and said, "I'll carry Noah to bed, and then I'll text Amelia and Penny."

When he stood with Noah curled up against his chest, you got to your feet as well, and Bradley's heart leapt as you told him, "I think I feel like trying on my wedding dress now."

"Yeah? You need any help with that?"

You shook your head and stretched, and the soft swell of all your curves was accentuated by your bump. You kissed him softly like he wasn't completely entranced by you. Like he wasn't aching to tuck Noah in and follow you to the bedroom.

"I think I'll keep it a surprise. You can see it on me in a few weeks," you said with a little smirk as he started following you toward the bedrooms.

Every mention of the wedding left him throbbing for you. When you started to close the bedroom door behind you, Bradley said, "As soon as you're undressed again and in bed, you let me know, and I'll be right in."

"Yes, Daddy."

----------------------------------

As Bradley pulled the Bronco out of the driveway, you waved to Noah and Amelia on the porch. Bradley let you pick the spot for dinner, but he said he was in charge of the movie. Then he mentioned something special that he wanted to get on the way there.

"What's the special surprise?" you asked several times as he drove. "You're just teasing me at this point."

He gave you side eye and reached for your hand. "Thought you liked that sort of thing."

You had to bite your lip to keep from laughing and encouraging him. "I like it when you do it in bed a lot more."

He hummed like he was mulling over your words. "Then consider this some quality foreplay: you'll learn what the special surprise is when we get there, and not a moment before."

You moaned like you were in pleasure, and you felt the Bronco jerk a little to the right as Bradley's hand tightened around your fingers. You burst out laughing and looked over at him. "I love it when you talk Daddy to me. Oops, I mean talk dirty."

"You keep moaning like that, and I'll drive off the damn road," he muttered, checking the mirrors and changing lanes.

When he turned right and drove a block, you saw Sweet Dreams Bakery. "Oh, wait," you said, pointing out the window. "That's where you got the princess crown donuts!"

Bradley pulled past and found a spot where he could parallel park. "Yeah, and we can stop later after we buy the special items."

"Oh, we're shopping now?" you asked, happy you brought your credit card along to keep teasing him.

"We are," he confirmed, and when he helped you down from the Bronco, you realized he parked right outside a jewelry store. He led you inside and said, "Shopping for our wedding bands."

You wrapped your arms around his waist, and bounced up and down a bit. You had been making yourself giddy over the idea of Bradley wearing a ring. He was literally letting you stake your claim with something visible, and if your moan in the Bronco was intended to wind him up, the one that just escaped you was one hundred percent authentic.

"Daddy."

His dark eyes were locked onto your lips as he whispered, "Behave."

A sales clerk with a bright smile was headed your way, and Bradley squeezed your hip in warning when she said, "Hi, Mr. Bradshaw."

You looked at Bradley with raised brows. How many times had he been here that they remembered him. "Are you here to pickup your special order?"

"Special order?" you asked as Bradley's cheeks grew pink.

"Uh, we're here to pick out weddings bands," he said, avoiding your eyes.

"Perfect," said the sales clerk, and she was immediately leading the way over to a display case. You were ready to dig your feet in and demand more information about Bradley's special order and why they knew him by name here, but he took you by the hand and tugged you gently along.

You pressed your lips together to keep quiet as you remembered that Casey lived in this neighborhood; you were really starting to dislike the idea of Bradley hanging around here when your eyes settled on a tray of men's wedding rings. "Oh," you said softly.

Bradley kissed your temple and whispered, "Tell me which ones you want me to try on for you, Princess."

You pointed to the plain band right in the middle, and you knew before he even put it on that it was going to be perfect. He picked it up with his right hand and slid it onto his left ring finger. It was a little thicker than a traditional band, and once he had it on, he held his hand up for your inspection.

"It's perfect," you told him, your voice a little breathless.

"You want me to try on any others?" he asked, a smile playing on his lips.

You kissed the edge of his mustache, letting your body clench at the rough feel of it. "No."

"You sure?" he whispered.

"Yes."

He removed the ring and handed it to the woman who worked there. "This one," he told her while he kept his eyes on you. "It's perfect."

When it was your turn to try some on, Bradley stood behind you with his chin resting on your shoulder. You started to reach for the plain bands that would match with your enormous diamond ring, but Bradley said, "What about one like that? With the little diamonds that go all the way around?"

It was gorgeous. You should have known he'd point out something spectacular looking when you considered how pretty your engagement ring was. "Bradley, it probably costs ten times more than the plain one. Besides, the plain one kind of looks like yours."

When you glanced at him over your shoulder, you were met with those Bradshaw brown eyes that you couldn't seem to say no to. "Humor me?"

So you slid it on with a soft sigh, because it was incredible. "I do like it," you told him, trying to take it off again, but he stopped you with both of his hands.

"Then we should get it."

You tore your gaze away from him and asked the woman, "What's the price difference?"

"Please don't tell her that." You turned back to Bradley to glare at him, but of course you didn't get an answer about the price. He had the upper hand in this store. "If the price didn't matter, would you want this one?" he asked you, tapping the ring where it was still sitting on your finger.

"Maybe," you whispered. "But the plain one is just as-"

"You're not plain. You're a Princess."

The kiss you gave him was a little indecent, but you didn't really care. He slid the ring from your finger as you tasted his mouth, and you assumed he gave it to the saleswoman so he could buy it for you. You just didn't want to let go of him as his big hands moved down your sides to your belly, and then he broke the kids.

"I would get you anything you want," he whispered, his lips ghosting along yours. "Same goes for both of my kids. Now let's get dinner before we miss the movie."

You tried to pay with your credit card, but this time he shook his head and told you to put it away. The woman was discreet when she ran his card, and then she handed Bradley a bag way bigger than was necessary for two, small rings.

"Is there something for me in the bag besides the wedding band?" you asked, trying to grab it when he led you back outside.

"Maybe," he muttered. "How about you stop asking about it, and I'll buy you some donuts."

Your stomach growled pleasantly at the thought. "Great idea. We can have dessert before dinner and the movie."

Bradley smirked. "And then after the movie, we can have another round of dessert."

-------------------------------

Bradley couldn't get enough of watching you eat your dinner with your hand occasionally pressed to your belly as you chatted away. He wasn't too concerned about the way you'd been overwhelmed to the point of tears a few days ago. You were tired and pregnant and working and busy being a Mom to Noah. Your hormones were changing again after the progesterone shots ended, and he knew it was a lot. Honestly, it was a lot for him to process, too.

But tonight you looked like you always did. Young and perfect and vibrant as you told him a story about something that happened at work. You ate and ate, picking up another piece of garlic bread after you told him you were getting full.

"If you're still hungry, we can always skip the movie," he mused, and you paused as you ran the last bit of bread through the sauce on your plate.

"Oh my goodness," you said, eyes wide. "I didn't know I was basically inhaling my food."

He just shrugged as he said, "Well, you are gaining weight."

A smile found your lips, and then they were twitching before you started laughing. "Wow, Bradley. You got all the smooth lines. It's a wonder none of your app dates were successful."

He hooked your feet with his under the table as you tried to stop laughing. "That was entirely your fault. It had nothing to do with my lines, because I wasn't trying very hard. And you're supposed to be gaining weight."

You were still grinning as you said, "Once again, coming in hot with the seduction."

You were still teasing him when he signed the credit card receipt and stood. He helped you to your feet and said, "Maybe I was just saving all my worst lines to use on you. Make sure you really love me. You ever think of that, Princess?"

"It worked," you told him. "I actually do love you. And I especially can't wait for you to start wearing your wedding band." You gasped as he held the restaurant door open for you. "What are we going to do for music for the wedding? We don't have a wedding band."

"Oh," he said with a laugh. "I made a playlist."

"You made a playlist?"

"Yeah, you wanna hear it while I drive to the movie theater?"

He handed you his phone and let you start up the playlist. The first song was okay. So was the second one. You skipped along a few more songs, and then you looked at him while he drove and said, "It's all your old people music."

"Damn. Who's being rude now?" he laughed.

"It's just that it's all from the '80s!"

"So am I."

"Bradley! Be so serious!"

"What? You know how old I am."

"I'm adding some things to the playlist, and if I find the Electric Slide in here, I'm deleting it."

Bradley ran his palm across his mouth and said, "There's my little brat."

You sat up straighter in your seat, clearly proud of yourself as you tapped away on his phone screen. It was so hard to surprise you; the way you reasoned through things was exquisite. He should have known you'd call him out on the extra item from the jewelry store, and now you were glancing out the window as he pulled past the movie theater.

"Throwback '80s night?" you said, reading the marquee out loud. "Bradley Bradshaw!"

"Okay, fine," he said, parking and killing the engine. "I'm old, and I like old shit. But really, the movie selection was just for you, Princess."

You turned and looked at the marquee again as it changed to show the retro film of the night. "Adventures in Babysitting!"

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Bradley pulled some of the cash from the spot behind the TV and gave it to Amelia as she collected her belongings. She and Noah made some art projects together which she said were drying on the kitchen table, and once again, she offered to watch him anytime.

"He's the sweetest little guy," she promised as her eyes dipped down to your belly. "But you'll have to pay me more to watch two."

"We can negotiate your rate when the time comes," Bradley said with a laugh while he opened the front door.

"Deal."

She walked along the path to her parked car, and Bradley made sure it started up before he shut the door. He was turning the lock as he asked, "Did you like the movie?" But then his hand froze when he realized where your fingers were.

"I did," you promised, pulling his jeans zipper down over his considerable bulge. He wasn't even hard yet, but you were already so turned on. "Wanna go on your own adventure? With your former babysitter?"

You weren't subtle as you looked up at him and licked your lips, tugging him gently toward the couch. "If I ever say no to you, then there's something seriously wrong with me," he groaned, letting you pull his jeans and underwear down so his soft length hung out from beneath his shirt.

When he dropped down onto the cushion, you dragged his jeans down to his calves so he could spread his legs open a little wider. You kissed his tip and he made a soft sound at the back of his throat as he started to get hard. You dragged your hands up and back down his full length, keeping your eyes locked on his. "Hi, Daddy," you whispered before dragging your tongue along the pretty bead of his precum, enjoying the way he throbbed.

"Hi, Princess," he managed as you smiled up at him. His voice sounded strained as you moved slowly and meticulously, stroking him until he was rock hard.

Right before you took him between your lips, you said, "We're getting married." You smiled around his length as he whined your name, and you let him thrust until he tapped the back of your throat. Then you sucked along his length, inch by inch, until he popped free from your lips, and you whispered, "And we're having a baby."

His fingers found your cheek, his skin a little rough against your face as you rested your head on his thigh. Bradley's eyes were glued to yours, watching you with wide pupils as you lazily kitten licked his cock and stroked his balls with your thumb. "You look so pretty like this," he rasped, and you kissed him before continuing with your little licks. "You're gorgeous when you're driving me out of my mind."

You giggled softly, and his cock throbbed against your lips. "I like teasing you."

Bradley grunted, his fingers tipping your chin up as he said, "I can fucking tell. And you can tease me all you want as long as you suck me off in the living room for the rest of my life."

You licked his length and whispered, "I'll put it in my wedding vows." Then he guided your parted lips around his cock again, and he moaned in satisfaction as you took him deep.

His stamina was commendable like always. You gagged yourself on him over and over until your saliva was dripping down your chin and his balls. You gripped at his thighs as he thrust up to meet you with his fingers gentle on your face. And all the while, he words were sweet in comparison to the rough hairs rubbing your lip and the tears burning your eyes.

"You're perfect, Baby. Can't get enough. Gonna marry you... my beautiful Princess."

When he finally came, you were sputtering and practically in tears before scrambling up onto his lap as he told you he loved you. Bradley's hands found your belly as you kissed him.

"I love you too, Daddy," you whispered before he dipped his tongue between your lips to taste himself. Soon you and he would be married. You were pregnant and exhausted and letting him do most of the planning, but it would be great. No matter what happened on your wedding day, it would be perfect. You'd have Bradley and Noah as your family. The baby was healthy. You didn't want to overthink how you belonged here and fit with them. You knew that you did, even when it was hard to see yourself the way Bradley always seemed to. You snuggled against him and said, "I think you're perfect, too."

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I love this family. The next chapter was originally going to be their wedding, but I got some asks about Bradley's bachelor party, and well now I'm intrigued. So there may be one more chapter than I anticipated! If you have DILF Bradley bachelor party thoughts, please let me know. Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

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pennyellee · 1 day

Text

𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐕𝐈𝐈𝐈

LACRIMOSA | MYG MAFIA YANDERE AU

pairings: mafia leader!yoongi x f!reader genre: mafia!au, yandere au, historical au

summary: Their interlocking gaze served as a butterfly effect on his heart, stirring it to the core. She, in turn, only dreams to find a way to escape. But perchance, over time she might forcefully learn to love the man who has taken so much from her.

Thus unfolds a twisted tale of love and loss, of hope and despair, of life and death. The music reverberated through the dimly-lit streets. Tears of sorrow, weeping symphony - reflects the hurt, the scars that linger deep within and the wounds that never healed. Lacrimosa.

chapter warnings (preview only): minors dni 18+ | mafia au, dark!yoongi, mafia!yoongi, yandere, incision wound, blood, suicide attempt, strong language, mentions of God, ...

beta read by @chaoticpuff17

word count: 583

disclaimer: this story is purely fictional, it does not depict real-life events or involve any actual members of BTS. This story will contain depictions of violence, blood shed, death, mentions of abuse, smoking, alcohol drinking, illegal activities, old social norms and traditions, which we do not condone.

author's note: well, yall, life is getting in my way, it's certainly keeping me from finishing this chapter, but it shouldn't be that long before I actually do. I wanted to drop a little preview before the sacred day I was born, which is tomorrow, 1-2-3 birthday depression. Enjoy the preview and stay tuned for the chapter. I'll be also answering some asks tomorrow, yes, i see them, and i love you all so so so so much, I just have very little of free time lately. See ya soon! lots of love, p. 𖦹 ☼ ⋆｡˚⋆ฺ ♡🫧

m.list CHAPTER I CHAPTER II CHAPTER III CHAPTER IV CHAPTER V CHAPTER VI CHAPTER VII CHAPTER VIII

Time seemed to slow as Yoongi lunged forward, reaching out to stop her, but it was too late. The blade sliced through her skin, leaving a trail of crimson in its wake.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as pain seared through her, her vision swimming with darkness. She felt Yoongi’s hands on her, his panicked voice calling out to her, but it was distant as if coming from a faraway place.

“Seokjin?!!” he shouted, his voice raw with desperation.

He cradled her in his arms, his hands trembling as he pressed against the wound, trying desperately to stem the flow of blood.

The sound of loud footsteps echoed in the corridor as others rushed forward to reach the doctor, their expressions a mix of horror and disbelief. But amidst the chaos, Y/N’s empty gaze remained fixed on Yoongi, her eyes still burning with flames.

“Stay with me, baby. Don’t leave me please.” Yoongi whispered, his voice cracking with emotion. He pressed his lips to her forehead, willing her to hold on, to fight for her life.

But as he looked down at her pale, lifeless face, he knew that the road ahead would be long and fraught with challenges. For now, all he could do was pray that she would survive, that she would find the strength to forgive him and that they would someday find their way back to each other.

“Please don’t take her away from me, my Lord.”

Yoongi prayed that it was not too late to save her from the darkness that threatened to consume them both.

One thing remained clear in Yoongi’s mind: he would do whatever it took to save her, to make amends for the pain he had caused, and to prove to her that his love was worth fighting for.

Yoongi’s voice cut through the turmoil, his words a desperate plea for forgiveness. He begged for her to forgive him, to give him another chance to make things right. No more secrets, no more lies. No more pain. He was willing to rebuild their relationship from the ground up, on a foundation of honesty and trust.

The metallic scent of blood mingled with the tang of fear, thickening the air with a palpable sense of impending doom. He ripped one of his sleeves a while ago, pressing the roughly crimpled fabric to the wound, praying that Seokjin was near. Or did anyone hear him scream frantically enough to relay the message?

“You can’t leave me, baby, please. I promise we’ll work everything through.”

He kissed and caressed her hair with his free hand which was covered with her blood. Tears blurred his vision as his hand trembled at the sight. A blood he never wished to shed.

“Please, Y/N, you have to forgive me.” The weight of his actions pressed down on him like a leaden blanket, suffocating him with the weight of his mistakes.

“Fucking goddammit Yoongi!”

—

Y/N set the plates on the table, pouring the hot water into a kettle of green tea as he joined her at the table. They exchanged smiles, the morning sun casting a warm glow over the kitchen and the windows providing a magnificent view of the sea.

“I’ve been thinking,-” she said with a smile on her face while she set the seaweed salad down in front of him. He hummed in response, reading today’s paper.

“About opening my practice.” He nodded, sipping his tea thoughtfully.

“Thought you wanted to wait until the babe arrives?”

𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐨𝐨𝐧

©pennyellee. please do not repost

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xueyidweams · 3 days

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rambling once again (aventurine x cat-person gn!reader) (this kind of pattern is what I’m talking about.) (read more bc this became quite long, sorry!!!)

Aventurine in his life of working for the IPC has come across a lot of stealers or kids trying to find their food for the day. he usually gives them some money and send them on their way. however, he really didn’t expect for someone to try and rob him in Penacony, in the dreamscape no less. Somehow he didn’t sense the man hurling himself towards him and grunted in surprise as he was pushed down, before he could even open his eyes the man was off of him and running away with claw marks all over him.

dumbfounded, he gets up and looks around, only to find two cat eyes staring at him… except they weren’t a cat… well.. half cat half person? He thought the species went extinct long ago. though, you were living proof of the opposite. you helped him sit up, he felt your claws brush against his knuckles and you felt the coolness of his rings on your paw-hand. observing his every move with utmost attention, your feline eyes following his every mimic and body movement.

“well thank you kind stranger—“ you accidentally cut him off as you smell him closely and realize who he is, he smells just like those bastards from the IPC! way too rich to be true smelling! your ears curl backwards and you pull yourself away hastily as you run away from him. He blinks as he sees you run, so fast… is this why the IPC hunts you all down like you’re all one of a kind? He yells after you, “Hey wait! just listen to me, please!“ you look back at him, your teeth snared and your pupils as slanted as they can be, “leave me alone IPC scum!”

you turn a few corners and your eyes widen in horror to see a dead end… what the hell, you know this place like the back of your hand! did they build this just now or have you been hanging in the unfinished part for way too long? the hairs on your tail stand up and your ears curl back as you hear his footsteps, taking a step back your back meets the wall with an oomph.

“Hey look— don’t be so hostile, we don’t have to be enemies. you can trust me.” yeah right. with those eyes? they’re unnervingly pretty and somehow frightening. your gut is telling you to run but your heart is hammering way too fast in your chest and the sound is drowning out his voice and you feel like everything you’ve had to endure to not fall into IPC’s slimy hands again has all been for nothing and—

you feel a hand on your arm, you look up and meet his eyes. then you feel the warm tears staining your cheeks, your tail hugs your leg as your ears droop, “look. please don’t give me up to them, i’ll literally do anything. do you want any dirty work done? i can do it! please just leave me alone, i don’t want to go back i can’t go back!” you see his eyes… soften somehow. to him, you’re a stark reminder of who he was, maybe still is. the way you fight so hard to protect the most precious thing to you, your freedom reminds him so much of the unsavory memories that he doesn’t notice he is squeezing your arm a bit hard and some of the fur is stuck on his rings. you flinch and grimace and he untangles your fur from his rings, he pulls his hands off of you.

he coughs in his hand and looks at you once more, voice softer yet firm. “im not going to hurt you or give you up. that’s not my job anyways. i just wanted to thank you, for helping even though it could put me in serious hot water. cats hate water right?” you half rolls your eyes at his teasing remark, “yeah yeah pretty boy, cough up some cash if you want to thank me. thanks for not turning me in but empty sentiments won’t feed me when i have to wake up from this dream.”

he smiles and takes off the ring from his index finger, he looks at you, “can i hold your hand?” you feel a slight warmness spreading through your face and squint your eyes, “fine but don’t try anything funny!” he chuckles and takes your hand in his gently, “wouldn’t dream of it.” he slips the ring on your ring finger, winking at you. “you can sell this for at least five hundred thousand credits, plenty to eat hm?” you look at your finger, the ring and at him as your heart does summersaults in your ribcage. you’ve never… even as a tease you’ve never been flirted with this is—

he takes advantage of your stupor and strokes your shoulder, squeezes slightly and gives you a smile. “you haven’t seen me and i haven’t seen you, yes?” you nod, speechless but thankful. he turns around and you finally get your voice back, “wait!” he looks back, his eyes watching you with interest. he raises his eyebrows, “thank you. i dont know what else to say but i’ll never forget this. and i wasnt’… joking when i said i could do your dirty work. so if you need something and i can get it done, i’ll do it free of charge.” you manage to tumble out as your voice trembles a bit, still shocked. his smile returns, “I’ll think about it, maybe fate will make us cross paths again huh?” he gives a little wave and starts walking, “oh also, do take care of your fur, it’s rather soft.”

you look dumbfounded, your face morphing from surprised to angry to flustered but he has already left. you look at your ring finger again and play with the ring, maybe the aeons have pitied you now?

‘he’s really pretty…’

you think to yourself as you pocket the ring and think of all the fish, meat and bread you’re gonna eat. and maybe you’ll try that soul glad thing.

#should i continue this?#hsr aventurine #honkai star rail #aventurine #aventurine x male reader #aventurine x reader #hsr x reader #aventurine honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader

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tonkatsubowl · 18 hours

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misdemeanor.

▼ sunday x fem!reader

▼ yandere themes. triggering themes. nsfw themes. mdni.

▼ you got kidnapped. (since idk sunday's moveset or anything i just pulled something out of my ass)

sunday's reputation was well-known. his face was everywhere, and the knowledge that he was one of the family's greatest members was, well... well-known. because of this, you were given your own reputation, too, for being constantly seen by his side at all costs.

the family was known to harbor an immense amount of money, and there were rumors that if you stole a certain amount of money digitally, you'd wake up from the dreamscape and have that money in your account still. but was that possible? to steal something from the dreamscape and wake up with it?

...but digitally? would that actually happen?

some people chose to fuck around and find out.

unfortunately, you were the chosen victim for this crime.

the one time you weren't by sunday's side, life decided to choose you of all people to be... toyed with.

you were wandering through the streets of penacony by yourself. you wanted to admire the scenes of the night sky, and enjoy the festivities that occurred throughout the festive night. women, children, men and their families spent time together, giggling and laughing harmoniously as they gathered around, enjoying the moment of happiness that they shared together. you were enjoying the sight itself, but you recalled there was a hidden view here somewhere that a certain individual took a certain trailblazer to... and you wanted to check it out.

as you were making your way towards the area, you didn't realize you were being followed by a couple of a few criminals. you were humming one of robin's songs to yourself, only to find your voice was completely concealed behind the discomfort of a cloth, rendering your inability to breathe for a moment. you inhaled, smelling unfamiliar chemicals, forcing your body to relax. you immediately knew something was happening to you, but you tried to fight it back for a moment, but the sedatives were already forcing you to fall...

so you did. you collapsed to the hard ground, visiting the blackest night.

once you woke up, you were tied up, duct tape over your mouth. your eyes frantically traveled everywhere, panic now infesting the rest of your body. where were you? who took you? the immediate realization that you were kidnapped strucked you, and you were silently panicking.

you were trying to calm down, but the sedatives were making you feel sick. you felt tired, and you didn't feel strong enough to even move that well, either.

"she's finally awake."

an unfamiliar voice boomed to the side, and your head turns towards the direction. an unfamiliar face, several men. you felt your heart drop, faced with the reality of many possibilities. what do they want? are they going to kill you?

"hey there, pretty girl." one of the unfamiliar men took hold of your face, observing you.

"that's really (y/n)?" one says.

"is this even a good idea? the family is everywhere." another says.

"it's easy, boys. we just ask her for the money." another says.

"yeah, yeah. so, we'll remove the tape from your face and you start speakin'." the guy who held your face said.

he ripped off the tape of your face, causing your eyes to tear themselves up due to the pain you endured for a good moment.

"now talk—"

collecting up some saliva, you decided to spit at the man who spoke to you. you didn't say anything, but that enough should tell him 'no'.

he chuckled, wiping his face off with disgust. "you wanna get dirty, huh? we won't ask again; we want your money. it's easy. just give us one million credits and we'll let you go."

you didn't say anything. in truth, you were ultimately terrified. your body shook with distress and exhaustion, and you wanted to vomit. you looked around frantically, seeing that you were in a room, somewhere. a dark room, maybe in a building with little sunlight. but you had to get out of here.

you tried to wiggle out of the ropes that held you, but you couldn't. they were too knotted, and you were unable to do anything. you began to panic, but you tried to calm down at the same time.

"... not gonna say anything, huh?" he grinned, before taking out what appeared to be a handgun.

your eyes widen, your hands trembling. was this how you were going to die? then, you were pistol-whipped to the face, granting you to suffer from a cut and a bruise. streams of blood traveled from your injury and to your chin, dripping. you breathed, your breaths shakey. he lifted his hand again, and just right before anything could happen, the men froze. they were silent, unable to move. each individual was struck by a glowing blade from behind which materialized from nothing. they all grunted in pain, blood spurting from their injuries.

"what the-!? what's going on—!?"

from the door next to you, sunday opened the door and walked in, hands behind his back. they froze, ultimately accepting their defeat knowing that the checkmate had walked into the building. sunday's eyes rested on you, anger already apparent in his gaze. he walks over to you calmly, noting your injuries... which only infuriated him more.

"normally, those who 'die' in this dreamscape don't really die in reality, " sunday began to speak, untying your ropes, catching your body as it fell. you were in a panic, unable to move, unable to speak. you were shaking so bad, sunday could feel you vibrate against his frame, "for crimes like this, normally, you'd go to prison for it. but i'll make an exception for prison."

he lifts you up, your eyes softening at your lover. but you were too tired, and that was when sunday looked at you, turning his back to the culprits, saving you the scene of a brutal event. his eyes took steady of you for a moment, as though he was forcing you to sleep, to save you from the screams of their deaths.

"... i'll just have you all die, and wiped from reality."

your world goes to black once more, carried away by your lover, as the culprits who dared touch you would meet their ends. insufferably so, not given quick deaths.

you wake again to find yourself in an infirmary, where robin was asleep with a tear-stained face, resting her ahead atop of your body. you were dazed, tired, and you were patched up by the family's medical team. sunday was gazing outside the window, and the moment he heard you stir awake, his gaze softens, approaching you quietly.

"(y/n), you're awake." he whispered, careful not to wake robin. "how are you feeling?"

that was when you began to sob, your heart racing. "i'm... i'm okay, i'm... i'm just scared." you were terrified, even now, but you knew you were in safe hands.

sunday knelt by your bedside, brushing his hand atop of your hand. his gaze so gentle, his touch and everything was so gentle, you felt your body ease up. he leans over, pressing his lips against your injury, then your lips.

"you're okay, now. please, do not leave my side from now on, (y/n). something like this could occur again."

you nod slowly. you knew that full well that you would have to glue yourself to sunday's side, and if you had to leave, well... it'd have to be his approval.

"robin was worried sick about you. she was here all day sobbing, wishing for you to wake immediately. would you like anything to eat or drink? i'll have someone bring it to you."

god, you really were hungry. now that the adrenaline died down, you were wanting something now.

"... has robin eaten anything yet?" you asked.

sunday shook his head.

"let's get her something too. i would like..."

#honkai star rail #hsr #hsr x reader #hsr sunday #sunday x reader

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beatrice1979a · 3 days

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Sunburn

Reverse Marinette's first heartbreak

credits: @adorkastock for this pose

@bgony for alt chloe design.

Yes that's reverse Adrien many months before his haircut.

@generalluxun for Chloe's sunny character concept. Marvelous just Marvelous! Chloe can kill with kindness. Check their reverse fics Note that Alt!Chloe is definitely NOT into Adrien or any man. But I needed a Chloe. Update: read this post here for more about this Chloe. Let's pretend for a moment the Supreme forced her to date Paris' beloved teen celebrity for the Greater Good. What's even scarier is that this brainwashed Chloe would probably comply gladly.

Sunburn

(English is not my first language. So grin and bear it)

They say never meet your heroes or, in this case, your beloved idol. Marinette learned this the hard way.

She was beside herself when she learned that, despite the rumors of having (yet again) a new Supreme-sanctioned girlfriend, the self-proclaimed teen heartthrob Sunshine Boy Adrien was having an informal meet and greet at Le Grand Paris. Just two blocks away from her own home. There was no point asking for permission. Her parents would never allow it. But this chance was too good to let it lapse.

It was dark and everyone was asleep. She grabbed a few magazines and one of the many pictures scattered all over her punk themed bedroom and, silently escaped her room by climbing down the side wall of her three storey home. She ran into the night and camped, hours before dawn, by the expected location, right near the entrance of the fanciest hotel in Paris. It was chilly and slightly humid as the sun climbed the sky but Marinette didn't pay any mind even as the noisy swarm of fans started gathering all around the area forcing her to push and fight to keep her privileged spot in the queue.

There he was, Adrien Agreste in the flesh, even more handsome than portrayed in the heavily retouched press photos or the official telescreen channels. Her heart skipped a beat and she charged forward to beg for an autograph.

And then she saw her.

His arm around her with such unbearable familiarity. Her golden messy hair precariously arranged in two braided ponytails. Unmistakably her. Blinding her with that sunny personality and that oh-so-hideous saccharine smile plastered on that ridiculously pretty doll-like face: Chloe. Chloe Bourgeois. The snobbiest prissy miss perfect, top-of-the-class loved-by-all daughter of the mayor of Paris. Chloe Bourgeois. Her bully. Her tormentor. The only person who single-handedly made her life a total misery every single day since kindergarten. Even today on this otherwise auspicious day.

She felt something snap and, for a moment, she couldn't move. As she missed her chance, she got shoved and pushed by the hoards of screeching fans hopelessly drawn to the golden pair like moths to a flame. A flame Marinette could no longer see with tears clouding her sight and threatening to ruin her heavy makeup and the magazines she clutched for dear life onto her chest.

Then another spark blew from her heart, and fire swallowed her whole, uncontrolled, until it scorched her feelings and escaped her lips in a shaken broken whisper: I hate you.

I hate you. She repeated and ran as fast as she could until she crashed back in her bed. She ignored the angry protests of her parents and, possessed by an irrational anger, she dragged all the posters, the pictures, the Supreme endorsed propaganda and threw them into the open fire of the large oven at the back of the bakery. She just stood there hypnotized, staring and staring as that pretty boy face writhed in the flames.

When everything was reduced to ashes, she pulled her phone and called that guy who'd been pestering her for the last few months, begging her for a date. And she agreed. Because she also wanted to shine. She wanted to be loved and held tightly, and worshipped even if for just a moment, even if that moment was going to be with that obnoxious, arrogant, stuck-up class president, Le Chien Kim.

But maybe just then she would finally stop feeling like such a loser for having that ridiculous crush for someone who didn't even know she existed.

And with those thoughts she promised to never succumb to the whims of her heart ever again.

But Marinette was right at least for one thing: Adrien Agreste had never even seen her before in his life. Not until a few weeks later when he decided to finally surprise his mother with her favorite artisan macarons and his feet dragged him to the door of the most popular bakery of the 21th arrondissement.

youtube

Come let the truth be shared No one ever dared To break these endless lies Secretly, she cries

And I'll hide from the world Behind a broken frame And I'll run forever I can't face the shame

#adrinetteapril2024 #day 12: reverse crush #adrinette april #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #tales of shadybug and claw noir #B's art #reverse marinette #reverse adrien #shadyverse #mlb paris special #reverse chloe #design from bgony #shadyclaw #miraculous ladybug #shadyclaw playlist #Youtube

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oomiya · 4 hours

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HIS HEART BEATS FOR. gojo satoru x reader

summary: when a series of events–and an unfortunate miscommunication courtesy of nobara–sends you spiraling down an unknown path with your oldest friend, how else are you supposed to handle it with panic? then again, maybe if you knew, and if satoru knew, that you were running out of time, you would've handled everything a little bit differently. too bad hindsight is 20/20.

warnings: heavy angst, major character death, spoilers, mentions of blood/slight violence, smut (minors do not interact), unprotected sex, car sex, cursing, fem reader (she/her pronouns), possible slight canon inaccuracies, miscommunications, this does not have a happy ending #sorry

word count: 9.1k

a/n: my first fic back on tumblr ! this is kinda not great, goes from 0 to 100 real quick cause i have no patience, and is a little bit all over the place but oh well. all the love <3

It left a bitter taste on your tongue.

The look on his face–strained, tight around his eyes with a loose grin that looked too forced to really be his–caused a flighty, anxious feeling to crawl in your chest. It filled you unforgivingly, carving out any extra space and constricting your heart until you swore it wouldn’t be able to beat anymore.

Your response–or, you suppose, your lack of one–caused the man in front of you to scoff derisively. His fingers tightened on the back of the couch, and if you hadn’t been fighting the thoughts swarming in your head and the multitude of uncomfortable feelings from eviscerating your bleeding heart, maybe you would have seen how he squeezed until his knuckles turned white.

“If you can’t figure it out by now, then–geez, I don’t know–then I guess I don’t have anything else to say.”

You hated yourself for not having anything to say. Or, you did have things to say–fuck, you wanted to simultaneously smack a palm upside his head like you did when you were teenagers and pull the back of his neck until your lips met in a frantic, terrifying kiss–but all the words that could have led you there turned to ash in your mouth.

“I–I don’t–” You hated yourself for stuttering, but the ash suddenly turned to a thick, heady cement glued to your tongue. So, you shook your head, took a deep breath. Anything to shake the choking feeling that suffocated you.

But you took too long. Your silence was all he needed–all he needed to misunderstand. A look of shocked hurt crossed his face–that easy but not-so-truthful grin faltering–and all you could do was hang your head and squeeze your eyes shut as the tears prickled like tiny thorns in the corners of your lashes and the cement coagulated so much that you swore you could taste it.

This was for the best, this was for the best, this was for the best–

Gojo Satoru turned away from you, and if you knew you didn’t have more time, you might’ve stopped him. If you knew he was going to leave, and you were going to die, maybe you would’ve been able to speak.

It’s for the best, for the best, this was for the best.

He stopped in your doorway, lingered in it uncomfortably with a hand held restlessly against the wall. He turned his head slightly to speak to you but barely looked at your eyes.

“‘M not gonna say sorry,” he stated, voice quieter than usual. Like all the humor had been sucked out of his life.

You swallowed thickly, no longer fighting the tears as they fell in fat streaks down your cheeks, and refused to look at him. You think that if you did, you might not have the strength to hold your ground.

After all, you weren’t as strong as him.

Without another word, you watched from the corner of your eye as Satoru faltered–pausing with his lips parted as if he had more he wanted to say–but then he firmly closed his mouth, his hand left your doorframe, and he left your apartment.

He never came back, and you would never see Gojo Satoru again.

But a few weeks previously, you were feeling a bit less tragic.

Satoru was, too, apparently, as he grinned at you from your position on the ground. All you could do was glare in return, irrationally peeved at the way his height towered over you as he stood; you felt a strong urge to punch his shadow.

“You callin’ it?” your insufferable ass of a friend asks, and you finally manage to gather yourself and your dignity off the grass.

“Maybe,” you huff, rubbing your palms roughly against your pants to rid them of dirt and grass. The rain from the previous evening left the ground damp; you consider yourself lucky that all the mud puddles had already dried–you’re sure Satoru wouldn’t have hesitated if there was a brackish puddle near your vicinity.

“Mmm–” he clicked his tongue, “–Need a better answer than that, sweetheart.”

You let out a scoff of laughter at the not-so-endearing term. “You know I hate when you call me that,” you reminded him. Leaning down, you brushed your hands down your legs to rid the fabric of any creases formed from the intense training session.

You’d never give Satoru the satisfaction of letting him know that he beat your ass–and probably would tomorrow, too.

“Why d’ya think I keep calling you that?” the aforementioned object of your ire grinned, smug.

Satisfied with your work–and almost entirely convinced that you were once again rendered presentable–you stood again, hands on your hips as you appraised the tall man. “That’s rude.”

Satoru replied without missing a beat. “Nah, that’s just me. But hey–we still on for food tonight?”

“Always. And unfortunately for me, I think I’m stuck with you,” you sigh, not bothering to look back at him as you turn away, starting the trek back to the main campus building. While Satoru didn’t practice with the full force of his limitless, he still insisted on training you far away from his younger students.

If you thought too long about that, it causes a painful prick to embed itself in your heart.

“Damn right, you are,” Satoru states, hands shoved in his black pants pockets. He fishes around for a second–you narrow your gaze at him, distrustful–before he pulls out a wrapped cherry-flavored sucker. Ah, the taste of artificial corn syrup and starch.

“Begrudgingly, mind you,” you state.

“If you say so.” Satoru pops the sucker into his mouth and falls in step with you, matching your pace as he has for years.

Your gaze drifts to his feet, and that painful splinter shoves itself further inside.

You swallow thickly–as if that could help tamp down the surge of affection you feel for him. “I do,” you shrug; then, to take your mind off that uncomfortable feeling that’s making itself much more comfortable in your chest, you ask, “So, how are the kiddos?”

“Nothin’ but troublemakers,” he says, voice now a bit muffled around the sweet treat, and the laugh he lets out betrays any true meaning behind his words. “Think they’re giving me a few white hairs. Look–” Satoru points to his ruffled hair– pushed up by that black blindfold you occasionally want to pull down–with a lopsided grin on his face.

“Oh, he makes jokes. How cute,” you tease, voice lilting in amusement. “But hey–they’re your troublemakers.”

“Ha–that’s what I tell people about you,” Satoru replies.

“Funny,” you respond flatly. “But seriously, how are they?”

“They’re good, I think,” he replies thoughtfully, head tilted towards the sky as if admiring the still-gray clouds. You find yourself thinking that you wouldn’t be all that surprised if he could see through that blindfold.

You walk in still silence for a moment, but the pensive look causing a downturn of Satoru’s mouth, coupled with the hints from his previous statement, fills you with apprehension. You feel yourself tense when he sighs, head falling from the sky to look at you.

At least, that’s what you assume. But even through the eye-covering, you swear you can feel his piercing gaze unwaveringly on you.

“You know,” he draws out the word, and you bite your lip anxiously at his tone, “they could be your kiddos, too.”

You try not to pay too much attention to the current subject, instead trying to let it simply roll off your shoulders. “Oh, I know. You never let me forget it.”

But Satoru is used to this. “‘Cause you never give me an answer I like,” he retorts.

You can’t hold back the groan from falling from your mouth. “Satoru,” you grit out. “Are we really having this argument again?”

The man beside you shrugs, kicking a stray rock in your direction. Despite the vague sense of annoyance you now feel, you stop the rock with the side of your foot easily before kicking it back to Satoru. Maybe using a bit more force than necessary.

This topic has often been one of contention between you and Satoru. Unbeknownst to you, the man has always believed that the school could become even more invaluable if you were a teacher among its ranks. He’s been trying to recruit you for years–ever since he became a teacher and you moved on to pursue your passions. You don’t know where your hesitance to teach comes from–maybe it’s not even hesitance to teach, but instead, the love you have for the work you’re doing in your current field. Whatever it is, your answer to Satoru has never changed.

But that doesn’t mean you don’t feel a bit of guilt every time he asks.

“Doesn’t have to be an argument. Could be an agreement, instead,” Satoru attempts to convince you, and just when you start to feel a trace of remorse for how quickly you turned him down—again–he murmurs under his breath, “if only someone wasn’t so hard-headed.”

Indignation flattens that remorse.

“Me?” you point to yourself, brows raised in disbelief. “I’m the stubborn one? Are you really the one to be dishing it, Gojo?”

At the sudden use of his last name, Satoru visibly shrinks back. After years of friendship, your use of any name that isn’t his first habitually strikes fear in him–the feeling not unlike receiving a scolding when he was a child.

“You know that’s not how I meant it,” he attempts to explain his poor judgment.

“Satoru, you know I love my job too much. Plus, I just don’t think I’m cut out to teach like you are. Or like how you think I am.” But you relent, wordlessly accepting his hidden apology.

Not that you were ever really upset about that, anyways.

Satoru easily semi-changed the subject. He never really was one to back down. “Ah, I knew it! You think I’m a great teacher. Now, if you could just relay that opinion to Megumi somehow–”

“I think we’ve already established that you’re a funny guy, and we can both agree that I’m great, right? But I’m no miracle worker. Sorry ‘Toru,”

The slight tension from before eases away just like that, faster than it came, and an immense feeling of gratitude for your friend sits on your tongue. You look up at Satoru, an awkward ‘thanks’ hanging in the air between you.

As if sensing how you’re torn–firm in your resolution to not give in to him, yet feeling bad all the same–Satoru softens, nudging your arm with his. No words are needed.

“I’d feel hurt if I wasn’t still annoyed about the whole teaching thing. But, in all realness, you know the kids love you–”

“Well, that’s a given. Everyone loves me,” you remind him flatly.

“Yes, especially me. Which is why I would only tell you this–I need your help,” his sudden seriousness, something that is far-and-few-between with him, immediately makes you curious.

“You’ve got my attention,” you tell him seriously, knocking your elbow against his. He quickly returns the gesture, making something twist in your heart.

He pauses as if taking a steadying breath. “I think you’d do great stuff here. And I could use the extra help. I wanna do right by these kids, even though I don’t make it obvious sometimes,” Satoru implores, and you can hear the unmistakable earnestness in his tone. It’s only apparent to those who truly know him and those for whom he allows most of his walls down. Gojo Satoru is a mysterious person, sometimes seeming inscrutable to outsiders.

You pride yourself as one of the few people who truly knows him.

“Satoru, you literally let the new first years take care of an unregistered special grade a few months ago,” you joke, recalling how Nobara and Yuuji returned from that abandoned warehouse a little worse for wear. But Nobara and Yuuji took everything in stride and were bickering as if they’d been friends for years. You knew Satoru had been proud.

The man in question merely waves his hand, as if ridding the air of the subject. “You know that practical shit is how they learn–it’s how we learned,” he justifies, and a small part of you can’t help but to agree with him. “But I will admit that you just made my point. With everything going on lately…I don’t know. I have a bad feeling. I could use the extra hands.”

You hesitate. You can’t help it–you’ve always had a weak spot regarding Gojo Satoru. “Have you even asked Yaga about this? I don’t know, Satoru…” you trail off, unable to find the right words.

“Let me handle Yaga,” Satoru reassures you. “Just promise me you’ll think about it?”

You pause, thinking about it seriously for a moment. In that time, you can see how Satoru grows impatient, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet beside you. All you can do is groan.

“Fine. I’ll think about it,” you raise a finger, as if trying to halt Satoru’s excitement from bursting. “But just think about it. I’m not promising anything.”

His grin becomes all-encompassing and almost all-consuming. You can’t help but be drawn to it, just like your heart can’t help but skip a beat at the joy that exudes from the tall man from a mere sentence.

“Ah, I’m not worried. I’m sure I’ll be able to convince you,” Satoru states, now standing tall with his shoulders back. He’s clearly pleased with himself, and you can’t help but laugh a bit.

“Satoru, did you hear what I just said?” you ask, but you can’t help the amusement decorating your tone.

“I heard. I’m just choosing to be optimistic.”

“‘Optimistic’. Is that what the kids call delusional these days?” you ask, a finger poised on your chin in thought.

You see Satoru’s cogs turning as he tries to quickly think of a response, but just as he opens his mouth to quip back, the two of you are pleasantly interrupted.

“Who are we calling delusional?” Megumi asks as the group of first years pops up from behind you. You turn around to greet them with a genuine smile, and Nobara gleefully exclaims your name.

The younger girl happily pulls you in for a hug, and you immediately return it.

“Your teacher over there,” you explain to them, moving your head to look around Nobara at the other two in her group. You nod to Satoru, who immediately rolls his eyes.

“Well, we already do that,” Megumi states listlessly. This causes your friend to jump in to defend himself, and Yuuji quickly joins him.

You turn your attention to Nobara, who’s pulling away and ushering you away from the boys.

“They’re too loud. Like, all the time. Or–Yuuji is,” she explains, sighing frustratedly. “I wish I had been in your class. Or, that there were at least a few other girls with me. I can’t handle those two all on my own sometimes.”

You can’t help the warmth you feel at her words, nostalgia ricocheting you back to your school days. The fond memories of your classmates are ones you cherish–spending warm spring days hiding from the sun under a large tree, Shoko and Utahime occasionally bickering affectionately before Shoko tapped on the other girl’s head with her knuckles, lounging as ‘Toru and Suguru got into some type of trouble–

And the thought of your other classmate–the lost one, the boy with long black hair he often kept tied up except on the days that he didn’t–is what grounds you back in the present.

While your smile is still genuine, the remembrance of him causes it to feel a bit more forced.

“Well, it wasn’t always as great as you’re imagining,” you explain to Nobara softly, moving your hand to gently ruffle her hair. “Plus–you have Maki. Doesn’t matter all that much that she’s a grade above you.”

She gently swats your hand away, but you’re relieved to see her still smiling. You remember how difficult it was to sometimes corral Satoru and Suguru.

As if a brilliant thought just entered her mind, Nobara’s eyes went wide with mirth. The look wasn’t unlike that of Yuuji’s–or even Satoru’s–mischievousness.

Brows furrowed, you hastily tried to intercept her thoughts, glancing up briefly to see how Yuuji is keeping Megumi and Satoru occupied with some kind of story.

“What’s that look for?” you ask as you look back at Nobara, only a little bit wary.

She grasps your hands conspiratorially, barely containing her giddiness. “So…how’s the guy?”

Nobara wiggles her brows–as if begging you to let her in on a secret–and the realization comes flooding in.

“Practically nonexistent,” you tell her, but the younger girl doesn’t let you off the hook that easily.

Her brows furrow like she’s frustrated, or maybe about to scold you, and her hold on your hands turns firm. “What do you mean? Oh, don’t tell me–” she starts, eyes widening almost comically in realization. “Did the date go bad?”

At the word ‘date,’ you practically watch as Satoru’s head jerks to face the two of you. However, before he can ask, someone else beats him to it.

“Date?” Yuuji asks, his attention swiveling to you, too. “You had a date?”

Megumi intercepts by knocking Yuuji on his head. “That’s none of your business, Itadori.”

“What?” Yuuji looks at Megumi, his features akin to appallment. “Nobara’s the one who brought it up,” he grumbles.

“That’s because I’m closer to her than you two dimwits are,” Nobara states, pointing to the two of you.

The following ensuing argument pulls Nobara’s attention away from you; but you’re not fooled. You know you can only escape her and her relentless questions for so long.

“I didn’t know you had a date.”

Sometime during the few seconds you were mindlessly distracted, Satoru apparently sidled up next to you. He’s warm despite the overcast day, and you can feel it as he accidentally brushes his arm against yours.

Your wishful thinking has you hoping that, maybe, it wasn’t an accident.

And you wouldn’t know until later, but you were right.

Brushing off the unbidden thoughts, you cross your arms and watch as the young students continue to bicker. “Are you asking a question?” you ask, refusing to look at Satoru.

He doesn’t hold the same notion. You can tell he’s looking at you–can practically feel his gaze on your face. You do your best to ignore it.

“Why didn’t I know you had a date?” he asks instead, and if you were paying more attention, you might’ve caught the slightly irritated twinge in his voice.

You make a noncommittal sound. “You didn’t ask.”

“Don’t act like that,” he says.

“Like what?”

“Like how you’re acting.”

“Satoru,” you groan, feeling your resolve chip away with his needling. “‘Cause there was nothing to tell! It was a guy from work, and we had a date, and that was the end of it–”

“But what happened?” Nobara says your name, suddenly cutting it. “You were really excited about it. Remember–you were talking to Shoko about it that one morning?”

You remember, all right. You’d been hopeful and filled with a little bit of anticipation for the date–a cute guy who’d been flirting with you for a few months at work. He was sweet, and boyish, with glasses and light curly hair that was sometimes a bit messy. You can’t deny that you didn’t like the attention at least a little bit, so when he asked you to dinner one day, leaning across your desk with a sheepish, kind of shy, grin, you couldn’t help but accept.

The next day, after trying and failing to find Satoru, you ran into Shoko in the hallways of the school. Being one of your oldest friends–outside of ‘Toru–and after being unable to find the man, you spilled all the details to her.

Shoko listened dutifully, one hand on her hip as she listened to your jumbled nerves that kept spilling out. Then, the one grievance.

But what about Satoru?

This caused Shoko to raise a brow, not condescendingly. “What about him?” she asked.

You were thoroughly stopped in your tracks. She had a point–what about him? Where did that even come from? Of course, you had some idea–the steadily growing feelings of something had been ever-present and ever-annoying, but in the previous few months, they’d gotten worse. They’d been taking root, pushing aside any sort of logic or reason that told you that falling for your closest friend was a bad idea–the worst, actually.

But you did your best to ignore them, and you tried to convince yourself that you weren’t falling.

“Sorry–nothing,” you shook your head–like you were shaking the thoughts off.

Shoko looked at you disbelievingly. “You sure about that?” she asked, clearly skeptical. “Because that sounds like a shitty excuse if I’ve ever heard one.”

Her words stayed with you, and later, you’d learned that Nobara had caught wind of the first part of your conversation with Shoko–the part where you’d been slightly gushing and airing all your nerves about the date to the older woman.

You’re eternally grateful Nobara had chosen to apparently slink away before catching the tail end of the discussion.

You shoot Nobara a glare. “You’re not helping,” you tell her, but she grins triumphantly.

“C’mon! I’m just trying to help you get a cute guy,” she states before offhandedly muttering, “One of us should.”

You wave your hands in an attempt to dispel the sudden miscommunication. Beside you, Satoru was stiff.

“I had a date; it was fine, end of the story,” you state clearly, looking at Nobara pointedly.

But your apparent firmness on the topic does nothing to stop the ever-curious girl. “Was it not good? Oh! Has he not texted you back?”

“Nobara!” you exclaim in disbelief, eyes wide at her insistence.

“What?” she shrugs. “From what I heard, it sounded like you really liked the guy.”

“All right!” Satoru announces out of the blue, clapping his hands to gather his students’ attention. You gratefully allow him to take over. “Don’t you guys have class soon?”

“Shoot!” Yuuji exclaims, hooking an arm through Megumi’s and pulling him forward. “Thanks! See you guys later!”

Megumi jerks out of Yuuji’s grasp and turns back around to wave. Nobara joins them, albeit trailing behind a bit, offering a doleful goodbye.

As they leave, you smile and offer a wave. Satoru still stands beside you, but you can tell that something is a little off. He’s more tense than usual, and his usual grin is absent.

You furrow your brows, but before you can ask if anything’s the matter, Satoru rounds on you, a slight grin hanging from his lips.

“So, we still on for dinner?” he asks, his vaguely strange behavior from earlier having disappeared almost entirely.

Almost.

With a belated nod, you take in his face. But Satoru betrays nothing.

“Sure,” you reaffirm, doing your best to forget Satoru’s minuscule change in demeanor.

You don’t.

If karma exists, you’re being hit with it in full force.

The evening came faster than you expected it to. You barely had enough time to return home, clean up, subsequently get yourself cleaned up, and grab your wallet before Satoru was waltzing through your apartment door like this was his second home.

Though to be fair, it kind of is.

The drive to the restaurant–yours and Satoru’s favorite place–felt short, and any traces of Satoru’s previously strange behavior had all but vanished. Instead, your typical, satisfied friend sat in the drivers seat.

Then, you arrived. At first, everything appeared normally. You were seated at your favorite table, started sipping on your drink, and stole bits of Satoru’s food when he acted like he wasn’t looking.

But then, after nearly choking when Satoru made a dumb joke, you caught sight of a vaguely familiar head of messy blonde curls.

Eyes narrowing, you move in your seat to get a better look at the familiar stranger. Then, you groan, because the head of light curls was most definitely not a stranger.

“Oh, fuck me,” you groan, dropping your gaze and cradling your head in your hand.

“I mean, I wouldn’t be entirely against it,” Satoru jokes, using his chopsticks to jab a piece of meat into his mouth.

You shoot him a scathing look, but your eyes widen when you realize that the waitress just so happened to sit your ex-date directly in your line of sight. And, therefore, place you directly in his line of sight. “Come on,” you groan.

“What? Sorry, I was only mostly joking about that other thing,” the man across from you replies, entirely unaware of your current plight.

You hastily reach for your bag, eyeing Satoru firmly, and you state, “Hurry up–we have to go.”

Satoru’s brows furrow. “What? No. You’re not even done eating,” he points to your plate with his chopsticks.

“Satoru!” you urge, not having the energy to go through the trials this morning and your awkward first-and-only date caused. You can’t help how your gaze suddenly splits to your ex-date across the room, hoping he hasn’t seen you.

However, you quickly come to find that he isn’t the one you should be worried about.

Satoru easily picks up on your rising panic, and with a brow raised in question, he turns to look over his shoulder at the object of your worry. It doesn’t take him long to connect the dots.

“Huh. That him?” Satoru asks, accidentally knocking his elbow against the table as he turns back around. He winces before leaning down to capture his drink’s straw between his lips.

“Wha–well…” you huff, doing your best to keep your head down to essentially hide behind Satoru.

He looks at you over his sunglasses–weirdo wears sunglasses even indoors, at night, you think offhandedly–thoroughly unimpressed.

“Cute,” Satoru states simply, voice only slightly on edge.

He stretches his long legs under the table, and you nearly jump when his knee accidentally brushes against yours.

“Exactly. So we need to leave. Please?” you plead with him, not having nerly enough patience to handle Satoru’s antics right now.

A strange look passes over Satoru’s face, but it’s gone faster than you can decipher.

“Or…” Satoru draws the word out, and a strangely foreboding feeling runs across your nerves. “We could stay. Make him jealous.”

If you had anything in your mouth, you would have promptly spit it out.

“What?” you ask, entirely dumbfounded. All you can do is stare at your friend, who’s looking almost too pleased with himself.

“What? Bad idea?” he asks with a slight frown.

“Uh, you think?” are the first words that instinctually come out of your mouth.

However, the more you think about it…

That budding emotion that’s been steadily rising in you for months rears its head again, and you find that when you go to shoot down Satoru’s suggestion, your mouth is suddenly dry. Flirting with Satoru…even the thought makes your heart crash against your chest, and you feel much too warm despite the restaurant’s air conditioning vent on the opposite wall. Of course, that’s supposing that’s what Satoru is implying. If not, well, you just made an entire fool of yourself.

“Ah, c’mon. You’re no fun,” Satoru stretches again, but this time, when his knee accidentally brushes against you, a flare of something fills you, and you curiously wonder if it was actually an accident.

You cough out a nervous laugh and reach for your drink. “No, I can be fun,” you suggest, but an undertone of something else makes its way into your voice.

Of course, Satoru being Satoru, he easily catches on. Something in his eyes shifts–you can see it as he continues peering at you from over his frames–and a tingly feeling starts in your fingertips at the look.

He still hasn’t moved his knee. Surprisingly–or maybe not so surprisingly–you don’t really want him to.

Satoru’s eyes never leave yours–piercing with some kind of question in them that you can’t entirely discern yet. It’s something familiar yet wholly unfamiliar as you watch it cross your friend’s face; familiar in that you’ve seen it before but never on Satoru’s face. Then, he swallows thickly, throat bobbing as if trying to push down a feeling that threatens to rise up on his features, and you suddenly know what that look is.

Affection, want. Desire.

“You can?” Satoru asks, and while you’d previously felt like you’d been frozen to your seat, the heaviness of his words is coated in a sweet, titillating warmth filled with possibilities that warm you through and through.

No longer worried about your ex-date seeing you, you break your gaze with Satoru. “Maybe,” you say, and your nerves cause only a slight tremble to your voice. “You’ve just never seen it.”

Satoru takes the bait. Or, maybe he was waiting for it all along. “Maybe I want to.”

Oh, his words cause an instant heat to rush through you, and anything outside your booth is suddenly drowned out. It’s like a haze has settled over you both, turning your brain into a vibrating mess of nothing but Satoru, Satoru, Satoru. It suddenly feels a bit harder to breathe, and you vaguely wonder how things have changed this rapidly. How the words and intentions between you and one of your oldest friends quickly went from cordial and friendly to being filled with unanswered questions and staggering but undeniable attraction.

But, you think, maybe that’s where you’re wrong. These feelings you have didn’t appear in the past ten minutes. You’ve felt them for a while, but for a million reasons that don’t seem like reason enough anymore, you can’t shake them.

And you don’t think you want to.

As you think about your words, you sip your drink again, wet condensation filling the spots between your fingers. It seems like Satoru is leaving the metaphorical ball in your court–endlessly selfless even if he often hides it behind lighthearted words and joking actions. And that reminder makes you feel endlessly grateful for him.

“Are you sure?” you ask, and a million questions lie within that one phrase. Is Satoru sure he knows what he’s implying–what you’re implying? Does he mean it, and if he does, is he certain of it? You feel like lightning is zipping through your veins, alighting every nerve you have.

Under the table, Satoru’s knee bounces a bit–almost like he’s nervous–and then you suddenly realize that he is. A surge of affection fills your heart and your chest, making you feel every kind of warmth that exists.

“Yeah,” is all Satoru says, and you think it’s all that he needs to say.

Your heartbeat is in your throat when you reply. “Maybe I want you to, too.”

It doesn’t take much longer for Satoru to have you on his lap in his car, lips hot and insistent on yours as he kisses you breathlessly, hungrily. One hand–large and slightly calloused–rests on your hip, and the realization that he’s touching you and kissing you and it feels so right almost causes you to forget how to breathe. All you can do is kiss him back, mouth opening in surprise at the feel of his hot tongue dragging against your bottom lip.

Satoru groans against you–a low, gravely sound–and it immediately has you pressing closer, greedily taking all of the affection he offers you. He’s everywhere–one hand pressing against your hip so hard that his fingertips turn pale, the other hand brushing against your face, throat, the back of your neck to pull you even closer. All you can smell is the deep, masculine scent that is simply Satoru, and it is merely one out of five hundred things at the moment that make you feel dizzy–like you might collapse in his hold if he wasn’t holding onto you so sweetly, so firmly.

Like he couldn’t bear to let you go.

“S-Satoru,” you say against his lips, voice breathy and pitched higher than usual. A sweet, seductive sound that Satoru has never heard before that, if you weren’t mistaken, causes him to suddenly tense with arousal against you.

“Say it again,” Satoru nips against your bottom lip, pulling away only slightly to stare at your swollen lips, chest heavily panting. The sunglasses are long discarded–tossed haphazardly in the passenger's seat, and the sight of his eyes blown out and demanding is something that causes pleasure to pool heavy in your gut.

Your eyes dart between his, chests meeting as the both of you pant into the limited space separating you. His breath is hot as it fans across your face, and you can’t help but lean down to press your lips against his once more.

“Satoru,” you murmur, lips brushing against his.

The hunger that flashes across his features is something you think you’ll dream about forever.

The next few minutes pass by in a pleasure-filled blur. You don’t remember who moved first, but soon, your pants are discarded carelessly–just as Satoru’s sunglasses were–and his are shoved down his legs. You’re grinding against his pretty, hard cock, pressing your clit against the flushed head every time you rock your hips back down, and Satoru’s hand is up your shirt, pressing your bra up, until your breasts are free and he can grope them. The sight is enough to have you moaning again, seeing the man underneath you flushed with swollen lips and his hand squeezing the fat of your chest.

“Fuck, they’re so nice. So pretty,” Satoru says quietly–almost like he’s not even talking to you–before leaning down and mouthing along your nipple. A gasp gets caught in your throat at the feeling of his soft lips wrapping around your breast, nerves feeling as if they’re standing on end as, at the same time, his fingers press between your legs to swipe against your clit.

“Oh–shit,” you curse at the feeling of pleasure, winding taut and tight as Satoru continues touching you, unraveling you for him.

“Mmm, I never hear you swear,” Satoru grins against your skin, tongue darting out to taste your nipple. He blows on the spit then, and it’s enough to have goosebumps crawling across your skin, and you can’t help but arch against him. “It’s cute.”

Even with his hand shoved between your bodies and fingers pressed tight to your clit, his cock hard and throbbing with every little gasp you let out, Satoru still manages to get under your skin in the best way possible.

Gritting your teeth, you pull away to glare at him, making him release your breast from his mouth. “Satoru,” you nearly groan, unable to stop from grinding against his hand as one, then two, fingers easily press inside you.

“Hm?” he hums under his breath, a slight grin tugging at his lips.

“Are you going to fuck me, or keep teasing the both of us?” You ask, raising a brow and pressing a hand to his chest.

For a moment, other than the two fingers he keeps crooked inside you, easily pressing up, up until he’s massaging against that sweet spot inside you, Satoru pauses. His grin is bright, excited, slightly cocky, and he keeps slowly opening you up, making you lose nearly all sense of reason as his cock throbs against your inner thigh. It appears as though he might’ve said something, but the way you rest, poised above him, cunt all soft and wet and ready for him, your hands on his body, Satoru sinks against his chair with a sigh.

“Wish I could take my time with you,” Satoru says quietly, fingers pushing inside your cunt then pulling out to rub your own slick against your clit. The sensation almost has you keening, and you have to bite your lip to prevent an embarrassing sound from falling past your lips.

“Another time,” you say, not entirely thinking what those words could mean.

Satoru’s breath visibly hitches at your words, and it’s easy to help him adjust so that you’re hovering over his heavy cock, hot and warm in your grasp, before you sink down on him with hardly any resistance.

“Fuck–” Satoru grounds out, head falling against his seat at the feeling of you dropping your hips to take all of him. You’re in no better shape, hands moving to press against his chest as Satoru’s cock presses into you–deep, deeper than you could’ve imagined–and you hastily grind against his lap to feel the heavier weight of him inside you.

“Oh–” you moan, squeezing your eyes shut as you circle your hips again in an effort to feel him nudging against that spot inside you again.

“F-fuck–don’t do that–shit–won’t last long,” Satoru hisses through his teeth, large palms soothing over your back to press against you. He pulls you closer, deeper against his hips, and the new angle has his cock feeling even bigger and heavier inside you.

“Can’t help it,” you reply, your hand turning into a fist against his shoulder, and you slowly lift off him. It doesn’t take long for you to set a steady rhythm–rising off his cock before pressing back down, circling your hips and grinding against him to feel how the head of his cock nudges that spot inside you that has you clenching and moaning his name.

“Well, help it,” Satoru nearly seethes, and when his hips rise up to meet you, all you can do is gasp out his name and take the pleasure he gives you.

“I’ll do my best,” you tell him, but the words feel airy and meaningless when Satoru begins rubbing your clit again, causing that coil to tighten even more.

“Not gonna last long like this,” Satoru groans, hand tightening on your hip as he fucks up into you. Your cunt feels hot and wet, taking his cock in over and over with his every thrust up into your heat.

Embarrassingly, you find yourself agreeing with Satoru. The sight of the man quickly unraveling beneath you–thighs tense, cock disappearing between your thighs every time you sink down on him, his hands held tight and secure on your waist to keep you on him, and pale hair unruly–it itches a pleasure-filled part of your brain and causes your tongue to feel heavy in your mouth.

“That’s okay,” you tell him, hand moving to cup the back of his neck to pull his lips to yours. Satoru obliges quickly, moaning against your open-mouthed kiss. He never stops pressing against your clit, rubbing it in tight circles as you rock yourself over his cock. Moaning, you undulate your hips, aching to feel even more of him, to feel him even deeper. Satoru seems to like this, his grip on you bruising and tight every time he presses his hips back up against your own, chasing a release you know is close by the way his eyes fall shut, and his groin tightens.

“Did you mean it?” he suddenly asks, mumbling against your lips, holding your body tight against his.

“Mean what?” you return, lashes fluttering and a sound of pleasure caught in the back of your throat as he swipes two long fingers against you. You rock back down against him, circle your hips at the same time he pushes tight inside you, and you’re so close to that edge, feel like you might fall over it at any second–

“‘Another time’? Did you mean it?” Satoru asks against your mouth, cock thrusting inside you at just the right angle, fingers pressing deliciously against your clit until you fall over that edge, pleasure clouding your brain and causing you to stiffen up as you fuck him through your high.

Satoru quickly follows, joining you in the deep abyss of pleasure as your tight cunt milks him for all he’s worth, massaging the head of his cock between your slick heat, your moans as you tremble against him something he swears he’ll hear ringing in his ears for years.

Neither of you fully comes down until a few seconds later, Satoru’s hands slightly shaking as he cups your cheek and pulls you in for one last kiss. You lean against him, enjoying the aftershocks of pleasure as they course through you, and it’s only then that you remember his question.

“I don’t know,” you admit, a bit of something akin to shyness seeping into your tone. You swallow at the sudden turn of events–shit, this whole evening is going to give you whiplash, you think.

With his forehead pressed to yours, Satoru’s eyes dart across your face–searching for something. You don’t know if he finds it.

“Okay. That’s okay,” he starts, but stops himself before he can finish his thought. He hesitates, and you raise a brow in question. “There doesn’t have to be. It doesn’t have to mean anything–not if we don’t want it to.”

And there, in the head of Satoru’s car and his embrace, you suddenly feel chilled to the bone. The urge to run far, far away urges you to move–you want to move, you want to go home and crawl under your covers and consider the implications of your’s and Satoru’s actions, of his words.

Shit–of your words.

What held more weight? Your actions or your words?

Fuck. You love him.

You feel wholly embarrassed; embarrassed by your feelings, by your actions, by agreeing to this thinking that Satoru felt the same. Or maybe he does feel the same and you’re too busy reveling in what just happened and everything that didn’t happen to fully take everything in. All you feel is the sharp shame of regret and foolishness because even if he didn’t mean what he said, he still said it, which still hurt. It makes you question yourself, your feelings, and your fucking actions. You want to say something, to ask for clarity. To admit your feelings and tell him that you want it to happen again, and again, and again.

But in the end, you allow the cold to seep through you, replacing the bright warmth that previously filled you. And the words left unspoken fill your heart like a thick, painful dread.

“Hey–you okay? Come back to me.” Satoru furrows his brows, hand cupping your cheek. So, you give him a pained, forced smile, and look at him again.

“I’m okay,” you reply. You could say more–admit your feelings, tell him everything you want to hear. But the fear overwhelms you in its finality.

Instead, you say nothing, a heavy, dreadful weight filling the once blissful space between you.

You can’t shake the feeling of cold.

The next couple of weeks are strange.

Now fully aware of the extent of your feelings for Satoru, you do your very best to avoid him. Maybe if you hadn’t had sex in his car, or come to a realization about your feelings, or if any of the things that had happened hadn’t happened, you wouldn’t feel the need to avoid him.

But they did, so you did.

In fact, you’d been doing a pretty successful job of doing so up until the night of the 29th. Earlier that day, it’d been chilly outside, a reminder of the seasons changing from summer to fall, from fall to winter. As soon as you got home–after another successful day of dodging Satoru’s texts and calls–you hopped into the shower, changed into warm pajamas, and wrapped yourself in a blanket, fully prepared to spend another night wallowing in all the mistakes you’d made.

However, that was before rapid knocking on the door pulled you from your thoughts, alerting you that the night might go differently than you would have liked.

With a sigh, you stand, allowing the plush blanket you’d grabbed to fall from your lap. You have an aching feeling you might know who’s behind the door, and when you open it mid-rap, a hand poised just about to know, your assumptions are confirmed.

“I didn’t think you’d answer,” Satoru says, and you note how his jaw looks tense.

“Me neither,” you admit.

You move back to allow Satoru to enter–something he’s done millions of times before.

So why does this time feel different?

“You’ve been avoiding me.” A statement.

“I’m sorry,” is all you can reply with.

Satoru shakes his head. “You don’t have to apologize to me,” he states, and when he looks at you, you could swear there’s almost something pleading in his gaze.

“But I do–”

“No, you don’t. I’m the last person you’d ever need to apologize to.”

Confusion fills you, wraps around you almost like dread.

“I don’t think I know what you mean, Satoru,” you say slowly, because the words you’re looking for aren’t making themselves known as quickly as you’d like.

As if sensing your beginning discomfort, Satoru braces a hand on the back of your couch. “Don’t you think we should talk about what happened? Because I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.” His underlying meaning is there, but not spoken: about you.

“I just don’t know what to say,” you say, pressing against your middle finger until it begins to hurt. “If you won’t let me apologize, then I don’t know what else to say.”

Hurt makes itself present on Satoru’s face, almost like he’s shocked at how detached your words are.

“Well, I could think of about a hundred,” he retorts, and the sudden harsh edge behind his words almost makes you wince.

“I just don’t think there’s anything else to say.” A lie. You have a million things to say, but you’re afraid of Satoru’s previous words.

This doesn’t have to mean anything.

But you want it to. And amidst your confusion–the balance between what you want and the fear of changing the comfortable, of Satoru’s rejection, of the unknown–is what holds you back.

The fear of changing everything causes you to stand still in silence.

The air between you is tense, and the irony of the situation is not lost on you. A few weeks ago, the air between you was tense, too, but filled with a different kind of anticipation and affection.

Now, it’s just cold.

“Really? Not even about how we had sex? And how I’m pretty sure both of us felt something that’s been making you avoid me for the past few weeks?”

You’re starting to feel like you might be a flight risk. Satoru’s words are uncomfortable to hear, but they’re true. Yet, the fear that wraps itself around you until you feel like you’re bound is solid and unrelenting. You think this is for the best.

“If I wanted to say something, then I would have,” you tell him, doing your best to hold your ground.

You find that it’s incredibly difficult.

“Are you sure? Because I think you’re lying.”

His words are like a shock to your system, leaving a bitter taste on your tongue.

The look on his face–strained, tight around his eyes with a loose grin that looks too forced to really be his–causes that flighty, anxious feeling crawling in your chest to heighten. It fills you unforgivingly, carving out any extra space and constricting your heart until you swear it won’t be able to beat anymore.

Your response–or, you suppose, your lack of one–causes Satoru to scoff derisively. That’s not like him–you think. He must be becoming more and more frustrated with you.

You don’t blame him.

“I don’t know what you’re asking me, Satoru. Or what you want from me. You told me it doesn’t have to matter, right? That’s what you said,” you accuse, doing your best to form some kind of coherent sentence in the mass of things you can say.

His fingers tighten on the back of the couch, and if you hadn’t been fighting the thoughts swarming in your head and the multitude of uncomfortable feelings from eviscerating your bleeding heart, maybe you would have seen how he squeezes until his knuckles turn white.

“If you can’t figure it out by now, then—geez, I don’t know–then I guess I don’t have anything else to say.”

You almost gasp at his words and hate yourself for not having anything to say. Or, you do have things to say–fuck, you want to simultaneously smack a palm upside his head like you did when you were teenagers and pull the back of his neck until your lips met in a frantic, terrifying kiss–but all the words that could have led you there turn to ash in your mouth.

Fear is a horribly terrifying thing.

“I–I don’t–” You wish you didn’t stutter, but the ash suddenly turns to a thick, heady cement that glues your tongue. So, you shake your head, take a deep breath. Anything to shake the choking feeling that suffocates you.

But you took too long. Your silence is all he needs–all he needs to misunderstand. A look of shocked hurt crosses his face–that easy but not-so-truthful grin faltering–and all you can do was hang your head and squeeze your eyes shut as the tears prickled like tiny thorns in the corners of your lashes and the cement coagulated so much that you swear you could taste it.

This was for the best, this was for the best, this was for the best–

Gojo Satoru turned away from you, and if you knew you didn’t have more time, you might’ve stopped him. If you knew he was going to leave, and you were going to die soon, maybe you would’ve been able to speak.

It’s for the best, for the best, this was for the best.

He stops in your doorway, lingers in it uncomfortably with a hand held restlessly against the wall. He turns his head slightly to speak to you, but barely looks at your eyes.

“‘M not gonna say sorry,” he states, voice quieter than normal, but still firm. Like all the humor has been sucked out of it.

You swallow thickly, no longer fighting the tears as they fall in fat streaks down your cheeks, and refuse to look at him. You think that if you do, you might not have the strength to hold your ground.

After all, you aren’t as strong as him.

Without another word, you watch from the corner of your eye as Satoru falters–pausing with his lips parted as if he has more he wants to say–maybe something that could put your mind at ease, something like I love you–but then he firmly closes his mouth, his hand leaves your doorframe, and he leaves your apartment.

As soon as the door is shut with a decisive click, you cover your mouth with your hand, and you sob.

He never comes back, and you would never see Gojo Satoru again.

On the night of October 31st, just a few days later, Shibuya is cold.

This is something that feels strange to you as you lie on the chilled, cracked concrete ground beneath you. You’ve lost feeling in your fingers, your toes, and it feels like something heavy is sitting on your chest, restricting your breathing in a way that’s vaguely concerning. All your medical training fails you, but you remember that loss of feeling is never a good sign.

Shibuya is never cold.

It’s a place that’s constantly full of people and therefore warmth and life. Bustling with the noise of strangers who will never meet and never know each other’s stories, of loud chatter and cars driving to whatever destination they need.

Now, the only people in Shibuya are your fellow sorcerers, and curses are milling about in spaces where people should be. And the only life in the area is that of depleting life. Of people dead and dying. Of the blood pooling around you from a fatal strike you can no longer remember the origin of.

At least that’s warm, you think.

Everything starts to get dizzy, almost like a mixed feeling of vertigo and déjà vu. It’s concerning, but you feel so tired, and all you want is to feel warm again.

So you sink into the feeling, sink into the warmth staining the cracked concrete, the red coating your clothes that you’ll never have to worry about getting out.

Finally, you think about Satoru. Distantly, you think about that fear you had just a few days ago, and you wonder how much of it really mattered.

You love him.

Your last thought is of Satoru, and you hope he’s alright.

Satoru feels numb.

Well, that’s not entirely true. He wishes he felt numb. He feels everything, actually–and what’s the aftermath of feeling everything?

Numbness.

He couldn’t get to you in time.

Now, locked in the Prison Realm, Satoru supposes he has all the time in the world to think about you–to think about everything he could’ve done, should’ve done.

Instead, he had to watch as you died, as he was powerless to help you. The grief rips him to shreds, and another sob he didn’t know he had rises hot and heavy in his throat. It burns, the pain of losing you, and Satoru has the childish urge to kick something, punch something, to let out all the anger and anguish that threatens to consume and overwhelm him as a reminder that there was nothing that he could do.

So Satoru sits, and he thinks about how much he loves you, about everything you lost. His throat becomes raw, but he keeps crying anyway, even when he’s sure his eyes are rimmed with a redness that won’t dissipate for days.

Not that he would be able to see, anyways. After all, he was locked away.

Keen on punishing himself, a thought strikes his brain in the most painful way, but Satoru has no energy left to fight it.

He’s the strongest, yet he’s never been able to protect any of the people closest to him.

Satoru thinks about that night–the night when he could finally hold you as if you were his, if only for a little bit. The soft smile on your lips, the way you let him kiss you, how it felt to shower you in his affections without fear.

He wonders about if you ever really thought about his offer. The one where he offered you a teaching position. You said you would think about it. Had you? Had you decided on teaching, on helping him? Or were you just appeasing your best friend's antics?

You would've made a great teacher. He's always thought so.

He loves you–loved you, he supposes, in light of recent events–yet the last memory he left you was one filled with hurt and despair.

Satoru thought he felt numb, but that was only wishful thinking, just as the idea that you’ll be okay, that Shoko or someone will get to you in time.

But Satoru is no fool.

He sits, simultaneously feeling numb and everything all at once, and he doesn’t have any strength to fight them off.

All he can think of is you, and the tears begin to fall again.

#gojo x reader #gojo smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #gojo angst #jujutsu kaisen angst #x female reader

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alllsunday · 16 hours

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A few thoughts on how Portgas D. Ace is the epitome of the Tragic Hero. For one, his entire life was a tragedy.

“A tragic hero is the protagonist of a tragic story or drama, in which, despite their virtuous and sympathetic traits and ambitions, they ultimately meet defeat, suffering, or even an untimely end. They are often imperfect or wounded with some sort of fraught experience, and typically have some sort of fatal flaw.”

He fits the criteria :

1.) “High status/noble”

Ace is the sole heir of the notorious Pirate King and the only known female Will of D carrier. Yes, he’s not a noble, but he is obviously a high status pirate and a person with the “noble” qualities Aristotle was talking about even if he wasn’t literally one. Honourable, generous, polite.

2.) “Flawed”

The fatal flaw (hamartia) that brings about the hero’s downfall, destruction caused by their own hands. In Ace’s case … well, if I had to narrow it down, I’d say wrath, arrogance, and never backing down were the most key to his downfall, but the title of #1 has to go to his hubris (excessive arrogance/pride). It was because of this he went to Wano to challenge Kaido, the monster not even Oden could slay. Izou himself pointed out Ace’s arrogance. It was because of this he challenged Whitebeard, went after Teach, and ultimately ended in tragedy. Ace had been the strongest almost his entire life, losing was.. new. Even in the face of Teach’s power, he underestimated him, thinking that he’d win, which brings me to my next point :

3.) “A reversal of fortune”

“The character should suffer a terrible reversal of fortune, from good to bad. Such a reversal does not merely mean a loss of money or status. It means that the work should end with the character dead or in immense suffering, and to a degree that outweighs what it seems like the character deserved.”

Ace was a traumatised and heavily wounded character who spent his childhood suffering. It was not quite a childhood. As an older teenager, he was tearing up the world of piracy (the first pirate of the new generation, super rookie, all at an insanely fast rate, even much moreso than Luffy) before joining Whitebeard and settling down. Though not eradicated, his internal struggles cooled down slightly. Maybe by the time he was a fully wisened man and not a boy fresh out of his teenage years, he could have been on the road to healing - but his belief that he could obviously beat Teach, his subordinate, was the catalyst for the events that were to come.

It was seemingly going alright - Ace had fit in, made friends, had the family he had so needed.

That flipped over almost instantly, and ended in his painfully premature death. During the fight, Ace realised he’d been overconfident. But this time he couldn’t back it up. Teach had won.

On his deathbed, Ace finally realised that he wanted to live. Death was the thing he’d wondered about for his entire life, and now that he was actually on the brink of it - he had changed his mind. After 20 years, he genuinely wanted to keep going for the first time. Yet it was snatched away from him.

To add insult to injury, Sabo’s death, one of Ace’s many traumatic experiences, ended up being a misunderstanding. Sabo was alive and didn’t remember him… until he had died.

#portgas d ace #one piece #asl brothers #sabo #monkey d. luffy #character analysis #ace one piece #whitebeard pirates #spade pirates

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daisiescomelate · 1 day

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Check list

Prompt: Reader starts working at a new company and Nanami is in charge of training you, the thing is that you can't do a single thing right and the poor's man blood pressure is starting to spike.

Content: Nanami/Reader, office workers, drabble.

div. animatedglittergraphics-n-more - masterlist

You graduated with a degree you never got to use. So many years of work, so much money. You felt like your soul was ripped away from your body when eventually you got no choice but to start to apply to random companies for a job because it was something that couldn't be delayed anymore. So after months of being ghosted and failing interviews, even having no clue what was going to be of the rest of your life, you cried tears of joy when you received a welcoming email telling you you passed, because finally you felt like you had accomplished a little thing after so long. Problem was, you had no clue what your job was actually about.

You were completely lost from day one, from catching the wrong bus, to walking past the right street. It took you a while to get to the office building. You were fairly late. It was embarrassing, actually.

After messing up before your day began, and a welcoming talk from your supervisor, she introduced you to the employee that would be in charge of your training.

"Nanami Kento." He greeted you shortly while extending his hand to you when you were alone.

From the very beginning everything was a struggle for you. You messed up people's coffees, often got lost in the chain of emails that others endlessly sent around to let everyone know that plans had changed, had no clue how to use the printing machine, got the paperwork mixed up at least twice a day.

It didn't help that no one allowed you to finish a task before throwing something else at you, or that one of your bosses often interrupted you to ask you to do some meaningless thing for them, or that the managers contradicted each other on a daily basis and you had no idea what direction to follow when they did that –asking only made it more confusing and started fights.

But no matter how much stress this was, it was not an option for you to quit. This was your first serious job, your first this-pays-my-rent job, this-is-about-my-insurance job. Also, you were the stubborn type. You wanted to overcome this, become good at this, make progress. You didn't want to fail on something else so soon.

Nanami-san was many ranks above you, and had been assigned to you probably because he had been working there for long enough to know how to explain things to someone, but not enough to be able to refuse to do something he didn't want to do. Long story short, you could tell he was simply caught into this.

Still, he was always polite and despite the few times your lack of capabilities got the worst of him, he never raised his voice at you. He frowned and pinched the brick of his nose, but after a deep breath he always helped you through it.

He was patient.

He was kind.

He also had a strong sense of rightness. You heard him stand up in your defense against seniors more than once while walking around the halls, scolding people for asking you to make them coffee when that was not part of your job, or assign tasks to you that weren't supposed to be your responsibility. You two didn't even know each other that well back then.

On the days you felt dispirited and wronged by people in the office, it was nice to know of someone that cared to have your back.

It often made you feel bad, to be someone that needed so much patience; but at the same time seeing how much this man that was very much a stranger to you did to help you out, it filled your heart with desire to improve, and maybe someday be his equal at work, be useful to him too.

Nanami-san wasn't a happy worker. He never did more than he was asked to do, and he didn't care to be overly nice to anyone at the office. He had no friends among his colleagues and he often gave the impression he would rather eat alone every day than sit down at lunch with all those people.

After a few weeks at the company, you were confident to say that there was no one he seemed to particularly like in there. Still, he remained polite unless someone tried to step on someone else's boundaries –that was when he striked as if by instinct to the managers or the boss– despite him repeatedly stating he didn’t like to meddle in other people’s business because it was a bother.

Because you remained kind of a mess, and because everyone else at the office had grown tired of you, he became the person responsible for all your actions at some point. And even then, he never rejected you. He was being more vocal about you having to get your act together, but that was fair criticism since you two often got punished together. It was unfair for the boss to do that, but you couldn't deny there was a selfish part of you that partly enjoyed that meant you got to spend more time together.

You pissed off a client –to be fair, they were being very rude to you.

You ruined a very hard to obtain contract by dropping a soda all over it.

You accidentally exposed your boss for having an affair during a meeting where his wife was present.

You were too loud about a thing you discovered about the company management that everyone actually already knew, they were just playing dumb to not lose their job.

You broke a computer. That was fun, almost got you fired.

After hours (that he complained about no end), skipping lunch breaks together and doing paperwork together to fix your misses. Within all that extra time just the two of you, you got to know him better. He was easily annoyed by everything, and he got angry at something or someone every day, but he had a good grasp of his emotions and sometimes allowed you to make fun of him for being so serious.

With time, three to four months after you began working there, you started talking more. He even accepted to go out for a drink with you a few times in compensation for whatever you did. You had the feeling you helped him release some of the tension off his shoulders when you were together. And it wasn't much longer until you got verbal confirmation for it.

"I don't mind spending time with you."

It was so little, but so much coming from the orc this man could be. He was very grumpy and constantly putting on a no-feeling façade, but there was now a small fissure for you to look through.

A drink became dinner, and dinner became nights going to the cinema. Cooking was his main hobby, so he invited you home every other Friday. You were embarrassed the first time you asked him to go to the park on Sunday but you blushed ten times more when he said yes in his text.

His expression softened, he stared at you more often, he became more hit up when someone said something about you at work, and he started to walk you home some nights if you came out late.

One of those nights you offered him to come in. And the morning after that, you guessed the twist of fate that had brought you to that place so many months ago wasn't that bad either.

#jjk #fanfiction #fanfic #x reader #nanami kento #nanami x reader #🧁-- drabbles #nanami #office workers

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illogicaltriangle · 2 days

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Gravity Falls x Danny Phantom phanfic

Stan banged on the control panel. The whirring sounds of the machine had long since gone. Until it came back again.

Through tear-filled eyes, Stan looked up, to see the portal flickering, on and off. It did that a number of times until it spat a figure out - a human.

Almost on instinct, he had scrambled to grab an item from a nearby desk, where Ford used to place equipment that wasn't in use. Stan was no good at using the equipment to do something positive, but he was sure as heck awesome at using it as a weapon. Living life on the streets really did that to a person.

The figure stepped closer, their eyes glowing in the room's darkness - the portal was the only thing illuminating it, but it couldn't anymore. It was unsettling and eerie, but when did Stan not have to deal with that before?

The man wasn't fazed - too much, and took a step closer, making it as loud as he possibly could to show who was dominant. It seemed to work, as the figure went back. However, Stan had recognised something in their eyes. Fear. Like somebody had just thrown them there and told them to get on with life.

Stan pushed down his nose and flicked on a switch. He wasn't expecting to see a teenage boy, let alone one that he had recognised. Clearly, the boy had a similar reaction

It was Maddie's son, Danny. He had fondly recalled the boy's 10th birthday party where Maddie had found a way to revert time to be 10 seconds before. What a joy it'd be if he had the machine now.

"Uncle... Stan?" Danny asked, as if it could be anybody else.

Stan looked at Danny, "Danny?" He asked, just to confirm. He had to fight a shapeshifter before he made his way to Ford's place, so it was plausible.

"Uh, what're we doing here?" Danny questioned, looking around whilst admiring the now-broken portal.

Stan rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. "Well it's a long story, kiddo."

Danny was already next to Stan as if he had teleported. "Spill it." He said.

"No." Stan said. "Don't you have parents to get to, kid?" He asked, a tad bitterly, recalling his own situation. Danny looked at the floor, sadly, but only for a split-second before perking up. "I'm sure they won't mind." He said. "Besides, I was going to go to Uncle Ford's place anyways, but this works."

Stan sighed. "Fine, fine, I'll tell you the story of it all." He said. "But not here. Place gives me the creeps."

He pressed a button on an elevator, letting Danny enter first, before leaving for himself.

Okay, story's over, no idea to keep adding anything or what. Can somebody give criticism? It's a little short but like, what can you do about it?

#fanfic #dp #gravity falls #stanford pines #danny fenton #danny phantom #ghost king danny #constructive criticism welcome

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equestriagirl16 · 1 year

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MC: Sooooo I did a thing.

Crewel: Oh dear-

MC: Nonono-it’s completely harmless I promise! Lemme just..*removes hat*

Crewel: *gasp*

MC: *reveals a white streak they dyed in their hair* U-Um, I just thought it’d be a cool idea for us to be matching. Ya know like a..father-child thing.

Crewel: *crushing you in a hug* Oh pup, you look wonderful.

MC: *hugs back* So am I correct to assume you like it?

Crewel: *chuckling* I love it.~❤️

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time-is-restored · 1 year

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i have literally nowhere else to put this i apologise for the spam. the absolute best thing to come out of s3 trent is without a doubt the fucking earnestness... like in s1-2 he always came across as a very self-assured kind of guy, who knew how he came off (ie: intimidating) and enjoyed it. but seeing that paired with him being silly + completely relaxing in certain company??? pulling ridiculous faces at vodka + scrunching up his nose when he smiles @ colin + making the most ABSURD 'i really wanna say something right now but i feel like im interrupting' noises ive ever heard in my fucking LIFE??? its like. he is cool as shit and he is self assured AND he can make dumb fucking sherlock holmes jokes and dance ridiculously. its like!!!! he's lame but he's also not bc he's exactly as confident in being lame as he is being cool. do u see the vision. he has killed the part of him that cringes!!!! its just.. that unshakeable self confidence that u see in his fucking swaggers into frame includes all of himself + his different moods and eccentricities and that's just so based to me idk. unironically live ur best life wear the loudest combination of prints and patterns and primary colours uve ever seen in ur life while espousing the virtues of extended museum hours!!! contain multitudes! get silly with it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

#ted lasso spoilers #combined with james lance's hc abt trent's past its just. like!!#the growth from 'i can't be what you want me to be so im going to be Better than them + tear them down'#-> 'i know my reputation so im going to lean into that + be ruthless + intimidating' ->#'actually fuck this? fuck this! im just gonna be me and if anyone has a problem w then L To Them I'm Actually Living'#also this is just my hcs at this point but like. i do think ted helped a lot w the latter part of this process in so much as. ted embodied #someone who was Visibly weak + vulnerable and had no armour/no sense of self preservation #(the opposite of trent's persona) and made no effort to change anything abt himself to prevent attack. obviously ted has a lot of social +#class advantages that make that less risky for him than it would be for others but like. u get the drift #and i THINK. seeing how without that armour/facade ted was able to be rlly direct + earnest w connecting w ppl #like asking an interviewer 'what do u love?' and rlly genuinely wanting to know the answer #and bc TRENT was specifically in the position of 'i could fucking destroy u rn and u wouldn't put up a fight'#that kind of. shifted his perspective a bit? like. damn what would that say abt me if i wrote a hit piece on this guy rn #i disagree VERY strongly w the idea that trent's more positive character development moments happened ONLY bc of ted (i don't think that's #true for anyone in the show tbh) BUT i think ted's presence at a pivotal point in his life was what helped him confront the fact that #at this stage in his life all his intellectual armour was doing was making him into someone Mean rather than just incisive #like. 'is this a fucking joke' is not cutting journalism. u get me??#and arguably that's a fine and even safe choice to make when ur younger and have no support/reputation backing u up #but after decades? its like man wtf are we doign here if were literally just living preventatively #smth smth i hope i am not just a tumblr blog to u but a blog who is inventing the brain chemistry of a sitcom side character #w each new episode they watch. trent crimm is my best friend irl i know he would have scorching hot takes abt each new season of survivor #and would earnestly heckle the jury and final 3 alike

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jackpotsadmon · 1 year

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shit like kizuna and distant blue sky are going to be the fucking death of me man

(long kizuna and pokemon rants in tags + a lot of emotional rambling and spoilers)

#digimon n pokemon were my first two animes and like. i hold those memories very dear to my heart #i loved both of these btw i am holding back tears i just saw distant blue sky i love ash man he’s just. like he’s just some guy i love him #he gives off this kind of childish joy that made me love pokémon in the first place when i was little . like baby etke would sit and watch #the gengar episode from the first season on repeat SOBBING #i don’t have to say why kizuna one hit KO’d me do i? /lh #mini rant actually because it’s been an . Hour #agumon and gabumon were so and are so important to me as characters . the point of digimon partners in season one is that they are there #to be a mirror to what their partner needs to accept and overcome. gabumon never gave up trying to make matt feel loved and helped him stop #repressing his feelings and agumon and tai gave eachother things to live and fight for!! that’s why agumon’s speech about life in 02 gets me #because he has had to fight a lot. but he did it all because he had tai and tai had him #and i think what kizuna missed the mark on was that it wasn’t that tai and matt didn’t need them or want them anymore.#it was that agumon and gabumon helped them get to a place where they don’t need that mirror anymore.#it sucks and i wish they hadn’t left but like. i think that’s the point #like we’ve all had shit that has helped us grow and cope and learn and when we leave it or when it leaves us it feels painful. it sucks #but you realize how much that thing really helped you become a better person #christ this got personal and ranty. anyways i’m still emotional about kizuna #kizuna’s ending wasn’t happy. but you could tell in the credits that even if they didn’t have their partners anymore #the lessons they learned from them is still there #digimon #gamma’s static #pokemon #digimon last evolution kizuna

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franeridan · 4 months

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at this point my weekly appointment with the op manga is just me crying over how much i love dragon that's okay that's cool

#no one gets it my dudes my reread brought my love for that man to stellar levels #he LOVES luffy i want to cry #he really straight up saw baby luffy and knew he'd die for him in a heartbeat #like honestly literally had to remove every trace of luffy being his son bc he knew that if anyone got a hold of luffy #he'd give himself up so fast for him he'd straight up die for him if luffy was ever used against him he knew he #wouldn't even put up a fight are you kidding me I'm so soft on him he must have hated leaving luffy behind so much #and he still loves him so much he kept on going back and checking on luffy enough that both iva and kuma picked up on it you guyyyysssss #he left to keep both himself and luffy safe cause he knew he'd give up his whole life purpose and the whole cause for luffy im in tears #straight up #between him and kuma this backstory is killing me for real I can't deal with soft caring loving dads at all #kuma........ I'm not even touching that or I'll start bawling #for real

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kifu · 4 months

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I decide to see if I can get the tie rod off of my car myself today, because it's as nice a day as it can get in December and there is wayyyyy too much play in my steering right now and this car's gonna throw me soon if I don't get it fixed - and I get home to find a flat. I watched that tire sink, so it happened in my yard. It's sliced wide open. So I can't fix that.

I could still (try to) change the tie rod but a) I'm not sure that I can reach a safe place of the frame with my jack because it's a piece of shit and the "good" one won't lift and b) car's currently jacked up and three-wheeled in the opposite corner from the tie rod that needs fixing. I suppose I could put the donut on to do what I originally intended. I guess. I don't know how many possible points of failure I want at a time.

I just ... I just put more money than I had in the brakes and now I need a new tire? I think I'm at the end of my ability to deal with problems right now. I'm going to max out my credit before my car insurance is due next week. Which that is ... well, at least $1800.

Still haven't gotten things figured out with the phone. I can't get my last phone through Metro PCS to unlock to accept the current sim card. Verizon is the one and only cell company that even works where I live, so it's not like I have a choice with whom I use. Be one thing if I could use wifi calling, but I can't.

I had to memorize my work schedule this week and write it down for my boss because I don't know my login information and I can't dick around with my email to get that figured out at work. I just feel like things are a mess right now, and just about all of them are money related. You'd think making twice minimum wage would get me through life no problem. Maybe if I didn't have my chickens or rabbits, but those chickens paid for sooooooo much this summer, it was ridiculous. And what was the point of buying a house with land if I'm just going to sit on my computer chair all day?

#truly there are way more expensive problems for a car than pads/rotors and a tie rod #as well as one single tire that looks like it's been through a knife fight #but for fuck's sake i got no money #there's a reason that i had to let things go to breaking point before i convinced myself they needed fixing #but i also drive 50 miles a day just to get to work so it's no wonder my poor car demands my attention #work's looking pretty bleak for the future too #we're down my favorite coworker and i'm not sure i'll ever see him again #he last left with tears in his voice because reasons #i don't have his phone number anymore for obvious reasons but i guess i know where he lives?#i promised him a baby blanket for his daughter on the way so i do have an excuse to stop in #there's nothing i can actually do for him but hopefully not be a drag on his life like most everyone else he talks about?#we're down a damn good coworker because she had surgery today #she thinks she's coming back monday #i really hope she doesn't #we're supposed to be an eight man crew but we're permanently down one member so with both those two gone #we're at five of eight workers in the busiest season of the year #we had no less than ten hour days this entire week and it's only going to get worse until new year's #ESPECIALLY with that damn good coworker down for the count #not sure how i'm going to juggle the extra workload and extra hours and still manage to take care of my chickens specifically tbh #we only have like eight hours of daylight #sure i start work at 5 or 6am but on tens ... i'm getting home near enough twilight the birds are already sluggish #what can ya do i guess #welcome to the hell world

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gaysindistress · 2 months

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Things that I feel like would happen when you’re in a relationship with Simon Riley.

Simon Riley masterlist

1. First off he hates the word ‘boyfriend’.

Maybe it’s because he’s in his mid thirties or something but he can’t stand being called your boyfriend. He’s more than that but also not at the same time. You live together, have access to each other’s bank accounts (which is only because he hates it when you try to fight him about him giving you money), and you’re each others emergency contact. He thinks of himself as your husband. The man wears a silicone ring when he’s home and a necklace with the ring that’s totally not a wedding band when he’s working. Price has seen the chain once or twice and smirks, shooting him a knowing look but never says a word.

Simon cannot stand it when people get nosy and want to know what your relationship status is. You’re together and that’s all that matters. No one needs to know that you’re the beneficiary of his will and life insurance policy or that he’s put you on all of his accounts. No one needs to know that he buys you anything you want but has only ever bought you two rings; a thin gold band with a flower engraved on it and its twin a matching emerald ring. No one needs to know that when he gifted them to you, there were tears and promises of safety, love, and happiness whispered against feverish skin. No one needs to know that he has your name woven into his chest tattoo.

No one needs to know any of that because your relationship is between him and you only.

2. You are not some submissive little house wife. You are a strong independent woman and he prefers it that way.

I know this one goes against what most people say but hear me out on this. Simon has been independent since birth practically. He’s only had himself to count on for years. Even in the military, he’s only been able to rely himself. Sure the others watch out for him but if it came down to it, he’s the only one who’s going to get himself out alive.

The thought of someone else relying on him in that way is terrifying. He can’t even fathom what it would be like to look at another person and fully trust them in that way. Half the time he feels like he can’t even be trusted to take care of himself let alone another human. In theory a sweet docile housewife is great with the meals and clean house but not for him. He needs to know that you can hold your own. He needs to know that you can be independent and carry on without him if something happened while he was working. He needs to know that you will be okay if he doesn’t come back.

You have to be okay without him no matter how much it pains him to think about it.

Like I said before, he’s made you the beneficiary of everything so he knows you’ll be set financially but that’s not enough. He’s made Price promise to keep an eye out for you. He’s made you promise to let Price do that and you agreed because it’s Simon who’s asking but you’d tell anyone else to fuck off.

In addition to all of that, he’s installed the best security system the government has to offer in your house. You have a very expensive and large safe in your shared closet that he’s instructed you to only open if you feel unsafe. While you might not like it, you agree to go shooting with him so he can sleep at night knowing that you could protect yourself if he’s not home. He’s gone as far as to make sure you have all of the licenses and certificates that are needed to legally own firearms in the UK.

He’s not leaving any opportunity for you to be vulnerable or have your ‘safety checks’, as he calls them, taken away.

3. Simon Riley is a godless man…until he meets you.

Now this is entirely my own headcannon with no evidence to support it so bear with me.

Simon had a shitty childhood where his mom would pray to a god who never listened and his dad would shout verses at him when he was drunk. God was a mythical figure that he was told stories off with nothing to show for it. He did believe at one point but then his dad never got better, his mom wore bruises of every shade, and his brother found comfort in drugs.

He found himself praying when he was being tortured by the Mexican cartel. Between the flashbacks of his abusive past, he prayed to a god who had failed him so many times before to help him. He prayed again as he dug himself out of that Texas grave with the major’s jaw bone. He wailed his prayers when he found his family executed after Sparks tried to kill him.

After that he deemed himself a Godless man. Years of praying had passed with nothing. This god had decided that Simon was not worthy of a miracle so why would he continue to worship him?

That was until he met you. He finds himself praying before every mission, every time he has to leave you, every time he’s on his way home, and just about any other time he thinks of you. He doesn’t know what exactly he’s praying for other than for you to be there when he gets back.

He whispers his prayers to an absent god against your skin as he worships your body, soul, and heart. He promises to be devoted to you until his last breath and vows to find you again in whatever afterlife awaits you. He pledges to find solace in you and only you when his haunting nightmares return. He makes an oath to your heart that it will never weather another storm alone again for his will take whatever beating that comes your way. He shows you that he will love you in the same manner as a Hozier song; putting you above all else because you have become his religion, his faith, his beliefs, his life.

You have become all that he is and he thanks the god he once believed in for you. He prays again but to you, his heart, his love, and his beacon through the enteral storm of life.

#simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x female reader #simon riley imagine #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost imagine #ghost call of duty #ghost x reader #ghost cod #ghost #ghost x female reader

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hxltic · 9 months

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ghost yellin pt. 2!! (and 2k followers. omg.)

(mention of blood n knives n stuff in here)

pt. 1~~~

It was still early in the morning when your puffy eyes blink open. Despite the mission that had your arrival around 3-ish in the morning, it was still the crack of dawn, which meant the start of your day, mission or not.

The warmth you had longed for encased you, but today, it felt unfamiliar.

You hadn’t forgotten about yesterday (or earlier today). And even though what happened upset you, you’d still wanted him, so you could feel the comfort your father never gave you after an argument. You’d never received a genuine apology from him, just an offer for new shoes or to go to your favorite restaurant that day.

Even in anguish after what he did, you still wanted his touch. Or that may have been what you thought, because now you were peeling his strong arms off you, and creeping to the bedside. You cautiously swing your legs over and slowly step to the door, but even though you were going unbelievably slow, the pain underneath your feet made you wince.

“Wait—”

There’s a gruff voice that your back is turned to, making you jump at the realization he was awake. You had been taught all your life to fight when your fight or flight response flickers, but he noticed how you almost bolted towards your room.

He had been awake the whole time. He’d vouched to himself he wouldn’t close his eyes until your breaths were regular again, but even after they had, he’d barely gotten any sleep. If he had tears left to cry, one would’ve slipped.

Whenever he did fall to the night, in any circumstance, his body physically would prevent him from staying such. He was a light sleeper to another extreme. His body was trained by none other than trauma and instinct. So when he felt you raising his arm, he’d awakened and watched you do everything silently.

He would’ve said something, but he didn’t know what. An apology would sound fake in this situation.

Ghost was a hands-on man, so he moved. His large body flipped the covers off him and hastily brought itself to you.

The last time you’d let him get close, he screamed in your face. You took an involuntary step back, but had you thought about it you probably would’ve taken it anyway. His quick steps pause.

He gazes into your frozen eyes, glistening and pretty even in upset, but underneath carrying fear and shock.

Seeing him, one side of you wanted to apologize for not taking your job seriously, even though you did, or say you were sorry for the other things he mentioned. And you may have when you were 13, but you were a strong woman that built off men’s bullshit over the years, so you hold your ground.

He shrunk himself and moved effectively before you. No unnecessary movements.

“Please. Wait.”

You could tell he was trying to make his voice soft, but the octave and accent just did not allow it. He was trying though.

Do you book it, or stay?

You stay, to hear him. He recognizes your stance as one specifically military-taught, ready to move.

“I didn’t mean to yell at you. I should’ve been better,” he started. You’d come to realize even with small issues, he was an okay apologizer. “I’m sorry. You’re the last person who deserved that.”

He inspected the way you heard him but just stood there awkwardly. You were never awkward around him. In fact, he was the awkward one.

His heart dropped at how visibly uncomfortable you looked. He wanted to touch you—to take all your problems away, but it wouldn’t work this time. Not when he was the problem.

Ghost was the type of person to do anything for you, anything to get you back. You were the only one who saw him as Simon now, ever since the others died or were killed. He ruined that.

He let the mask get the best of him, finally turning into the murderous, scary man the world sees him as, everyone but you. You’d never been afraid of him, and he himself had changed that.

So in the silence he scans your beautiful eyes again, the brightness they usually reflect gone and replaced. You blink at him like a puppy. A small, scared puppy.

He’d made you cry. He’d made you cry.

He wasn’t expecting forgiveness, or your usual unconditional love, but the silence was too much to bear. He knows what he did, but he genuinely has no idea how he could make it up to you. Once you realize the conversation was over, and that’s all he had to say, you turn your head and limp past the doorway to your room. You were going to cry again.

But that was far from what he wanted to say.

He didn’t realize it when a tear of his own bundled up under his blonde eyelashes, a feeling so rare that people’s jokes about him being a robot could seem true. It had been so long, but watching you sadly walk away from him was enough.

The door was wide open, but he stood there, feeling more useless than he ever had.

These were the times he wished his mother was here. To tell him what to do. To spread the emotional knowledge of loving someone so much it pained you, something she had perfected over the years. Instead, he picked up the brutalities of his father. And he will never forgive him for that.

. .

You’d avoided him for an entire day, almost two, despite being in such close proximity and having to do everything with the squad. He didn’t know whether to leave you be or try again and again. Ultimately, he picked the first. That didn’t mean there weren’t subtle things to get your attention though.

He couldn’t think about yelling again. But it was only at you. So everyone else was graced with their lieutenant in a worse mood than he’s usually in, but they wouldn’t dare ask what was up or say anything to you. Actually, they had barely spoken to you like they had orders not to.

Ghost was rarely in the common room anyway, but now he was really tucked away in his quarters. He preserved his words, though even then they were still snappy. He had an attitude, yes, but he’d come to his senses enough to reflect and prevent himself from saying anything potentially hurtful.

He’d cherished the moments you had no choice but to be close to him a lot more than before, and his voice was barely even the tone of regular speech. Because now, he was scared.

He’d seen how bad relationships can turn, and it doesn’t help it was the man he’s seen all his life ruining what a woman gave him. He doesn’t want to be like that. And if he already has been, he tries to calm himself at night by running through his head “you’re already better than him by trying to fix it,” like a mantra. He’s cried the nights without you. He felt like he was floating away all the time, away from the Earth and the people around him. He barely knows himself anymore.

Little does he know, the time spent without him converted your sadness to anger. Rage.

He has the audacity to scream in your face? After all you do for him? After you put your life on the fucking line and take bullets for him every day?

With your father, it never did convert to anger, because you refused to let it. Being a child, you were way too dependent on him emotionally and physically. He was still your dad, you’d think.

And yes, while you loved Simon, there wasn’t the biological connection to pressure you to him. He was just a man. And if there’s anything you learned yourself, it was that you wouldn’t be pushed around by one.

So the day progressed on with an assignment. The troops were sent out, Ghost in charge.

He had made an order to surround the building, stay hidden in tall grass. A few would push in. They were armed and dangerous.

His voice was loud through the comms, going directly through the headset clear as day. Your team pressed forward alongside his. He had made every order around the fact that you needed to be right next to him, always in view, so he could keep his watchful eye out.

You crouched around the corner, waiting for command. You whisper in mic to your own squad, instructing them to watch for third-party while everyone’s idle.

The second he calls it, you all infiltrate right after smoke grenades set off. It was quickly cleared of the criminal within a few minutes because there weren’t many to take out, just a few in nooks and crannies, but one of them had caught you through a closet door. It had small blinded windows in it.

A quick sharp pain let you know there was a knife drilled into your side. It was small, and could be a lot deeper, but it still hurt like a bitch.

You had taken worse, so you gunned him down with a swift turn and ignored it. The adrenaline was medicine.

Once everyone returned to base with evac, people noticed the spot of red on your uniform but brushed it off as a battle scar. Until they saw the knife. It would be stupid to remove it.

“That looks pretty bad, you should get that patched up,” someone says. Someone you didn’t know, probably from another unit. You refrain from saying no shit and keep walking to the infirmary.

You finally decide remove it with added pressure to the wound, keeping the gauze close and the slim slit through your skin tight. The adrenaline was wearing off now and everything started to come back to you. You groan loudly when you touch it.

Red stains your fingers. It wasn’t deep but it had to be pulled out, and standing would be hard. You sit to see what you were doing.

“Fuck!” you yell.

The pain was ten times worse when you sat down, the fold of your body at the hip right underneath the opening. You feel like you could imagine the knife scraping other parts of your insides.

Suddenly the door opens. No one other than Ghost stands there, fully in gear, searching for the source of the cry. Once he locates you, you barely hear him murmur “bloody hell.” You glance up at him, then back down to what you were doing. He tries to ignore the equivalent stab in his heart at that, the one that matched the way his face drops at the sight of you. You would be able to see the white of his eyes through the mask if you’d look at him.

You were unconsciously trembling, attempting to mentally prepare yourself to pull the knife out slow. The man before you just watched.

“Get out,” you demanded.

“No,” he calmly replies. Once again, barely above a whisper, but heavy with accent.

You visibly roll your eyes and continue picking at the knife, trying to find the easiest way to retrieve it. Of course Ghost would take this time to be near you when you can’t run away from him.

He removes his gloves and opens the cabinets beside him, getting peroxide and other medical things. He walks to you with them in hand, and you bring it upon yourself to completely ignore him.

He steadily drops to a knee in front of you so you see eye to eye. You hiss when you pull at one side and it doesn’t work.

Softly, he breaks the silence, “When did this happen?”

No response. He was looking you dead in the eyes despite how horrible at eye contact he usually is.

“When did-“

“Earlier, Lieutenant.” You speak. He knows this was you digging at him. It worked, but he brushes it off.

He reaches his bare hands rid of the supplies up to help you. He was mad at nobody other than himself for not being there.

“Stop,” you shoo his hand away, tending back to your wound. Even though he wanted to help, he backed off.

To be honest, you had no idea what you were doing, and he’d probably had this happen a thousand times. He was inevitably better at medical anything compared to you.

“How did it happen?” He waits. Wasting time talking to him will have you bleeding out. The knife was a little under halfway visible.

“I was taking my job seriously, Lieutenant.”

He cringes at the words he’s shameful to call his own. He wants nothing more than for you to at least be on speaking terms with him, but even that he knows he doesn’t deserve. He sighs deeply.

“I’m sorry, let me help you. Please,” he begs.

“I don’t want your help, and you don’t want mine. So we can keep it that way.”

What he said that night was far from true; you did more than just help him. He was dependent on you. He surveys the way you hiss at the straining feeling, attempting to take deep breaths between tugs, but only making it worse. He won’t let everything you’re throwing at him break him down in this state.

“Grab it from the top, do it all at once. Then stop the blood immediately.”

You huff in annoyance at his words, causing yourself pain from your own irritation. But, he did know what he was doing, so you followed the orders. He inspects you.

You tug on the knife with a painful deep breath and moan at the pain, shutting your eyes. The view alone gives Simon whatever you’re feeling tenfold.

It only goes up about a centimeter. It hurt so bad though, your breaths were heavy and enhancing the stinging sensation. Your audible whimper was enough for the man in front of you to take action.

You almost forgot how mad you were at him from the pain, so when his hands reached up to you, you just let them. His right applied pressure to the sides. He couldn’t care that it stained his rough, pale hands. The left rests on your hand planted on the seat, then he instructs you to lay down. It’ll avoid scratching any more areas inside by stretching out.

“Relax. It’ll hurt, but you got it.”

You don’t respond to this, and stare up at the ceiling. You still didn’t want to look at him.

Simon has to remember you were still fairly untouched in comparison to his background in the military, the scars and scratches proof to where he’s been. He’s not used to being gentle. He’s around grown men for god’s sake.

And while he knows you’re strong, he wishes someone took the time to allow him some vulnerability back then.

You’re on your back, awaiting his next move. He hovers over you.

“I’mna to count to three, alright? I know you can do it.”

You blink, but he knows you can hear him. Somehow it hurts worse to breathe so your chest runs shallow.

“One,” he starts.

Were you ready? He was going to-

You scream loud enough to have the entire base questioning what was going on before he gets to three, but Simon’s face doesn’t falter from his soft expression as he accurately rips the object out of you. Your hands subconsciously reach for his, then grip him with a pure strength you didn’t even know you possessed. You yelled a long line of curses with tears pricking at the corners of your eyes until it all ended as fast as it came.

You were heaving and your face was hot, sweat gathering along your hairline.

“There you go,” he praises, his movements were quick and efficient. The tape was being placed over the filled injury. “Good girl.”

You were breathless, tired, and red. You wanted to lay down.

“It hurts, Simon,” you whisper.

“I know baby, I know.”

. .

You laid in bed with the dinner one of the soldiers brought you. Simon walks in sometime later, his hand cupped.

“You alright?”

He steps in beside your bed, sitting on the covers. He releases some painkillers right next to the water on your nightstand.

You just nod.

He nods approvingly back, then rests his forearms on his thighs. There’s an uncomfortable silence. An uncomfortable silence.

The ink on his arm was visible along with the scars he’s carried. Some new, some old. It’s a simple t-shirt that stops at the bicep, but he never likes to have his arms out because he’s never comfortable with them showing.

“I just wanted to say—”

“I…don’t want to hear it.” You shut him down.

“Please?”

His ocean eyes survey yours for some type of mercy, some hint you’ll hear him out again. He has concluded that he can speak, but the worst that can happen is you’ll stop listening. You can’t really walk away.

And this was the first time his please seemed to end with a question mark.

“I didn’t mean to yell, but I did, and it hurt you. Even though I just aided you, I did it as a partner. Not just a comrade. You are great at what you do, but you mean a lot more to me than just business—I love you, because you see me differently than everyone else.”

Knowing Simon, it probably did take him the whole day and a half to come up with that and relay it. This tugged your heart strings a little, but then it all came back to you.

“On top of calling me useless you yelled in my face. What were you so angry for anyway?”

Truthfully, he felt that had he told you the real reason, It’d make him look worse. But you deserved it.

“One of the soldiers in another unit looked into my background. Found out about an old mission and the people behind it.”

You hadn’t known much about Simon’s life, because he never talks about it, but you knew enough. It was the mission where he was set up. Betrayed.

You would be pissed too.

But his head hung low in shame, angry that he let an old part of him rekindle in the form of fury. He let out said fury on you.

“Regardless, it was uncalled for. Just think on it, yeah?” He pleads. He’s not sure what he’s telling you to think on, though he doesn’t know the active status of your relationship. But he understands how degrading what he did was, and he’ll never forgive himself for it.

But you already had an answer.

“I don’t have to think on it,” you say.

His head whips around, the sadness on his face replaced with shock, and the crinkles coming to form between his brows in confusion. He’d expected the worst, but the worst was what he deserved.

“I’m still very upset. But I don’t hate you. I want you to go to therapy,” you insist.

On the inside, Simon was thrilled. This is the best outcome, better than anything he’d conjured up in his head, and he’d been told a billion times to go to therapy. If it meant being able to hold you again, he’d stay the whole day on a little couch instead of downing prescribed medication that wasn’t working every night.

“I’ll think about what to do from there. But I don’t want it to happen again, because I promise I know what my decision will be the next time,” you declare. He took this message more seriously than he takes Price some days. There was a fire in your eyes to show him how serious you were, and that you’d get up extra close to him just to point your finger in his face if you could.

He understood you hadn’t forgave him, but was giving him some type of redemption. So he could prove himself.

And he was damn good at proving himself worthy of things, hence the Lieutenant in front of his name.

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