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fiendsgf · 25 days ago

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Soulbound

II. Familiar Stranger

sylus x reader, rafayel x reader

Summary: You wake up in Onychinus. Alive, somehow. Sylus is real, and he has questions. Faced with suspicion and a loaded gun, you do the only thing you can: tell the truth. About the game. About him. About her.

content: non!mc reader, angst if you squint, isekai, love triangle(ish) coming! shady raf (soon)

masterlist

Black fades to grey as your senses begin to trickle back in. You’re no longer lying on concrete, there’s something soft beneath you now. Your limbs are heavy. Your breath shallow. Overhead, an unfamiliar ceiling stares back.

Two things settle like lead in your chest:

This isn’t a dream.

And you didn’t arrive as the girl you’ve been playing as.

You lift your head, slow and aching. Across the room, Sylus sits in a leather chair, methodically polishing the same gun he’d aimed at your skull not long ago.

“Where am I?” Your voice is scratchy but stronger, though anyone could still hear the shake beneath it.

Sylus hardly spares a glance at you as his signature smirk graces his lips.

“Don't you already know?’ There’s a taunt in his tone. It shouldn’t sting the way it does. But it does. The man you’ve held so dear, spent so much time trying to understand, is ready to assume the worst of you.

“What?” You sound dazed, unsure. Your thoughts are still a tangle of disbelief and panic. Processing the situation has you slow on your feet, leaving much to be desired with the responses you’re able to spit out. You’d be embarrassed if you had the capacity.

“You know who I am. You knew about the Aether Core in my eye. So tell me—where do you think you are?”

“We’re in Onychinus’s base, right?”

“Correct.”

He places the gun down with care, finally looking at you, his eyes hard.

“Would you like to share how you managed to enter now? Surely you didn’t come for a tour of my garden.” There’s a glint of amusement under the steel in his voice. You might’ve laughed, if you weren’t still expecting to be shot.

“I told you already. I don’t know how I got here.” Your voice steadies, even as your stomach turns. You sound annoyed, agitated. You’re scared, the grip on your emotions slipping through your fingers like sand.

Cautiously, you murmur “Didn’t your eye… confirm that?”

“My eye found that you are very familiar with me, yet I know nothing of you. You appear out of nowhere, claiming a name that does not belong to you, bearing a striking resemblance to someone important to me.”

He leans in, quiet and deliberate.

“What exactly am I supposed to make of that?”

Well. He’s got you there.

What is he supposed to make of that? Sure, you could explain. Tell him you’re so familiar with him because he’s your favorite love interest in a video game. Who would believe that? Every idea feels like a shovel that will only aid in digging your grave deeper.

“I… listen. I could explain why I’m familiar with you, but I need you to take me seriously.” The dread is clawing at your throat like thornes at this point. Even if he does believe you, what then?

“Bold,” he murmurs. “Making requests as an intruder.”

“I’m sorry. It’s just– I know I’m going to sound crazy and you probably won’t believe me, but if you do it might be… tough to digest?” You want to crawl out of your own skin, rambling like this.

His eyes narrow, dark and stormy. His gaze is challenging.

“Try me.”

You take a deep breath. Where do you even start?

“I know you from… a video game. It’s called Love and Deepspace. There are five love interests including you. I share a name and resemblance to the girl I assume you’re referring to because I created her. She’s the character we play as and experience the story through.” You put on your best PR voice and pray he’s feeling open minded.

Silence. Heavy and absolute.

Sylus doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. His expression is impassive, but something sharp flickers behind his eyes.

Whatever he was expecting, that was outside the realm of possibilities. Frustrating, for a man like him.

“I know how insane that sounds. But it’s true. You can use your eye again!” Your words are dripping with desperation.

Sylus stares at you a while longer before finally breaking the silence.

“A video game.” A huff.

“So, I’m supposed to believe I’m just a character? In a game?” The disbelief in his tone sends a pang of guilt through your chest.

“Well not necessarily… I– You seem real to me. The world, it feels real. Maybe in my world, it's just a game? But still real?” You can’t help but scramble to find some explanation that might satisfy him. You can only imagine the spiral or potential consequences of a video game character becoming self aware. Your efforts feel pointless though, you don’t even know what’s going on yourself.

“Right. And what is this world exactly?”

“Well it’s still earth. The game… it’s futuristic. In my world it’s only 2025, and there’s no… deepspace stuff.”

“I see.”

The urge to explain, to ask if he believes you, bites at your throat. Before you can open your mouth, a sudden buzz cuts through the air.

Sylus pulls his phone from his pocket and you catch a glimpse of the name on his screen.

Kitten.

Fuck.

Panic sets in for the millionth time that night, as you pray her sudden call doesn’t indicate her arrival at the base. What if she sees you? Telling Sylus has already left you unbearably guilty, how the hell are you supposed to tell this poor girl you created her? What kind of mental break would that cause? You do not want to find out.

Sylus' voice cuts through your spiraling thoughts.

“Sorry sweetie, I’m afraid I’m a bit busy tonight. I can send Mephisto your way however.”

His words are a balm to your nerves, at least you can assume he’s on the same page of keeping her away for now.

His call ends, and he looks at you again.

“Tell me more about your world.”

You do. Earth in 2025. Cities. Screens. No deepspace tunnels, no wanderers, no evols.

He asks a few questions about you and your own life, trying to surmise what kind of person has stumbled into his hands. Eventually, a silence falls between you two.

“Your explanations are… vivid. Your fear seems genuine. Maybe there was a spatial anomaly in the deepspace tunnel.” A pause. “For now, you’ll stay here.”

Sylus appears done with the conversation as he begins to stand.

“Wait! Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

Sylus stills.

“What? You don’t want to?”

“I just… I don’t want to run into her. The girl I–” you falter, “—created. I can’t imagine what seeing me would do to her. And… I don’t even know what I’m supposed to do here.”

Sylus pauses. Something shifts – not pity, but recognition. Like he hadn’t expected you to care about that.

“I’ll make sure you don’t cross paths.” He reassures. “You’ll lie low. Until we find a way to send you back.”

Your breath catches. “You think that’s possible?”

He turns to glance over his shoulder. “You want to go back, don’t you?”

“Yes! Of course I do.”

That earns a small, dry sound from him, somewhere between a chuckle and a sigh.

“Then follow me.”

Sylus leads you into an elevator. It ascends smoothly, quietly, until it reaches the highest floor of the base. When the doors part, you step into a world that once existed only in flat images and dialogue boxes.

Now it breathes around you.

Familiar decor lines the halls. Black walls, withered flowers, golden fixtures. You find yourself staring, overwhelmed, watching the world you once knew as pixels come to life with depth and gravity.

The two of you walk in silence until Sylus stops before an ornate black door.

“You’ll stay in here,” he says. “Luke and Kieran will bring you a change of clothes soon. Rest. You look like you need it.”

You would be offended, if your body didn’t feel like it was made of wet cement. The adrenaline crash has hit you full force. Your chest is heavy. Your eyes sting. You don’t even have the energy to argue. You nod wordlessly and step through the door.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Sylus watches you disappear into the guest room.

Only when the door clicks shut does he turn and make his way to his study.

The space is quiet, too quiet. He settles into the chair behind his desk, rests his elbows on the wood, and presses his fingers together.

The reality of it finally settles in.

A video game character?

He thinks back to when he first used his Aether Core on you. You hadn’t seen his reaction, he didn’t let it show, but what he saw…

It unsettled him deeply.

He saw his own life through your eyes. Moments he’d never shared. Moments no one had witnessed. Except her.

But what disturbed him wasn’t just the now.

It was the past.

The datura field. Taurus City. Fleeting images that no stranger should know. And yet… they were seen through you. Remembered by you.

Had all that suffering really been nothing more than someone else’s entertainment? Lines of code? A narrative?

No. It felt too real. All of it. Too vivid. Too painful. If anything, your so-called game must be a window, not fiction.

But the memories weren’t what shook him the most.

It was the feeling.

There had been warmth. Fluttering affection. The kind that blooms in the chest, soft but undeniable. You’d felt something for him. Something kind. Familiar.

Something that, couldn’t possibly form from behind a screen.

He remembers his reunion with her. The only time he’d let himself feel guilt. He had been cold. Harsh. Desperate for clarity. He swore to never face her that way again.

So why does it feel like he just relived that moment?

You didn’t mention what he was. You didn’t even realize he believed you weren’t a threat before you’d woken up. Your scrambled explanations had almost… amused him.

No, not amused. Endeared.

There’s a quiet fire in you. Determined. Honest in your fear, but unflinching. He doesn’t know what you are, or how you got here – but he knows what you’re not.

You’re not a threat.

He leans back in his chair and exhales slowly, eyes narrowing as he reaches for his datapad. If the deepspace tunnel is responsible, there may be traces of disruption in the last recorded cycle.

He begins his search. But a thought lingers.

Why did she end up here… with me?

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

The door clicks shut behind you with a finality that echoes in your chest. You lean against it for a second, taking in the silence. The room is dimly lit, spare but elegant. The kind of decor you’ve only ever seen in screenshots, background renders, where the world felt more like a set than a space.

But this room is tangible.

You move slowly, heart still pounding as you cross the floor. There’s a plush armchair near the wall, a small vanity, and a bed you desperately want to collapse into. Instead, you stand still. Your thoughts won’t let you rest.

The conversation replays in your mind. His tone. The way he looked at you. That call from her. Her name in his phone. Kitten. You, once upon a time.

You sink onto the edge of the bed, running a hand through your hair. You need to think. You need to calm down.

You need a shower.

The attached bathroom is minimal and sleek, like something out of a luxury hotel. The kind of detail you never noticed during gameplay because the story didn’t linger here. You step in and twist the faucet on, steam rising like mist as the water heats. It fogs the mirror in front of you almost immediately.

And maybe that’s why you don’t notice it at first.

You’re already stripping off your clothes, your mind a blur of disbelief and denial, when you glance up.

Then freeze.

The mirror’s fog clears in a slow sweep. Just enough to show your face.

And it’s you.

But not you, exactly.

There’s no screen-glow softening the edges. No model slider tweaking jawlines and eye shapes. You’re not her. Not the MC you customized, but you’re close. Too close. A high-resolution, tangible version of what you were never quite able to recreate.

Same eyes. Different slant. Same hair color. Styled how you like. Same mouth. But fuller, real.

It’s your face. But it’s hers too. And it makes your blood run cold.

Your hands grip the sink, knuckles white.

If you look like this to you, how do you look to them?

The thought hits hard – Rafayel. Zayne. Xavier. Caleb.

If they saw you...

No. No, no, no.

You can’t let that happen.

A sick wave of guilt rolls through your gut. She doesn’t know about you. She can’t. And the others? What would they think? Would they mistake you for her? Would they sense something was off? Or worse, would they believe something isn’t?

You stare into the mirror, water still running behind you. This was supposed to be a fantasy. A story. You were never meant to be in it.

You swallow hard and pull away from the glass, blinking quickly to push the sting behind your eyes back down.

This is temporary. It has to be temporary.

Sylus said he’d find a way to send you back. You’ll lie low, keep your head down, and avoid the others. That’s the best way to protect her. To protect you.

You’re not here to rewrite a story.

You’re just passing through.

Right?

a/n: decided to combine chap 2&3 since chap 1 was so short. what dewww we think is going on here? also, i want to say MC will not be a villain in this, thats my girl (but she is still kinda getting done dirty, sorry diva everyone will suffer here) raf debut probably coming chap 4? 5 at the latest?

lmk if you want to join the taglist!

🏷️: @paper--angel @leftpoetrymoon @istolepeanuts @rjreins @freeprincesslove @3fg7 @mariahuchiha90 @beaconsxd

#soulbound series #lads #love and deepspace #lads rafayel #lads sylus #lnds #love and deepspace sylus #love and deepspace x reader #love and deep space #lads x reader #non mc x sylus #lnds sylus #sylus x reader #l&ds sylus #sylus #lnds rafayel #rafayel x you #rafayel x reader #rafayel love and deepspace

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azullumi · 1 year ago

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JESUS, TAKE THE WHEEL ?!

premise — to put it simply, hsr men driving. characters — boothill, sunday, aventurine, veritas ratio, jing yuan, and blade content tags — small mentions of reader, probably fluff, not proofread, i don't know how to tag this please | wc: 0.6k ; headcanons

note from me — this idea was brought to me after nearly crashing and getting multiple heart attacks while my dad was driving

BOOTHILL, races with the wind that it feels like you left your soul somewhere in the road—literally a wild spirit who seems to enjoy the feeling of the breeze on his skin. He probably got you lost one time too, or maybe twice, or thrice. He just loves fast cars and faster chases, likes the thrill of it (much to your dismay if you’re a cautious person). He’s probably cussed someone out for cutting him off his lane which led to him nearly crashing when he pressed the brakes suddenly. Despite his reckless driving habits, his quick thinking and reflexes keeps him out of harm.

SUNDAY, perfect law-abiding citizen—follows the traffic rules, doesn’t go past the speed limit, never crashes, never gets pulled over, you’re in the safest hands and you can trust the entirety of your life on him. You have a good road trip, a great driver, and someone who you can easily talk to. It’s perfect. He probably has a playlist ready with the most of it being his sister’s songs, playing and listening to it as he drives, often humming along with the melody.

AVENTURINE, drives like there’s no tomorrow when he’s alone but drives like the most responsible and careful driver whenever there’s someone with him in the car. He likes driving during the night despite the risk of it (and that’s honestly the point); he does love the quiet streets and the solitude he gets, taking long drives to often clear his mind or just drive somewhere where he wants to be, often taking the scenic route. There are times that he drives in complete silence, deep in thought, and taking random turns.

VERITAS RATIO, just your normal and average sane driver. Literally it’s all just normal with him that it feels so wrong. He’s quite the careful driver but is easily annoyed when someone cuts off his lane and you’ll have to deal with a rambling doctor that calls people who have no driving etiquettes foolish and reckless. He strictly follows the rules of the road, but doesn’t hesitate in voicing out his frustrations at those who don’t. Other than that, everything is fine. He rarely listens to music, however, opting to listen to educational podcasts or the radio instead—he says it helps in keeping him focused.

JING YUAN, bold of you to even assume he’s driving; he doesn’t drive, or he rarely does. He’s a passenger princess, a shotgun queen, the backseat sleeper,—preferring to sleep on his seat than focus his eyes on the road. If he ever drives, however, it’s slow and careful. He’ll reason that there’s nothing to rush for and that you all have the time in the world, and you don’t know if you’re supposed to accept his reasoning, especially when you’re going to be late. The chance of him falling asleep while driving is higher than the chance of arriving at your destination early (a 10-minute drive easily becomes a 30-minute one and no, it’s not because of the traffic).

BLADE, believe it or not but he’s, if not the most, but one of the trusted drivers. While he does go past the speed limit sometimes and maybe he does have to swerve the car that you’ll fly off your seat (if not without your seatbelt) ever so often, you never die while he’s the one on the driver seat—thankfully. Surprisingly, he does wear his seatbelt and even urges you to wear yours (even if he didn’t, you’ll have to because you have nothing else to hold on to). The most silent car ride to ever exist though as he’ll only speak when you’ll ask him something, otherwise you’re left on your own with a conversation in the wind. Nevertheless, you’ll arrive at your destination in one piece. Not until the mara strikes.

FELIIII, a lovely mention to the beautiful and lovely @dr-felitas !! i'm getting back to writing now since i'm back from vacation (which means i can do anything and everything i want, but not including ghosting 🔥) ANYWAYS i would like to say thank you for always being patient with me and my replies ,, like my bad g 🙏 i really appreciate your presence in my life and your constant understanding, and i know i already told you this but you're a very warm and comforting person and i only hope for the best things to come in your life (i know love and beauty exists because you exist and you're full of it). i will support you in each and every one of your decisions, despite how bad or stupid it can be. don't let anything hold you back boo, never listen to your haters or your opps 🗣, you're still young and you have all the time in the world to experience meaningful moments (even heartbreaking ones). so go talk to that girl bae <33 no matter what happens, i'll always be here for you. ily lots mwaaaa

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stevesgother · 3 months ago

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https://www.tumblr.com/stevesgother/780437608598732800/httpswwwtumblrcomslutforpumpkins780377308353?source=share

this is me officially requesting this! imagine steve going to get abby to meet the new baby he’d be so gentle with her 🥺

oh anon i've been thinking about this since i saw you asked it, TEHE chalkboard hearts series masterlist steve harrington x fem!reader cw: depictions of labor & delivery, language, non-sexual nudity, pregnancy, fluids

"Steeeeeeve!" Abbey shouts sing-songily from the bathroom, "Mommy peed her pants!"

Steve's alarmed initially, though after everything you'd endured during this pregnancy, he wouldn't exactly be surprised if you had. His concern slowly morphs into puzzlement as he speed-walks towards the bathroom.

"I did not--ahh!" You wince at the sharp jolt of pain radiating just below your navel, "My water broke,"

"You what?" The blood drains from Steve's face so quickly that he feels light-headed. You feel mildly annoyed at his dramatics before remembering he's never had a baby before.

"It's not a big deal yet, we just need to call the doctor," You reassure your paler-than-a-ghost husband. He's taken a wide-legged stance in the bathroom doorway, his hands uselessly stiff at his sides.

"Does this mean the baby is coming?" Abbey, the least bothered of all of you, asks in a tone that's almost bored.

"Soon, babe, but not right this second," the feeling of amniotic fluid sticking to your sleepshirt and legs is frankly disgusting, "Steve, dear, could you please grab me a change of clothes," you ask through slightly gritted teeth. You don't mean to be frustrated with him, but you're wet and sticky and in a steadily increasing amount of pain.

"Yes-- yeah, of course. Just stay there--"

As if you had some sort of escape plan. You could barely waddle; your ankles were so swollen.

"Abbey, do you think you can pick out your own outfit for school today?"

Her lips twitch with an impending frown, "I thought I was gonna come to the hospital with you and Steve..."

"You'll come to the hospital after the baby's born. The waiting part is boring," you make a bleh face to really sell it. If only it really was as 'boring' as you're making it out to be.

Steve returns with your comfiest pair of lounge clothes, and any aggravation you might've felt dissipates instantaneously, replacing itself with a fond gratitude.

"C'mon, Ab, let's go get dressed, huh?" Steve asks a still skeptical Abbey, "I bet you can't beat me to your room..."

She's up in an instant, "Nuh-uh!"

"Three, two, one...go!" Steve counts and gives a false start. Abbey races out of the bathroom and down the hall, paying no mind that he's not hot on her tail. He almost feels guilty for tricking her.

"Where's the number for the OB?" He asks once you're finally left alone.

"It's-- mphh-- it's on the fridge, the paper under the dolphin magnet."

"Okay," he says, already turning on his heel.

"Steve, wait-- she's going to ask how far apart my contractions are, tell her nine minutes."

"Is that bad?"

"Steve."

"Right-- sorry. Be right back. Love you."

'Five minutes apart-- that's when you should head to the hospital.'

The advice of your obstetrician echos in your ears. You have time. You still have time. From the kitchen, you can hear Steve rambling to Doctor Sara over the landline, 'Okay...right...yes, we do...okay...see you soon...'

You grab a bath towel to attempt at soaking up the mess you've made all over the bathroom floor. If only you'd been on the toilet, or hell, even the shower would've been acceptable. You squat at a snail's pace, sucking in a harsh breath as you do. It feels more like an unpleasant pressure right now than true pain, but you're uncomfortable regardless.

"Hey--woah there hotshot," Steve admonishes when he returns and sees you doubled over and wiping the floor, "What are you doing?"

"Cleaning up my gross baby fluid so we don't get water damage?"

"Are you crazy?" He asks as he pulls you by the elbows to stand and ushers you to the bed, "Go sit down, would you? Jesus..."

You crack a subtle, shit-eating grin with your back turned to him. It's fun to raise his blood pressure a little sometimes-- keeps him quick on his feet.

The bed does feel heavenly once you're laying down though, all that pressure off your back. You try to stay cognizant of the speed at which your contractions are coming, but the duvet is so soft. And you've barely slept the last four nights. And your fan is humming a blissful white noise right by your ear. And--

"Mommy?"

Shit.

"Mommyyyyy?" Abbey shakes your shoulders lightly, "I wanna give you a kiss goodbye!"

"Okay," you grunt, "I'm up."

Abbey's little lips plant a kiss to your cheek, her arms wrapping around your swollen belly, "Will I be able to see the baby when I get out of school?"

God, you think, I hope so.

"Mhm, grandma will bring you right from school, okay?"

She bounces on her heels with an excited giggle in one of her adorable, albeit rare displays of affection for her soon-to-be sibling.

"See you later, love bug. Be good for your teachers today."

"I will!" She calls on her way out. Steve had been perched behind her throughout your exchange, waiting to give you a kiss of his own, "I'll be quick. Don't give birth while I'm gone, please?"

"I will try my very best." You smile wearily up at him from your place resting drearily against your pillows.

Steve walks with an arm protectively wrapped around your waist and your bag thrown over his shoulder as you waddle toward the non-emergency entrance to the hospital, "You got your heating pad?"

"Yep,"

"Okay," he snaps his fingers like he's trying to recall something, "Oh-- what about the swaddle thing?"

"Got that, too." You swallow a groan.

"And the adult diapers--"

You clear your throat abruptly, "It's a little late to be asking about all this now, isn't it?"

Steve makes a face as if to say 'touché'.

The glass doors slide open, immediately washing you in a sterile scent; but at least it's cooler inside the lobby. The air conditioning dries the beads of labored sweat beginning to form on your hairline.

"Last name is Harrington," Steve says as he approaches the front desk where a receptionist no older than twenty-three smacks her gum and flips through a magazine, "My wife is in labor; we see Doctor Sara?"

"A nurse will be out for you shortly." The receptionist tells you flatly, barely sparing you a glance.

A particularly sharp contraction ripples through your abdomen and you hiss, clutching your swollen belly. Your hand grips Steve's shoulder where you're using him to balance, your knuckles turning a pale white.

"How 'shortly'?" Steve presses, a tad frustratedly. Rarely do you see him this high strung, but even still, he has the patience of a saint.

"Harrington?" A short, stubby nurse calls from the triage doors, clipboard in hand. The receptionist only nods her head in the direction the voice came from before resuming her browsing of the latest Cosmo issue.

The nurse brought a wheelchair, thank God. Steve drops your duffle in an instant to help you lower into it, insistent on pushing it despite the woman assuring him that it's really no trouble. He reluctantly picks up your bag, settling on holding your hand instead.

Maybe you simply don't remember Abbey's birth, but you really don't recall it being this harrowing.

You've tried everything: bouncing on a yoga ball, taking laps around the hospital, a hot bath. Doctor Sara had administered Pitocin over two hours ago to try and stimulate contractions and therefore dilation. Nada.

You were back on the yoga ball now, head resting exhaustedly on Steve's shoulder. Despite how uncomfortable the crouching position must've been for him, he hadn't made a single complaint since you'd arrived. Doctor Sara emerged through your suite's door for what felt like the fiftieth time this evening.

"Alright, girlfriend," she only called you this when she had unsavory news, "I don't mean to alarm you, but baby's vitals are beginning to look abnormal." You felt your heart kick behind your ribs, "I know I'm not the first to tell you that this labor isn't progressing normally-- that being said, I'm officially suggesting we proceed with a c-section."

"No--"

"Sweetheart--" Steve attempts to reason, but it's futile.

"I had Abbey naturally, I want to have this baby the same way."

Steve's eyebrows furrow when he looks at you, turning to the hospital staff, he says, "Can you just... give us a moment?"

"Of course," Doctor Sara said, "I'll stop back in ten."

He nods in acknowledgement, an expression of gratitude on his face, as the rest of the nurses funnel out of the room. "I know this isn't how you pictured it--"

"Steve." You had blown past your limit hours ago. Anything he said to you at this point would be closely akin to poking a scared, incredibly bloated bear.

"Listen to me," he says, firm but not unkind, "We've waited hours. And if the baby's health wasn't in jeopardy, I would sit here with you for another six of them."

"I'm scared, Steve." Your voice wobbles, resigning to the reality of your current situation.

He brushes his knuckles across the damp expanse of your forehead, "I know, honey. I know."

You can't feel a thing from your chest down, but you can practically hear the blood rushing through your vascular system. White florescent lights buzz above your head. They make your eyes feel exceptionally heavy.

"You still with me?" Your husband asks where he's perched on a stool next to your head, holding your hand in a tight, reassuring grip. He squeezes twice; you nod. He'd been reading you the second Lord of the Rings book for some entertainment as well as a distraction. Admittedly not your first choice for literature, but you love him, so you let him continue.

"Almost there, baby. Then we'll get to meet our girl." He'd take the liberty of kissing your forehead if there weren't a KN95 mask covering the large majority of his face. For that matter, Steve was almost entirely covered in hospital PPE.

Your view of the gory scene you know is taking place just below your breasts is obstructed by a huge expanse of blue linen. Having lost track of time by now, you could've been laying there for another five minutes or another five hours.

That train of thought is abruptly interrupted by the shrill cry of an infant. Your infant.

"Congratulations," Doctor Sara says as she comes into view with the squirming baby in her arms-- she's holding it like a footlong sub, you think, against your better judgement. "You've got yourselves a healthy baby boy!"

"What?"

It takes every cell in your body not to laugh at the deer-in-headlights expression contorting Steve's features. 'Call it father's intuition,' his ass.

Every excruciating hour of labor, every bout of nausea, every mood swing, every sleepless night; it all felt worth it when they place your son on your bare chest.

"He's so tiny," Steve observes later that night as he cradles your boy to his chest. You watch from your place on the uncomfortably firm hospital bed, "What if I-- I don't know-- what if I drop him? Or something?"

"Steve," you giggle, despite the soreness of the healing incision on your stomach, "Don't say that. You're not going to drop him."

He's silent for a long, long moment, "What do we do now?"

Isn't that the question of the century?

"Well, we have to name him. For starters."

"Yeah, there's that." He ponders for a minute, "How about Gabe?"

"Ugh, no. I dated a kid in high school named Gabe," your face sours at the memory, "I was thinking... maybe Michael?"

"That's my dad's name." Steve deadpans.

"Oh, shit-- that's right."

Knock Knock.

Your mother's face peers around the slightly ajar door before pushing it open the rest of the way, letting herself and a bright-eyed Abbey into the room. For the first time maybe ever, your daughter doesn't barrel into the room like a bull in a China shop. She takes quiet, deliberate steps towards you, Steve and her baby brother.

Her hands twitch at her sides when she approaches Steve, like she itches to touch his little button nose or have him wrap his tiny hand around one of her fingers.

"Ab, this is your little brother." Steve tells her in a whisper.

"Can I hold him?"

"For sure-- go sit with mom and I'll give him to you,"

Abbey climbs cautiously into bed next to you, taking extra care not to shuffle you around too much. You would've started having babies a long time ago if it meant your daughter being this calm. You wrap an arm around her shoulders and press a kiss to her temple. Oh, how you missed her while you were away.

Abbey, seemingly also wanting to know, asks, "What's his name?"

"We're not sure yet," you tell her as Steve gently sets her brother in her arms; she cradles him like he's the most precious baby doll she's ever laid eyes on.

She stares down at his face in awe, while you and Steve stare at each other. Tired, but so content. Your mom strokes the downy hairs on the top of his head, tears staining her cheeks.

"Maybe Lucas?" Abbey suggests after a few moments of precarious silence.

"Why Lucas?" You inquire.

"That's the boy's name in my favorite book," she says simply. Maybe naming your child didn't need to be so complicated.

"Would we call him Luke for short?" Steve interjects, grinning.

"Only I would," she declares. Your heart swells twice it's size.

"I think that's a beautiful name, Ab." You tell her, kissing the crown of her head tenderly.

And so he was: Lucas Theodore Harrington. His middle name to honor your late grandfather, and a first name picked by his very first and very best friend.

taglist - @soulxiez @sadieshairbrush @the-witty-pen-name @ilovetaquitosmmmm @micheledawn1975 @cherryc1nnam0n @paleidiot @adaydreamaway30 @mrsnarnian @negomi123 @twinkling-moonlillie @royalestrellas @jamdoughnutmagician @cali-888 @kolsmikaelson @1deverland @borhapparker @alexa4040 @chiliwhore @weonlysaidgoodbyewithwordss @paddockspookie42 @foxes-n-frogs @j-mlover383 @i-love-gfv @the-fairy-anon

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bunny-1111 · 10 months ago

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Did I stutter? Theo Nott x fem!reader

Description: With the Christmas ball approaching, you can’t stop daydreaming about Theo. But when Pansy reveals that he’s been quietly chasing off your suitors, you’re left questioning his true feelings. When confronted, Theo’s possessiveness comes to light—but will he finally ask you to the ball?

Genre: Angst, slow burn, romance Warnings: Slight possessiveness, mild language

Word count: 1.9k

Part 2, here

Unedited and unread

reblogs, likes and comments appreciated my loves <3

...

The Christmas ball was a yearly sensation.

When the autumn leaves were long covered by the deep snow of winter, was when you knew it was not far off.

As you sat in the great hall across from your friends in a daydream, imagining Theo all dressed up in a three-piece suit, your mind slipped into mush as you dreamed about his hand placed delicately on your waist, moving you through the steps of a waltz.

"Hello, earth calling. Are you even listening to me?!" Pansy clicked her fingers to pull you attention back into focus

"Sorry, you were saying?" you rush, flustered by your own thoughts.

"Yeah, I was asking if you want to go to Hogsmeade this afternoon?" she continued.

"Oh sure" you agree, you eyes now glued to your plate, trying to pull your mind away from him

"we'll join you, yeah" Draco casually adds

"No!" Pansy quickly exclaims

"what, why not?" replies Draco his voice high and whiney

"Because, girls day, only, we're gonna try find some dresses for the Christmas ball" inisted Pans

"we are?" you question

"we are." she states

"Oh Merlin, I hate this ball bullshit" Enzo adds, throwing his fork down

"Couldn't agree more, Enz" says Theo softly

"Yeah, Theo it must be so annoying having every girl in every house ask you to the dance, gosh you boys are insufferable" ranted Pansy

Oh, that's right, the unpleasant reminder that you and Theodore have no romantic relations and you can't do anything about the girls who swoon over him, Merlin. Why do they all have to be so desperate for him? Why can't they just leave him for you? Why can't something happen between you two why can't h-

"Come on let's go get ready for Hogs" She interrupts your self-destructive thoughts, now dragging you along back to the dorms.

As you shiver into your scarf, the cold air bites at your lips, the snow filled streets of Hogsmeade bring a sense of quickness in turns of just how soon the ball is.

"I expect someone should ask you to the dance soon" Pansy says linking her arms in your as you walk together, shopping bags in your free arms.

"Thanks, Pans, you too," you smile

You're met with unusual silence from her, so you give her a small shove, a gentle nudge, saying, spit it out.

"Well, Draco's asked me to go... I've said yes" she carefully says

"Pans! When, why didn't you tell me? This again, I thought you said you and Dray were really done this time?" You ramble, eyes wide with passionate protection for her

"I know, but like his gonna let someone else take me, I wouldn't want him to go with anyone else take me either, it's just like you and-" she starts

"Don't finish that sentence alright, you and Draco dated, Theo and I nothing" you huff

"Oh yeah, then why is he going around threatening any guy who even considers asking you." her tone

Pansy’s words hit you like a bludger to the chest, forcing the air out of your lungs. You almost stumble your steps, but she keeps her arm linked with yours, pulling you along as if she hadn’t just dropped a bombshell

“What are you talking about?” you ask, trying to sound casual, but your voice betrays you, cracking at the end.

Pansy raises a brow, glancing at you like she’s holding the world’s best secret, and you’re not in on it. “Oh, don’t play dumb. It’s been happening for months.”

Months?

Theo, your Theo, going around and threatening people from asking you to the ball? That doesn’t make sense. He barely looked at you when you weren't all together, always composed, acting as though your presence didn’t make his eyes soften as you wished they would.

But then again, you have noticed that boys, nice boys, that is, had stopped approaching you after a while. You chalked it up to bad luck. You and your friends did have a certain unapproachability. The rumors swirled about Theodore Nott being unattainable, uninterested in any romance, but he never gave any indication that he’d be willing to defend you, much less ward off potential suitors.

“yeah right, that can’t be true.” Your denial comes out weaker than you intend, the words sitting heavy on your tongue.

Pansy giggles like the school girl she is. “Sweetheart, believe what you want, but I know a possessive bloke when I see one. Trust me, Draco’s the same way, just less… subtle.” She waves her hand dismissively, but her eyes hold a knowing glimmer, irritating you. Like she has insight into your life that you aren’t aware of yourself.

You shake your head, trying to process everything. “But why wouldn’t he just—”

“Ask you himself?” Pansy finishes for you, her voice lilting, almost teasing. “Oh, come on, you know Theo. He’s about as emotionally available as a cursed lock. He probably doesn’t even realise what he’s doing half the time.”

“But pans, months?”

Pansy shrugs a nonchalant gesture that tells you she’s probably been keeping this from you for a while. “Look, I didn’t say anything because I thought you’d figure it out, and honestly, it’s kind of fun watching him sulk whenever someone gets too close. Merlin, the way he glares could melt the snow.”

You let out a breath, the cold air burning your lungs as you try to wrap your mind around it. Theodore Nott, the Theo who lives in your mind, your friend of years, the same Theo you desperately want to yourself, had been quietly chasing off any competition? It feels surreal, like a dream you’d conjured in the midst of one of your daydreams in the Great Hall.

But if that’s true… then why hasn’t he made a move? Why hasn’t he said anything to you?

As if reading your thoughts, Pansy squeezes your arm. “Don’t overthink it. Boys are complicated, especially our boys alright, even when they think they’re being clear. Maybe he’s waiting for the right moment, or maybe he’s just an idiot.”

You laugh, a short, breathy sound that fogs up the air around you. “Yeah, idiot sounds about right.”

Hogsmeade is bustling with students, all of them chattering about the upcoming ball, dresses, dates, and everything in between. You glance at shop windows, your eyes trailing over elegant gowns and shimmering accessories, but your mind is miles away, stuck on a certain brown-haired Slytherin boy who, apparently, has been harboring some very mixed signals.

By the time you make it back to the castle, your hands are full of bags, and your head is full of unanswered questions. Pansy is still chattering away, something about her dress and how Draco better match her, but you can barely focus.

You keep replaying her words over and over again. Theo’s threatening people? Why wouldn’t he just ask me? The thought sends your heart into a frenzy, and no matter how much you try to convince yourself, it’s nothing, that maybe Pansy is exaggerating; you know deep down that she’s probably right.

It isn’t until the next morning at breakfast that you catch sight of Theo, sitting at the Slytherin table with his usual quiet confidence. His hair is slightly tousled, like he couldn’t be bothered to comb it properly, and his tie is crooked, but it doesn’t matter—he still looks effortlessly good, as always.

Your heart does a little flip as you watch him, your mind racing with everything Pansy told you. Should you say something? Ask him if it’s true? Or would that be too forward? Maybe you should just wait it out, see if he says anything first…

But before you can make a decision, Theo glances up and locks eyes with you. It’s a brief moment, but it’s enough to send your pulse skyrocketing. His expression is unreadable, as usual, but there’s something in his gaze that makes your stomach twist.

You quickly look away, focusing on your plate, but your thoughts are a mess. Could he see it all on your face? Are you accidentally showing what you didn't have the courage to say?

The rest of the day passes in a blur, and by the time evening rolls around, you’re no closer to figuring out what to do. Pansy, of course, is no help—she just keeps teasing you about it, making cryptic comments about how Theo’s going to “make his move” eventually.

You’re not so sure.

It’s not until later, when you’re heading back to the common room after a long day of classes, that you run into Theo. Literally.

You’re not paying attention, too caught up in your own thoughts, and you bump right into him as you turn the corner.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t—” you start to apologize, but the words die in your throat when you look up and realize it’s him.

Theo’s standing there, hands in his pockets, his usual calm, unreadable expression in place. But there’s something different about him tonight, something that makes your heart race.

“Hey,” he says, his voice low and smooth, sending a shiver down your spine, as his hand lays on your shoulder, steading your place in front of him

“Hey,” you reply, trying to keep your voice still, but it’s a losing battle.

For a moment, neither of you says anything. The silence stretches between you, heavy with unspoken words and tension.

Before you can make a decision, Theo breaks the silence. “You’re going to the ball, right?”

The question catches you off guard, and you nod before you can stop yourself. “Yeah, I am.”

His eyes darken slightly, and he takes a step closer. “With anyone?”

Your heart skips a beat, and for a second, you forget how to breathe. Is this it? Is he finally going to ask you?

“No,” you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

Theo’s gaze stays locked on yours for a long moment, and then, finally, he says, “Good. Keep it that way.”

And just like that, he turns and walks away, leaving you standing there, your mind spinning.

You stand frozen in place, his words echoing in your mind. Good. Keep it that way. It’s a simple sentence, but the way Theo said it, with that intensity in his eyes, sends your heart into a tailspin.

What did he mean by that? Was it a warning? A request? Or something else entirely?

You shake your head, trying to clear the confusion, but it’s no use. Theo’s always been hard to read, but this feels different—like there’s something just beneath the surface that you can’t quite grasp.

"No Theo wait!" you call out before he gets too far

His body swiftly turns around waiting for you, typical Teddy, of course he makes you run after him.

When you finally reach him all you can manage is "I don't understand."

"what's not to understand, darling," he says softly almost sympathetic

"Have you stopped guys from asking me, personally?" you say so quickly you didn't even have time to realise what you had just asked

"Yes. I have" he replies immediately

"wh-what?" you mutter out

"Did I fucking stutter? Anyone asks you and you tell me" his tone stern and meaningful, inching closer and closer to you, "alright"

"alright" you agree in a small voice

"Good girl" he smiles as he tilts his head, before walking off.

well, what the fuck now.

Author Note: I've been feeling so unsure about my writing lately, I've been struggling to produce good work. I have been so flat out at work that by the time I get home, I'm writing at like 2am, so it just turns out shit... and I get too tired to finish it properly like this one, but I just wanted to get something out. Ugh, I'm sorry. anyway hope you try to enjoy this one, I will get back to my confident writing soon, I hope lol love youuuuuuu, B.

Part 2, here

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aziscribs · 1 month ago

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Here's the man of the hour...

Diomedes of Argos ✨⚔️

Here's a better look at the full body if you want it <3

anyway, you know the drill, here's the detail dump after the cut!! vv

HIS HAIR + GROOMING - his mane of dirty blonde hair, not unlike a lion's mane 🦁! Diomedes is likened to a lion in battle many times in the Iliad, and upon my first uninfluenced impression of him, I could NOT get the lion imagery out of my head. I'm very aware that boars and albatrosses are more commonly associated with him, but I just got too attached to liomedes!! yea he has a weird mix of locs and free hair, don't ask me how it works it just does okay NONE OF MY DESIGNS ARE EVER REALISTIC yall should know this by now lolll... you might also notice though that his facial hair is in a similar shape to that of boar tusks 🐗✨, of course I had to pay homage yall!!

THE HELL ARE THOSE GOLDEN MARKS? - they're ichor, you silly goose!!! in book 5, Diomedes has a moment of aristeia, where he wounds both Aphrodite and Ares in battle ⚔️🩸✨! there's a common perception that ichor marks are permanent and similar to burn scars, and I think that's so damn cool, so he's got some marks on his upper chest from Aphrodite's ichor splashing down his cuirass, and his palms are stained with ichor from Ares + vigorously trying to scrub the marks off himself and his spear lol (I imagine it kinda stains the wrinkles and lines in his palms, but yall know I cant be bothered to draw detailed hands like that). ON THE TOPIC OF SCARS, peep Pandarus' arrow scar in his shoulder + oath scar on his palm that's barely visible lol ‼️ In the same vein, he's got mismatched eyes 👁️🫦🧿 from Athena's blessing of sight to him (in book 5, Athena blesses him to be able to tell the difference between gods and mortals!)

BOAR EMBLEM + BOAR TUSKS & SKIN & FUR + OWL FEATHER + ALBATROSS FEATHERS & PIN - kinda speaks for itself? boar cause.. tydeus 🐗, owl feather cause athena loves that guy 🦉, and just a couple of albatross nods here and there for now 🪽. I like to imagine Dio's life in stages of animals-- as a kid (epigoni) he's a boar, still trying to emulate his father, in the war he's a lion, finding his own footing and also being freaking insane, and after that (Italy) he's an albatross (as he's usually described as then). In the time period of the Iliad, he'd be a nice in between of all of this, thus the mix of kinda all of those symbols!

YOU READ THROUGH ALL THAT???? - okay congrats thanks for sticking around this long!! here's an extra hc just for you-- the soles on the bottoms of his shoes have paw pads on them 🐾! they help to cover his tracks, cause he's a smart boy like that! Odysseus isn't the only champion of Athena who has tricks up his sleeve! that's definitely the only reason and it isn't mostly a decision I made cause vibes + cute..... I'll try to include this feature in future drawings, though it's hard to show LOLLL, for now just know that the little paw prints all over the Achaean camp aren't from some cute lil puppy padding around but actually from a full grown ass man

this guy is long overdue! I've adored Diomedes ever since I first read the Iliad (my friends can attest to this I am so annoying to them about him)... I was really disappointed joining the Greek myth fandom to see that so FEW people liked, or even knew about this guy! buttttt diving deeper into the fandom + over time, I found more and more like-minded people who are just as (if not sometimes even more) insane about him as I am! and i've met so many lovely friends through that too 🩷🩷🫂‼️

thank you again for your love and time <3 you can look forward to more designs! I love adding little details into my designs, and there's a couple I might have missed out even with all this rambling, so if you can spot them they're a little treat for you hehe. again if yall notice anything I might not have noticed before, do lmk so I can pretend like that was my intention with the design all along lol hehe I love you all! thank uuuu!!! 🩷🩷🩷

#greek mythology #tagamemnon #greek myth art #the iliad #homeric epics #diomedes #diomedes of argos #character design #i love him so much 😞#pls lmk what you think of him! adore any and all feedback <3 #okay kisses bye xoxo

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rc-writes · 1 year ago

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𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐮𝐩𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬

𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙨 | 𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩 𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙢

pairings: spencer reid x bau!reader

warnings: reader has a headache due to accidentally missing lunch

a/n: one more little blurb i've written due to my criminal minds rewatch journey! as of now i unfortunately have no other little blurbs written so i don't want you guys to think this is me suddenly being active a lot again. like i said in my penelope blurb i make no promises of me posting regularly again, but i definitely want/hope to write more! anyways, this blurb is completely inspired by me forgetting food exists for half a day a few weeks ago and getting a massive headache due to it :/ advice of the day kids, eating is important! lol

You and JJ had been on reading files duty for the day which meant being held up in the tiny room the local police station had set up for the team. Usually, it was Garcia who was in charge of digging through the files for potential suspects, but the station was severely behind on digitizing their files so manual reading was what had to be done.

As the day went on you began to have the world's most annoying headache. It wasn't too debilitating that you couldn't push through it to get through the last few files however, so you continued your reading. That was until you also began to feel a wave of exhaustion wash over you suddenly.

The most you had done all day was walk from one side of the table to the evidence board across the small room, so you weren't sure why you were suddenly on the verge of nodding off. If you were out conducting interviews or going over the crime scenes like you usually did, then maybe that would explain some tiredness, but that wasn't the case today.

"Hey, we're back!" Spencer's sudden voice filling the room made you jump out of your thoughts.

"Hi." You replied back with a soft smile, trying to mask the tiredness. "We managed to narrow the suspect pool to five people."

"Garcia is already on searching for anything that might not be in any of these files." JJ added from her spot at the table.

"Hard to believe anything is not in all these files." You joked, laughing. Mid-laugh your voice seemed to falter, the headache deciding to grow stronger at the sudden higher noise level of the room. You tried to mask your voice fading by slowly turning to face the board again, trying your best to massage your forehead a little.

"Hey are you alright?" Spencer asked as he walked closer to you.

"Yeah, yeah." You lied, turning to face him. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"It's just that I noticed your movements seem to be a bit sluggish. Not- not to say that's a problem considering you've been cooped up in here all day. But also, I noticed you're rubbing circles into your forehead which might be a sign of a headache. Which is actually a good thing to do when you have one because researchers say-" Spencer trailed off when he noticed you bringing your hand up again to your forehead. "Sorry, that's not the point. Are you okay?"

"I've been a little tired and have a minor headache. Nothing too bad, don't worry." You admitted, no point in trying to lie anymore. "I'm not sure why though. It's not like I've done much moving around all day, just flipping through piles of paper." You gestured to the table. It was then that you noticed JJ had left you two to be alone. "But I suppose just sitting here all day could be exactly the reason."

"It is proven that little movement can have just as much effect as too much movement on the body." Spencer agreed. "To add to that, whatever you ate for lunch today could also have an effect as well."

Spencer then began to ramble about the importance of what kind of food you need to eat for which meal, but you didn't hear much as your own thoughts were racing.

A look of slight horror crossed your face. "Oh god, I didn't even realize I skipped lunch completely."

"What?"

"Yeah, I got so caught up in reading over the suspect files that I didn't want to leave when everyone else went to go get something from the break room. Thought I'd wait until I got done reading this one file, but I must have gotten too distracted and completely forgot to ever actually get up."

"Honey, no wonder you're tired and have a headache then." He reached for your hands. "You haven't eaten since we had breakfast together at the hotel."

You held onto his hands back. "Yeah, and it wasn't exactly a big breakfast either." You both laughed. "I guess a big dinner is in my future then."

Spencer nodded, smiling. His eyes seemed to light up suddenly, you assumed some sort of idea popped into his head. He then immediately headed to the door.

"Where are you going?"

Spencer turned, walking backwards out the room. "To find food! Anything! You need to eat pronto." He bumped into the doorframe before walking completely out the room. From your small frame of vision out the doorway you saw he also nearly bumped into one of the local police officers as he was too focused to notice other people.

You giggled to yourself at his new sudden mission to find you food. He really would do anything at the drop of a hat for you and you had no idea what you ever did to deserve it. But then you thought about how you'd do the exact same for him and he's said before he didn't deserve someone like you. It truly was a never-ending cycle of caring between you two.

#criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fic #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine

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sanjisboyfie · 2 years ago

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nonchalant and unbothered toji who has the patience of a saint. now, you weren't bratty by any means - not regularly, at least - but there is nothing you could do that will phase this man. he's seen it all and he's experienced it all. he sees you pout your lips at him to win him over and he's cooing over how cute you are. you're tugging on the hem of his shirt, begging him to do something, and all he can think about is how nice your voice sounds like that. you're whining and nagging him about something he was supposed to do around your shared place and he's just thinking about how he wants to kiss you so bad. nonchalant, patient, and unbothered toji for the win!!!

"toji, i told you to do the dishes-" his lips were planted on yours before you could even finish the sentence. he's pulling away after a couple of seconds, a relaxed smirk on his lips.

"you're cute," he says, calm and not at all bothered by your incoming lecture. before you can even begin ranting to him, he's knocking the bottom of your jaw up with his knuckles, to close your mouth, and then leaning in again for another kiss. "c'mere, pretty boy,"

and he's not getting off of you for another ten minutes.

it may seem purposeful, a good escape so he doesn't have to do chores. but don't get it twisted, he really does just want to kiss you for how adorable you're being. at least, 90% of the time that's why (the other 10% is so he can get out of doing chores).

his charm just works without fail everytime. you're happy, he's happy, everyone wins.

another time, you were begging him to come with you to check out some new restaurant in the mall. and toji's a big homebody, so convincing him to go out anywhere could take some effort. and today, it was taking a lot of effort.

"please, babe," you begged, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt, "you owe me for that one time! remember?!"

toji hummed, not caring for what you were really saying as he tried to finish his crossword. if you had given him a couple more minutes to complete it, he would have no qualms with going with you anywhere you wanted. but as you continued tugging on his shirt, there was no way he could focus.

so he gazed up at you, giving you all his attention, and looking very unimpressed. then he pulled you in by your waist, making you collapse onto his figure. and he was now holding you up, looking you up and down.

"you look handsome today, have i told you that yet?" toji muses, looking at your outfit and then your blank face, "hm, shame on me. not telling my boy how good he looks," he leans up, meeting you halfway in a peck before kncoking his forehead against yours, "you look cute, baby, 'm so lucky you're all mine."

and you're just stunned into silence at how he's cooing at how handsome you are, suddenly forgetting any and all begging you were doing and planning to do.

or how about how he is almost always the calmer of you two in any given situation. (almost always because sometimes he does lose his temper, not at you, but for you -> such as people giving you a hard time = he's becoming a demon to haunt and intimidate them).

"i can't believe that asshole," you huffed, thinking back on the cashier that was giving toji some weird looks - for some reason. they weren't flirty glances, it more so falled under disgust or disapproval. it pissed you off, while toji on the other hand was only calmly looking at you.

you began to ramble, going on about how dare they disrespect your boyfriend and toji can only hold your hand over the table and listen to you. there was no point in stopping you once you got started. also he thought that annoyed look on your face was adorable.

"seriously, he needs to mind his own business or else i'm gonna make it everyone's problem that he decided to have an attitude. out of nowhere too! he wasn't acting like that at all until you came in, and it's obviously not your fault, it's his for being a judgemental prick. should i just beat him up already?" you were voicing all of your thoughts and toji was listening.

yeah, that look on your face was truly adorable. he almost sighed dreamily at the sight. he was knocked out of his trance when you stopped talking and looked at him expectingly.

"are you really not bothered by it?"

"bun, i'm already used to all that shit, i could care less. i appreciate you thinkin' of me, though, it's real sweet," he smirks, pinching your cheek as if you were a child.

you swat the hand away, giving him a pointed look, "don't 'bun' me, i'm still pissed,"

"don't be pissed at me, bun," he says, the nickname still slipping off of his tongue with ease and no hesitation.

bun, short for bunny. god, he loved calling you that. he loved you so much.

"whatever, i should go over there and take that five dollar tip out of the jar. what do you think?"

"i think i want my boy to stop rambling about other shit and just kiss me," toji decides with ease, alreading leaning forward and looking at you with hooded eyes, "c'mon baby, just one kiss?"

"fuck off,"

"oh, don't make me beg for it, handsome,"

"i'll seriously kill you, you're pissing me off,"

"you're so handsome when you're mad at me, have i ever told you that?"

"you tell me that everytime i'm mad at you."

"cause i know i'm right," toji smirks, leaning in and capturing your lips with his scarred ones with ease. you give into the kiss because obviously you're gonna kiss your boyfriend and he's not the one you're actually mad at.

the world quiets as you two share the moment of intimacy. toji pulls away with reluctance, his hand still squeezing yours.

"feel better, bun?"

"shut the fuck up,"

"oh, i love you more."

nonchalant and unbotherd toji who is just obsessed with kissing you. and with how cute you are. and with you. he's just obsessed with you. toji loves his man a lot.

#toji fushiguro x male reader #toji fushiguro male reader #toji male reader #toji x male reader #jujutsu kaisen male reader #jujutsu kaisen x male reader #jjk male reader #jjk x male reader #toji imagines #toji fluff

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jungkoode · 2 months ago

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WE GREW UP SOMEWHERE ALONG THE WAY | 01

"ott and capy"

"Ott and Capy. Stupid nicknames, really. Which is fitting when you're like 8? 10? and your best friend is being annoying. Now at almost 30 it's... something alarming to be called in the middle of Tennoji Station. But then again, this is your childhood friend Hoseok who you're talking about."

next | index | wc: 4.7k

⤷author's note : HEEEEYYYYYY did ya losers miss some good ol' Kiki-Hobi energy???? WELL GUESS WHAT. I'm back. I'm here. I'm mentally unwell. And I'm writing Hoseok as a hentai mangaka. You're welcome. So here's the thing: after Off Labels I thought I was done. Thought I'd said all I had to say about Hoseok and trauma and weird intimacy and shame and giggles through grief. And then this man—this stupid man with his stupid loud laugh and his stupid kind eyes—crept back into my mind and refused to leave. He's my wrecker. Shocking, I know. Please hold your gasps. This fic came to me because I couldn't stop listening to Kyary Pamyu Pamyu and having weird visual flashes of neon Osaka streets, vending machines, childhood nicknames, and that very specific flavor of yearning that comes from bumping into someone you used to know so well, and realizing you don't know them at all anymore. I sat with that for a while. It festered. And then, like all things in my life, it became fiction. This chapter… hurts. Like?? Soft and fluffy?? Kind of?? But also??? Pain?? It's not loud pain. It's not sobbing-in-the-rain pain. It's quiet ache pain. It's "do they still like lemon cake" pain. It's the psychological spiral that hits when you realize someone who once knew you like breathing is now asking you for your address like a stranger. It's sitting across from your childhood best friend and realizing neither of you remember how to touch. How to say goodbye. How to exist in each other's presence without flinching. And yeah okay I know exactly why it hurts. (I'm a psychology girlie. I analyze my own trauma for breakfast and then write porn in the afternoon. Duality.) It's the displacement. The unspoken. The existential nausea of identity—like who are you, if the person who knew you best doesn't recognize you anymore? It's the phantom limb syndrome of old intimacy. You keep reaching for a version of them that doesn't exist anymore. And maybe they're doing the same with you. This fic will be slow-paced. Of course it's slow. This is a Kiki fic. We write longing so extended it loops back into erotic torment and then loops again into grief. Anyway, I'm really proud of this chapter. Like, genuinely. I think the tone is doing something very specific that I don't always allow myself to linger in: melancholy. It's bittersweet but not tragic. Nostalgic but not sappy. It's two people walking a tightrope over their shared past, too scared to look down. I'll stop rambling now (no I won't). Read the chapter. Text your childhood best friend. Or don't. Maybe just sit in it. Let the ache settle. Thanks for reading. ~ Kiki (aka Capy in spirit, Ott in chaos) P.S. If you're not already invested in Hoseok as a feral golden-retriever-turned-hentai-artist, I will make you. Give me three chapters. Bet.

Your phone's been staring at you for three hours, and you're pretty sure it's winning.

You've spent three days arranging your meager possessions in this shoebox apartment, and still, it doesn't feel like yours.

The walls are too thin, the floor creaks in places it shouldn't, and there's a mysterious stain on the ceiling that looks vaguely like Australia—which feels like some cosmic joke you're not in the mood to appreciate.

And it’s Sunday evening in Osaka.

Tomorrow you start your new job at that international marketing firm—the one that hired you specifically because you can string English words together without having an aneurysm.

Impressive skill, that.

Your phone sits on the fold-out table, screen cracked in one corner from when you dropped it while unpacking.

The pixelated display of your Nokia mocks you with its emptiness.

No messages. No missed calls. No one even knows you're here except your family, your new boss and the unimpressed landlady who barely looked at you when handing over the keys.

And right now you're sprawled on your sad excuse for a futon, scrolling through Mixi for the fourth time today like some digital masochist.

There it is again—Jung Hoseok's profile, mocking you with that ridiculous peace-sign photo and his stupid orange beanie.

Osaka Life: Year Five! with a picture of manga sketches and what looks like convenience store ramen.

Classic.

You scroll through the contacts, thumb hovering over his profile. 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐤. Saved without a nickname or emoji because you're allegedly an adult now.

"This is stupid," you mutter to the empty room, tossing the phone onto your futon. It bounces pathetically, like everything else in this apartment—cheap and temporary.

Five years. Five years since you've properly seen him.

Yeah, there was that awkward coffee when you both happened to be home visiting parents three years ago, but that barely counted. Twenty minutes of surface-level catching up before he had to run for his train.

You both promised to keep in touch better.

Neither of you did.

You wouldn't even know Ott was still in Osaka if you hadn't stumbled across his profile on Mixi last month while researching your move.

The nickname forms in your head unbidden.

Ott.

Right. The stupid nickname. Ott. Otter.

Because he never stopped moving as a kid, always splashing around, getting into everything, making noise.

Like an otter.

You called him that once to piss him off, but he'd just grinned that stupid grin and started calling you Capybara—Capy for short—because you were ‘always sitting there, judging everyone, looking grumpy but actually kind of cute.’

You were not cute. You were eleven and had braces and hated everything.

Still kind of do.

Your apartment's single window faces another building, barely six feet of space between them. Someone's laundry hangs on the opposite balcony—a man's shirts and pants, all in dark colors. You wonder idly if your neighbor is as lost in this city as you are.

You moved to Osaka because it made sense. The job offer came at the perfect time—just when your old position in Sydney had become so monotonous you were considering setting your desk on fire just to feel something.

They needed someone who could communicate with their English-speaking clients.

You needed a change.

Simple math.

The fact that you knew Hoseok lived here was irrelevant. Completely irrelevant. It's not like you were expecting to run into him in a city of 2.6 million people. And it's definitely not like you were going to reach out to him.

Except now you're sitting here, stomach growling because you still haven't figured out where to buy groceries, staring at your phone like it might bite you.

You hear everything happening outside.

Distant trains, muffled voices speaking rapid Japanese you can barely follow, someone's TV playing what sounds like a game show.

You've learned exactly seventeen useful phrases in Japanese, and fifteen of them are food-related.

Your laptop sits on the floor, ancient and struggling to connect to the building's spotty internet. The email from your new boss stares back at you:

"Looking forward to seeing you tomorrow at 8:30. Please be punctual. Orientation materials attached."

God, you're not ready. You're not ready for any of this.

You grab your phone again, a decision forming against your better judgment.

It's just practical, really. He knows the city. He could tell you where to get decent food that won't bankrupt you. Maybe recommend a better internet provider. That's it.

Your thumb hovers over the message button. You type, delete, type again. Finally:

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝙷𝚎𝚢. 𝙸𝚝’𝚜 𝚈/𝙽. 𝙵𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚂𝚢𝚍𝚗𝚎𝚢. 𝙸 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚖𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝙾𝚜𝚊𝚔𝚊 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔. 𝚂𝚊𝚠 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚘𝚗 𝙼𝚒𝚡𝚒. 𝙰𝚗𝚢 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚊 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚍𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚜𝚗 𝚝 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝟽-𝙴𝚕𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗?

You hit send before you can overthink it, then immediately throw the phone down like it's contaminated.

What the hell are you doing? He probably doesn't even remember you properly. Or worse, he does, and he'll think you're some desperate loser who can't make friends without dredging up people from elementary school.

Five minutes pass.

Ten.

You force yourself to unpack the last box, arranging toiletries in your tiny bathroom, pretending you're not listening for the message alert.

When the phone finally beeps, you nearly trip over your own feet rushing to check it.

𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐤: 𝙲𝙰𝙿𝚈?!?!? 𝙽𝙾 𝚆𝙰𝚈!!!!! 𝚈𝙾𝚄’𝚁𝙴 𝙸𝙽 𝙾𝚂𝙰𝙺𝙰????

All caps. Multiple exclamation points. Some things never change.

Before you can respond, another message:

𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐤: 𝚆𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞?? 𝚆𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚊?? 𝙸 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝙰𝙻𝙻 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚝𝚜! ヽ(°〇°)ﾉ

And then another:

𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐤: 𝚆𝚊𝚒𝚝 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚒𝚗 𝙾𝚜𝚊𝚔𝚊 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚗𝚘𝚠?? 𝙻𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚁𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃 𝙽𝙾𝚆???

You stare at the screen, a strange mixture of irritation and something warmer swirling in your chest.

Of course he texts like an overcaffeinated teenager. Of course he uses those stupid Japanese emoticons. Of course he still calls you that ridiculous nickname.

You type back, deliberately keeping it casual:

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚈𝚎𝚊𝚑, 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚖𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗. 𝙸’𝚖 𝚒𝚗 𝚃𝚎𝚗𝚗𝚘𝚓𝚒. 𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊 𝚓𝚘𝚋 𝚝𝚘𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚠 𝚊𝚝 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚔𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚎. 𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚎𝚜, 𝚁𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃 𝙽𝙾𝚆, 𝚊𝚜 𝚘𝚙𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚎𝚡𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚝.

The reply is instant:

𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐤: 𝚃𝙴𝙽𝙽𝙾𝙹𝙸?! 𝙸’𝚖 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝟷𝟻 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚜 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎! 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝙸𝚂 𝙵𝙰𝚃𝙴, 𝙲𝙰𝙿𝚈! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

You roll your eyes so hard it almost hurts.

Fate. More like unfortunate coincidence.

Your stomach chooses that moment to growl loudly, reminding you of the original purpose of this ill-advised communication.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚂𝚘... 𝚏𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜? 𝙿𝚛𝚎𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚢 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗 𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚊𝚗 𝙴𝚗𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚑 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚞.

Three dots appear, disappear, appear again. Then:

𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐤: 𝙸 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚍𝚘 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚍! 𝙸’𝚕𝚕 𝚂𝙷𝙾𝚆 𝚢𝚘𝚞! 𝙸 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚋𝚎 𝚊𝚝 𝚃𝚎𝚗𝚗𝚘𝚓𝚒 𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚒𝚗 𝟸𝟶 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚜! 𝙽𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚑 𝚎𝚡𝚒𝚝! 𝙸 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙿𝙴𝚁𝙵𝙴𝙲𝚃 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕 𝙾𝚜𝚊𝚔𝚊 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚕!!

You stare at the message in horror.

No. Absolutely not.

You did not sign up for actually seeing him tonight. You're not mentally prepared. Your hair is unwashed, you're wearing your oldest t-shirt, and you haven't slept properly in three days.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝙸 𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚗’𝚝 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚗 𝚝𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝙹𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚊.

𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐤: 𝚃𝙾𝙾 𝙻𝙰𝚃𝙴! 𝙰𝚕𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚢 𝚙𝚞𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚗 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚎𝚜! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝙷𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚘𝚔, 𝙸’𝚖 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜. 𝙸’𝚖 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚘 𝚘𝚞𝚝.

𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐤: 𝚆𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚍𝚒𝚍 𝙲𝚊𝚙𝚢 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚞𝚙? ヽ(°〇°)ﾉ 𝚂𝚎𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚒𝚗 𝟷𝟿 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚜!

You throw your phone onto the futon with a groan.

This is exactly why you hesitated to contact him. The man has no concept of boundaries. Never has.

You remember how he used to climb through your bedroom window when you were thirteen because your mom said he couldn't come over until you finished your homework. He'd just sit on your floor, reading comics quietly, claiming he wasn't ‘technically’ visiting if he didn't talk.

You glance at your reflection in the small mirror above your sink.

Dark circles under your eyes, hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, wearing sweatpants and a faded t-shirt from a concert you don't even remember attending.

"Fuck it," you mutter, grabbing a somewhat cleaner shirt from your suitcase.

You're not dressing up for him. You're just not going to give him ammunition to tease you about looking like a zombie.

As you change, you tell yourself this is purely about food.

You're hungry. He knows places. End of story.

It's not because some small, traitorous part of you is actually relieved to have someone familiar in this strange city.

And it's definitely not because, despite everything, you're curious about what five years in Osaka has done to Jung Hoseok.

Sixteen minutes later, you're standing at the north exit of Tennoji Station, arms crossed over your chest, scanning the sparse Sunday evening crowd for a familiar face.

You spot him before he sees you.

He's jogging toward the exit, still wearing that stupid orange beanie from his profile picture, a faded hoodie hanging loose on his frame.

He looks... the same, somehow.

Different, but the same.

Like someone took the Hoseok you remember and just stretched him slightly, sharpened some edges, but left the core intact.

He hasn't seen you yet, and for a moment, you consider turning around and heading back to your apartment.

Pretending you never messaged him.

Starting fresh tomorrow without this complication.

Then he looks up, eyes scanning the area, and his entire face transforms when he spots you.

His smile is so wide it should be physically painful, eyes crinkling at the corners, hand shooting up to wave frantically like you might miss the only person having a full-body spasm in the middle of the station.

"CAPY!" he shouts, loud enough to make several people turn and stare. "CAPYBARAAAAAA!"

You want to disappear into the concrete.

Instead, you lift a hand in the smallest possible acknowledgment, your face already settling into the scowl that feels most natural around him.

He bounds over like an overexcited puppy, stopping just short of actually tackling you, which you half-expected him to do.

"Look at you!" he says, eyes scanning you from head to toe. "You look... exactly the same! But taller? Did you get taller? No, that's impossible, we're adults, we don't grow anymore. Maybe I shrunk? Did I shrink, Capy?"

He's talking too fast, shifting his weight from foot to foot like he can't contain the energy in his body.

Some things really never change.

"Hello to you too, Ott," you say, the nickname slipping out before you can stop it. "And no, neither of us has experienced a height change. You're just as annoyingly tall as always."

His grin somehow gets wider at the nickname, like you've given him some kind of gift. "You remember! You still call me Ott! This is the best day!"

"It's been five years, not fifty. I haven't developed amnesia."

"Five years, three months, and approximately—" he makes a show of checking an imaginary watch, "—twelve days, but who's counting?"

You raise an eyebrow. "Apparently you are, which is concerning."

He laughs, the sound exactly as you remember it—too loud, slightly high-pitched, completely uninhibited. "Come on, I'm taking you to the best okonomiyaki place in Osaka. The owner has a daughter who speaks some English, so you can point at stuff if you need to."

Before you can protest, he's already walking, gesturing for you to follow. You hesitate for only a second before falling into step beside him.

"That's the best convenience store—they never card you for beer. That place has decent ramen but the bathroom is sketchy. Oh, and never go down that street at night unless you want to get offered 'massages' by very persistent men in suits."

You're barely listening, too busy trying to process the fact that you're walking through Osaka with Jung Hoseok, like the last five years never happened, like you're still the same people you were back in Sydney.

But you're not. You can't be. Too much has happened. Too much time has passed.

As if reading your thoughts, he glances at you sideways. "So. Marketing, huh? Always figured you'd end up doing something with all those fancy words you know."

"It's just copywriting. Nothing fancy."

"Still. International firm. Sounds impressive."

You shrug. "They just needed someone who speaks English. The bar was pretty low."

He nudges your shoulder with his. "Classic Capy. Never take a compliment when you can deflect it instead."

"It's not a compliment, it's an observation. And what about you? Still drawing?"

Something flickers across his face, too quick to catch. "Yeah. Still drawing."

"Anything I would have seen?"

He lets out a short laugh. "Uh, depends on what kind of websites you visit."

Before you can ask what the hell that means, he stops in front of a small restaurant wedged between a closed flower shop and what appears to be a tiny bar. The sign is all in Japanese, and the windows are steamed up from the heat inside.

"Here we are! Best okonomiyaki in the city, I swear."

As he slides open the door, the smell hits you—savory, slightly smoky, with hints of ginger and onion. Your stomach growls audibly, and Hoseok laughs.

"Someone's hungry! Don't worry, Capy, I'll feed you." He puts on a baby voice, reaching out like he's going to pinch your cheek. "Poor widdle Capybara, all alone in the big city with no food."

You swat his hand away. "Touch my face and lose the hand, Ott."

He clutches his chest dramatically. "Still so violent! I see Osaka hasn't softened you at all."

"I've been here three days."

"Ah, so there's still hope!"

The restaurant is small but cozy, with grill tables where customers cook their own okonomiyaki.

An older woman greets Hoseok warmly in Japanese, exchanging a few sentences before she leads you to a table in the corner.

As you sit down across from him, the reality of the situation finally hits you.

You're having dinner with Jung Hoseok.

In Osaka.

After five years of nothing but occasional likes on social media and that one awkward coffee shop meeting.

He's looking at you with a strange expression, head tilted slightly, like he's trying to solve a puzzle.

"What?" you ask, immediately defensive.

"Nothing," he says, but the look lingers. "Just... it's weird, right? You being here. In my city."

"It's not your city. You just live here."

"Five years makes it mine. Three days makes you the tourist."

"I'm not a tourist. I live here now."

His eyes widen slightly. "Wait, for real? Like, permanently?"

You shift uncomfortably. "Well, the contract is for a year initially. But yeah, I moved here. Shipped all my stuff. Got an apartment. The whole thing."

"Huh." He leans back, processing this information. "A whole year of Capy in Osaka. The city won't know what hit it."

The daughter—presumably—comes over with menus, speaking in careful, slow Japanese mixed with English phrases.

Hoseok jumps in, ordering in fluent Japanese that flows so naturally you almost forget he's half-Australian.

His mom made sure he was bilingual from the start, but hearing it now, surrounded by the actual language and culture, makes you realize how much more connected to this place he is than you.

When the waitress leaves, you raise an eyebrow.

“Show off."

He looks genuinely confused. "What?"

"The Japanese. You sound like you actually belong here."

"I mean, I've lived here for five years. And I am half-Japanese, remember?"

You do remember. His mom speaking to him in Japanese when you were kids, though he'd usually respond in English because it was easier around you.

Another piece of Hoseok that feels different now, more layered than the boy you knew.

"So," he says, leaning forward on his elbows, "what made you choose Osaka? Of all the cities in all the world, you just happened to pick the one where I've been living?"

There's something in his tone—playful, but with an edge of genuine curiosity—that makes you look away.

"The job offered the best package," you say, which is true. "And I needed a change from Sydney. That's it."

"That's it? Not even a little bit because you knew your favorite childhood friend was here?"

You roll your eyes. "You weren't my favorite childhood friend. You were an annoying neighbor who wouldn't leave me alone."

"I was totally your favorite," he insists, grinning. "You let me read your diary once."

"I did not! You stole it, and I pushed you into a bush for it!"

He laughs, the sound filling the small restaurant. "Oh yeah! I had scratches for weeks. Your mom thought I'd been attacked by a cat."

"You were. A human one."

The banter feels so familiar, so easy, that for a moment you forget the five-year gap, the distance, the strangers you've become.

For a moment, it's just you and Ott, arguing like you're thirteen again.

The waitress returns with a tray of ingredients and begins preparing the grill built into your table. Hoseok watches you, strange expression back on his face.

"What?" you ask again.

He shakes his head slightly. "Nothing. It's just... good to see you, Capy. For real."

It catches you off guard, the sincerity in his voice.

You don't know what to do with it, so you fall back on sarcasm.

"Well, don't get used to it. I'm going to be very busy with my important marketing job."

"Of course, of course. The great Y/N, too important for old friends." He contorts his gaze in fake agony. "How will I survive the rejection?"

"The same way you've survived the last five years, I imagine. Without a single thought about me."

It comes out more bitter than you intended, and you see it land—a slight widening of his eyes, a pause in his perpetual motion.

For a second, neither of you speaks.

Then the waitress saves you by placing a bowl of batter on the table, demonstrating how to mix in the cabbage, meat, and other ingredients before pouring it onto the hot grill.

Hoseok jumps in, taking over the cooking and flipping the pancake-like creation with surprising dexterity.

"I thought about you," he says quietly, eyes on the grill. "I just... didn't know what to say anymore. It felt like we'd gone in different directions."

You don't know how to respond to this sudden honesty, so you watch him cook instead. His hands move confidently, sprinkling bonito flakes and drizzling sauce over the okonomiyaki once it's cooked through.

"Try it," he says, cutting a piece and sliding the plate toward you. "Best thing you'll ever put in your mouth, I promise."

You take a bite, and damn it, he's right. The flavors explode on your tongue—savory, sweet, umami, with the perfect texture of crispy exterior and soft interior. You can't help the small sound of appreciation that escapes you.

Hoseok's face lights up. "See? What did I tell you! The Ott never lies about food."

"The Ott refers to himself in the third person now? That's not concerning at all."

He laughs, taking a huge bite of his own portion. "Some things change, Capy. But the important ones stay the same."

You're not sure what he means by that.

You focus on eating instead.

The food really is incredible, and you realize just how hungry you've been, and for a few minutes, you both eat in companionable silence, the awkwardness fading under the simple pleasure of good food.

"So," he says eventually, "where's your apartment? Is it nice? Do you have roommates?"

"It's in the south part of Tennoji. It's tiny and depressing, and no, I live alone. The company arranged it."

"Alone? In Osaka? That's no fun. You should have called me before moving! I could have helped you find something better."

The idea of planning this move with Hoseok's input is so absurd you almost laugh.

"Right, because we've been in such close contact."

He has the decency to look slightly abashed. "Yeah, well... we're fixing that now, right?"

You're not sure what to say to that either.

Are you fixing it? Is that what this impromptu dinner means? Or is this just a one-off reunion before you both return to your separate lives in the same city?

"How's the manga going?" you ask instead, changing the subject. "I saw your blog. Looked like you were working on something."

That strange expression crosses his face again. "It's... going. It pays the bills."

"What kind of manga? Anything published?"

He coughs, suddenly very interested in arranging the remaining food on his plate. "Yeah, it's published. It's, uh... it's adult manga, actually."

It takes you a moment to process what he's saying.

"Adult as in...?"

"As in not for kids." He meets your eyes. "Hentai, if we're being specific."

You blink. "You draw porn?"

"I draw adult-oriented manga with complex characters and narratives that happen to include explicit sexual content," he corrects, the words sounding rehearsed. "But yeah, essentially, I draw porn."

Of all the ways you imagined Hoseok's life had gone, this was not on the list. The boy who used to draw elaborate superhero comics in the margins of his school notebooks now draws hentai for a living.

You can't help it—you start laughing.

His face shifts from defiance to confusion. "What's funny?"

"Nothing, just..." You try to control your laughter. "Of course. Of course that's what you do. It's so perfectly ridiculous."

"Hey! It's legitimate art! I'll have you know I've won awards!"

This only makes you laugh harder. "Awards? For porn? Like what, 'Best Depiction of a Tentacle'?"

He rolls his eyes, but you can see the tension leaving his shoulders. "Mock all you want, but it pays well, and I'm good at it. I have a whole fan following online."

"I bet you do," you say, wiping tears of laughter from your eyes. "God, Ott. Only you would somehow turn drawing dirty pictures into a career with awards."

He grins, seemingly relieved that you're not judging him. "What can I say? I found my calling."

"Does your mom know?"

"She thinks I illustrate 'romance novels,'" he says, making air quotes. "And we're both happy with that explanation."

The image of Mrs. Jung proudly telling her friends that her son illustrates romance novels while he's actually drawing explicit hentai is somehow both hilarious and oddly sweet.

As your laughter subsides, you realize something.

This is the first time you've really laughed since arriving in Osaka.

The first time you've felt anything close to comfortable.

Hoseok is looking at you again with that soft expression that makes something flutter in your chest.

You quickly squash it.

"What?" you ask for the third time tonight.

"I missed that," he says simply. "Your laugh. It's still the same."

“Well, don't get used to it. I don't plan on making a habit of laughing at your poor life choices."

"But you'll have to see me again to laugh at my future poor life choices," he points out, grinning. "So that means we're hanging out again, right?"

You hesitate.

The sensible thing would be to thank him for dinner, go home, and focus on your new job. Keep things casual. A message here and there, maybe coffee someday.

Not jump right back into whatever intense friendship you had as kids.

But there's something about sitting across from him in this tiny restaurant, the familiar rhythm of your bickering, that feels like the first real thing since you arrived in this city.

"I start work tomorrow," you say, neither a yes nor a no.

"Perfect! You'll need dinner after your first day. I'll show you another spot."

"I didn't agree to that."

"You didn't not agree either." He reaches across the table, stealing the last bite of your okonomiyaki with lightning speed. "Come on, Capy. You missed me too."

Too.

You narrow your eyes at the theft of your food. "I will admit no such thing. And you'll pay for taking my food."

"See? Violent as ever." He beams like your threat is the greatest compliment. "I'll pick you up after work tomorrow. Where's your office?"

Before you can protest, he's already pulling out his phone, ready to input the address.

And somehow, against every instinct screaming at you to maintain boundaries, you find yourself telling him.

He walks you back to your apartment building later.

And it’s not because you wanted to (you said no multiple times). But he insisted on seeing you home safely, ‘because Osaka can be confusing at night.’

So now here you are, both walking, side by side whilst keeping a deliberate distance between you.

Most shops are closed by now, and the night air is cool against your skin, makes you nuzzle your sweater a little bit.

"This is me," you say, stopping in front of your building.

It looks even more depressing at night, the lighting in the lobby flickering slightly.

Hoseok looks up at the building, assessing. "Not bad. Kind of reminds me of my first place here."

"Let me guess, you live somewhere amazing now, with your fancy porn money?"

He laughs. "Nah, still in a pretty basic apartment. Just with more bookshelves for all my manga research."

He waggles his eyebrows suggestively at 'research.'

You roll your eyes. "Gross."

"You love it."

"I do not."

He grins, rocking back on his heels. "So, tomorrow. After work. I'll meet you at your office at... what time do you finish?"

"I don't know yet. And I didn't agree to tomorrow."

"Text me when you know," he says, completely ignoring your protest. "I'm free all evening."

You should say no. You should set boundaries now, before this becomes a thing.

But the thought of coming back to your empty apartment after your first day at a new job in a foreign country...

"I'll text you," you concede. "But no promises."

His smile is annoyingly triumphant. "That's all I ask, Capy."

There's an awkward moment where neither of you seems to know how to say goodbye.

In the past, you might have shoved him, or he might have ruffled your hair.

Now, you stand a careful three feet apart, the years between you like a physical barrier.

"Well. Thanks for dinner," you say finally. "And the recommendation. It was good."

"Anytime. Seriously." There's that sincerity again, throwing you off-balance. "It's really good to see you, Y/N."

The use of your actual name instead of the nickname startles you.

You look at him—really look at him—for the first time all night. There are new lines around his eyes when he smiles. His hair is different under that beanie, longer than he used to wear it. He's thinner than you remember, or maybe just more angular.

But his eyes are the same, dark and warm and always, always watching you too closely.

"Yeah," you say, before you can think better of it. "You too, Hoseok."

His smile softens into something different, something that makes your stomach do a strange little flip. You quickly look away.

"Goodnight, Ott," you say, already turning toward the building entrance. "Don't get lost on your way home."

"Goodnight, Capy," he calls after you. "Sweet dreams about your first day in the big, scary office!"

You flip him off without looking back, his laughter following you as you enter the building.

Inside your apartment, you lean against the closed door, releasing a breath you didn't realize you were holding.

The space feels even smaller after being out in the city, the silence more pronounced.

Your phone beeps with a message:

𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐤; 𝙼𝚊𝚍𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚑𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚏𝚎! 𝙸𝚗 𝚌𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚍 (𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚎𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎). 𝙶𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚕𝚞𝚌𝚔 𝚝𝚘𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚠! 𝙶𝚊𝚗𝚋𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎!!! ヽ(°〇°)ﾉ"

You stare at the screen, torn between annoyance and something dangerously close to affection.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚜𝚗’𝚝 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚍. 𝚈𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚊 𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚜𝚞𝚙𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚍𝚕𝚢 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚒𝚝𝚢.

Three dots appear immediately.

𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐤: 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚍. 𝙰𝚍𝚖𝚒𝚝 𝚒𝚝. 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚖𝚎𝚎𝚎𝚎𝚎.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝙶𝚘𝚘𝚍𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝, 𝙷𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚘𝚔.

𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐤: 𝙶𝚘𝚘𝚍𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝, 𝙲𝚊𝚙𝚢! 𝚃𝚎𝚡𝚝 𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚠! 𝙳𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚎𝚝! 𝙸’𝚕𝚕 𝚌𝚛𝚢 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚎𝚝! 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚕 𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚜!!

You put the phone down without responding, but there's a small smile tugging at your lips that you can't quite suppress.

Tomorrow you start your new job. Tomorrow you begin the life you came to Osaka for. Tomorrow everything gets real.

But tonight, for just a few hours, it felt like maybe you weren't completely alone in this strange new city. Like maybe there was one person who still knew you, even after all this time.

You're not sure if that's comforting or terrifying.

Probably both.

if you liked this chapter, please consider buying me a coffee!! ♡'･ᴗ･'♡ https://ko-fi.com/jungkoode

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saeun · 2 years ago

Text

professional guide on how to boyfriend jujutsu kaisen ( men ).

⤹ list ﹢ gojō satoru, sukuna ryōmen, chōsō.

﹙ syn ﹚ having near-to-zero experience with serious romantic relationships, it's time to teach them how to romance. the journey won't be easy, but the results will hopefully be fruitful.

extra. songs: betcha (bbh), seven (jk), very nice (svt).

week one : how to flirt as if you were shakespeare. note. refrain from using big words because they sound ‘cool’.

GOJO SATORU — "you're hating on my vocabulary?"

slowly, but very surely, you can feel your stress-meter rise to its peak. if someone were to animate your current expression, there will be three veins protruding out on your forehead to show your stress. it's almost as if it's second-nature for satoru to be annoying. he isn't doing it on purpose, unfortunately, it's just the way he is.

i should've ignored his call, a voice in your head speaks, i really should've. you were enjoying your own presence, simply lazing around during your off-day when three rings disrupted the peace. groaning, you reluctantly picked it up.

"hello—"

"come to enha's bakery, PLEASE," satoru's rushed voice spoke, immediately ending the call after his request-demand.

annoyance dawned and slowly transitioned into confusion. first, he needs to fix his habit of cutting you off. second, with the tone of his voice, maybe you should go.

big mistake.

not only was he chewing your ears off with talking, he also ate half of your pastry. you weren't able to get a full sentence in, he just kept going. dressed in suit and tie, hair styled and gelled up, satoru looked handsomely professional. according to what you've gathered from his rambling, he's been set up with one of the higher ups' daughter for business purposes. he needs to woo her or he's gonna lose a significant amount of pay. the problem? well, his flirting skills aren't all that. his confidence can help him, but it'll only help for a fraction of the date.

"what's the issue? you're handsome," you started, sliding your pastry back to you. "you should be able to woo her with your face alone."

"you are not wrong—"

"i'm never wrong," you cut him off.

"let me speak. anyway, i was informed that she isn't one for looks alone. i don't care about her, but she's the daughter of some high fucker," his voice reeked of defeat.

you weren't well-knowledged in satoru's field of work, but you knew he had it against the "higher ups." well, you had no choice but to know. satoru often thought of you as someone he can be free with — so, in conclusion, you were the victim of his word-vomit moments.

the two of you fell silent, thinking about solutions to save satoru. eyeing the pastry, you pondered your brain. there has to be a way to help satoru. perhaps some walkie-talkies? no, those are too loud. follow him into the restaurant and monitor his behaviour? no, that's too much work. crash his date and ask him why he's cheating on you? no, that'll probably end in your death.

satoru himself is deep in thought, already annoyed at the date that's going to become the bane of his existence in eight hours from now. should he bring you with him? maybe, but you'll deny his offer. should he ask you to pretend to be his girlfriend? no, he'd rather ask without the "pretend."

oh he's fucked.

i'm so fucked.

"wait," you leaned into the table, sporting an expression that says 'i have an idea'.

"yes?" satoru mirrors you, eyes speaking 'tell me'.

"what if i teach you how to flirt? we should have enough time to teach you how to boyfriend, right?" your idea was good. it turned the gears in both minds.

satoru opens his mouth but presses it into a thin line. there's an obstacle in the way of making this idea perfect.

"sounds good but.. the date's... tonight."

"you are fucked."

he nods at your response, feeling the salt rubbing in his wound. i guess i should just—

"but, if we go now we'll have enough time. it's 11AM, we can do it," you tapped your index finger twice on your phone's screen, showing satoru the time. if you move now, success is evident.

"let's go then," agreeing, he stands up, stuffing his car keys into his pocket and opening his wallet.

—

you've run out of pillows and whiteboard markers. the last two hours were spent either scribbling nonsense on a mini-whiteboard or throwing objects at satoru. the teaching isn't working. every lesson you've gone through ended in satoru's failure. is it on purpose? you hope it isn't.

"satoru, for the last time, that does not sound like a real word!" your hand slapped the table, physically showing your frustration.

groaning, satoru throws his head back, "you said use poetic words!"

"what part of scrumdiddlyumptious sounds poetic to you?!" you deadpanned at him.

he slouches further down the couch, grabbing his phone to search the word on google. it took him only one minute to find the word and its definition. raising up from slouching, he leans over the coffee table, stretching an arm out to show you the word.

"scrumdiddlyumptious — adjective · informal 1. (of food) extremely tasty; delicious. 2. (of a person) very attractive."

reluctant to admit defeat, you weaponized the word being informal against him, "it's not formal! you will not use it."

satoru's high of being right dies down immediately. his mouth twitches, eyes looking at you with disbelief.

"babe, you cannot be serious right now."

"babe, i am so serious right now," you mocked him, not thinking too deep into his nickname. there's no meaning behind it anyway. you, too, use babe as platonic name.

eventually, satoru tuned out your voice. he returned back to his previous slouching position, staring at you blankly as your words go in one ear and out the other.

it didn't take long for you to notice his dejected aura. does he hate it that much? you wondered, feeling a slight pity for him.

"don't worry, satoru. it's just one date."

"i will be worrying," satoru counters you, already sour at the date-to-come.

if he were to be honest, the date isn't the problem, nor is the flirting. he believes his flirting skills to be at a decent level. he also doesn't mind spending money on others. it's just that he doesn't want to entertain her. maybe, just maybe, if it were you, he'd be more excited.

you didn't say anything after him, only shooting him an annoying smile. seriously, you don't know what's worrying him. he's basically every girl's eye candy — not to mention, he looks so much like a boyfriend right now. that doesn't make a lot of sense, but if others can see what you're seeing, they'll understand. his white fitted tee accentuates his upper body's muscles, the black sweatpants do its job, his hair that's still styled, and the silver wristwatch on his hand. simple, yet sexy.

SUKUNA RYOMEN — "i'm too old for this shit."

sukuna, your sweet sukuna. your sukuna who's most likely weighing out which option is the better one to shut you up. he doesn't know why he agreed to listen to your rambles at midnight, but he's too far in to call it quitsies.

according to what you told him, you gained the idea of teaching him how to update his romance. it all came crashing to you when you were in the third-quarter of an episode of some random dating show. you blanked out most of the episode, not paying attention as the main objective of watching it was to not stare into nothing while eating.

the show itself didn't interest you, but the concept did. the participants were blindfolded, being told to use their judgement of character to choose their date. they'd have to rely on their personalities and voices to attract someone — a pretty neat idea. looks aren't everything. unfortunately, they might just be for sukuna if he doesn't work on his attitude.

often does sukuna act like he's a fifty-five-years-old office worker named penelope in the management department: old, easily annoyed, and always has something to complain about. you're probably the only human on earth who can handle sukuna for more than a day. of course, this is due to you being similar to him — if not then exactly like him. your attitudes fit together like jigsaw puzzle pieces.

sukuna's hands are clasped together behind his head, one leg raised on the bed, and torso out in the open for everyone to view. he's actively listening to you, giving his judgement here and there.

you're sitting with your legs criss-crossed, a pillow in the middle of your thighs, and hands speaking their own language. the habit of using your hands expressively when talking will never leave you.

"...so, if you were to find a girl, you neeed to be kind! no one likes a man with a stick up his ass," you warned sukuna, moving your index finger side-to-side.

"you do," sukuna says, raising an eyebrow at you.

unfortunately, he left you speechless — but not for long! you soon regained your speaking skills after realizing you don't have a good comeback.

coughing two times, you started your lesson again, "anyyyway, always tell her she's beautiful, gorgeous, breathless, or whatever. everyone loves a little compliment about their appearance!"

almost as if it's an automatic setting, sukuna replies, "what if she's facially challenged?"

"OH—" your jaw dropped. "sukuna, you can't just say that!"

he re-positions himself, this time laying on his side with his arm supporting his head.

"if someone's visually impaired i'm telling them."

you sighed, feeling disappointed at his brutual honesty, "what do you even mean by visually impaired?"

"they're ugly," he shrugs.

his tone isn't serious, implying that he's joking but you know he isn't. sukuna's a man of his word; the truth is what leaves his mouth every time. you shouldn't worry — you really, really shouldn't, but what if that's what he thinks about you? are you facially challenged in his eyes? you've gone silent, allowing yourself to drown in the thoughts.

sukuna notices your silence, sighs, and jabs your side with his foot.

"if you're thinking that i believe you're ugly, then stop," he begins, continuing the foot-jabbing-at-your-side-movement when you don't respond. "you're beautiful, believe me. you know i don't lie."

that catches your attention. you feel a sudden heat creeping up the back of your neck. keeping your voice low, you questioned him, still unsure of whether he's being truthful or not, "are you lying?"

"i swear," his voice is firm, reaching his free hand out to your thigh. physical contact to him is very important!

you return to the silence, only this time you lock your eyes in sukuna's. it's up to you to believe whether he's lying or not, and honestly, you don't care. you know he never lies, and you rather enjoy your fantasy instead of the harsh reality ( if he's truly lying ).

CHOSO — "man, fuck all that."

throughout your entire life you never expected to meet someone like choso. he is, in your words, a bitch boy. acts like a bitch, very expressive with his facial expressions, sarcastic, a male, and the worst of all, a little thief.

you humbly thought baking with choso would've been a good idea for celebrating the end of your finals. oh you were so wrong. he's messy, ate half the chocolate chips, and has been stealing spoons of cookie batter. when you confronted him, he simply said, "we can always make more," and shrugged. the audacity!

there's only so much choso someone can handle before they explode.

"you dumb fuck, how can you get a wife with this behaviour?!" you scolded, slapping his hand away from the freshly baked batch of cookies with a whisk.

he immediately retreats his hand, looking at you with an expression that says 'have you gone insane?'

"don't look at me like that," you warned, raising an eyebrow at his very well-hidden annoyance at you.

choso rolls his eyes, this time reaching the uninjured hand for the sprinkles. he sneakily slides the packet to him, intensely watching you to make sure you don't happen to see him committing such a crime. mouthing a little "yes!" at his victory, he empties half the sprinkles in his hand and throws it into his mouth.

"an’ wha’ if i ‘on't care about a wife," his words are muffled due to his mouth being filled with the sprinkles. he tries his best to hide the crunch sound, lowering his head each time he needs to crunch on some.

your back's still turned to him, simply too busy with monitoring sugar-soon-to-be-caramel on the stove.

"you're gonna have to care soon. you don't wanna die alone!" you nagged, making a point to him.

his right eyebrow raises at your words, lips ready to move at your hypocrisy, "you yourself said you don't want a partner!"

"at this point," you stopped, turning around to face choso. "i'm gonna have to teach you how to be a romantic young man."

"what are you implying...?"

"it's time for dating lessons."

"no, thank you."

unfortunately, choso has no say in this household. he had to listen. you sat him down on the chair, making sure he focuses with all his attention and doesn't steal any of the desserts. believe choso when he said he tried to take you seriously. he really did, but your messy apron along with vigorously hand-mixing batter with a serious expression as you talked his ear off caught him off-guard.

"sometimes you even have to get on your knees, choso! i'm telling you."

"i'm not doing all of that," he disagrees.

"oh, trust me. when you're in love you will," you spoke, resting the hand-mixer down to draw an invisible heart in the air.

he doesn't give you a verbal response. instead, he squints his eyes at you. when one's gone, another is born. when one stress is gone, another is born ( your nagging ). he doesn't like it one bit, but at least it's coming from you. he'd rather have you down his ears — whether it's by using your vocals or channeling your inner mother and scolding him.

#. ae-generated: jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk fluff #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru fluff #sukuna x reader #sukuna ryomen x reader #sukuna fluff #choso x reader #choso fluff #choso x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo x you #sukuna x you #jjk x fem!reader

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essycogany · 5 months ago

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Justice For Amy Rose

My first long character analysis that isn't about Sonic and is very controversial. Let’s see how this ramble pile goes!

If you want to see a better structured analysis I’ll recommend this video. I’m basically saying the same stuff but with added-on clarifications.

No one has to agree with me but keep in mind I didn't grow up with this franchise, so my opinions are all over the place. A good thing is you don't have to worry about any biases from me. Now, onto my loveable pink hegie!

Amy is misunderstood to be written as this one note girl who’s only character trait is to love Sonic. People usually say she’s now strong, confident, a leader, capable, and is her own character and I agree. But she’s always had those good traits. Was Amy always well written? No! Do I think it could be a sign of her being inconsistent? Absolutely! Here’s just a few examples of her best moments in the past.

Sonic X’s best moments were whenever Amy genuinely wanted to help people or stand up for them. The episode where Amy gives Sonic a bracelet to make him feel protected is incredibly thoughtful. There were also times she led the group even though she wasn't supposed to. It's a flaw, not many people talk about, but it’s a part of her. It’s also a trait that is most shown in Sonic Boom and Prime. (From what little we saw of it) Also Team Rose exists, so she's always been a leader.

-In the Japanese version of the show Amy has a whole life goal that has nothing to do with Sonic. She wanted to own a restaurant someday.

Sonic Adventure has good moments too. Her reason for wanting to be with Sonic isn’t because “She wants to see his handsome face” but because she’s bored out of her mind. Then Amy helps a little Flikey despite the fact she would’ve been safer by not doing that. Amy’s interactions with Gamma impacted the robot to the point of him sacrificing himself to free a Bird he needed to stay alive. This shows how much dedication Amy has to doing the right thing even when she doesn't have to. To top it off she got what she wanted in the end. A not-so-boring day.

In Sonic Adventure 2 she jokes around about marrying Sonic and acts like she won’t tell him about Shadow but does it anyway. Then she breaks him out too. Can’t forget about her moment with Shadow. With her positivity and most emotionally mature moment. Amy basically saved the world by doing that. I know some say “Anyone else could’ve done that,” but everyone else was occupied and Amy had the most patience (mind you she’s been left behind constantly in this game lol) to have a talk with Shadow. No one else had the time (and debatably wouldn’t have took the time) to talk with him.

That one moment in Sonic Heroes wasn’t Amy’s best moment, but I don’t think it’s horrible for two reasons. One, Sonic doesn’t take her seriously (same as SA2) and tells her this.

Yeah, Sonic figured Amy was trying to annoy him. Two, she made sure to continue the search to find Chocola and Froggy and stayed with her team until they were found. Even when Amy wasn’t written the best, she stayed true to herself in some fashion.

Anyway, back to Amy’s other moments.

In Sonic 06 Amy quickly bonds with Silver until he turns against Sonic. The moment she says “If I had to choose between the world and Sonic, I would choose Sonic” was never meant to mean she loves one more than the other. It’s meant to be a sign of how much Amy trusted her friend. And don’t worry Sonic Adventure shows her standing up for Gamma in front of the main person she’d usually trust. Sonic is not immune to her protective nature. She’ll go against him if it means making the right choice. Amy’s devoted to Sonic, but she’s not a blind follower. Heck, she’s even encouraging towards Elise and wishes her luck on finding Sonic. Despite not knowing Elise was looking for him. Amy is the definition of encouragement and I wish people could learn to appreciate her moments of being a kind and honorable person for those she cares about.

Did I forget to mention she saved the world AGAIN by not letting Silver kill Sonic which caused him to question Mephiles?

-I really love how Amy is so friendly to most characters. She is just as energetic when she talks to Birdie, Shadow, Elise, Silver, and anyone she meets as she is when Sonic’s around. The girl’s a total extrovert. It could also explain her alleged abandonment issues. It definitely explains why she’s so pushy. Even the prospect of being alone makes her worried and there are so many examples of this it’s crazy!

Almost every moment in Unleashed is Amy’s best moment. In my opinion, she’s written the best in that game. Amy apologizes when she thinks Sonic in his Werehog form was someone else. She doesn't even call him “ugly” or anything like that. Amy just leaves him be. Her compassion knows no bounds. She encourages Professor Pickles when he’s worried about the destruction of the earth and compliments Sonic at the same time. Amy even gives Sonic encouragement when he’s insecure about being a “monster.” Proving her love for him is (and never was) disingenuous or about a perception of him. Amy loves Sonic for Sonic. She even states this in her first appearance in IDW. This trait clearly wasn't made up on the spot.

By the way, has anyone noticed how much of a symbol of hope Amy is? Sonic IS truly an inspiration to her. Even Sonic Forces got that part of her character right.

Okay, so that was most of her good moments. Now what? Oh, yeah. Amy is not a stalker. She doesn’t constantly follow Sonic around when he’s not looking or something. That or calling her a “fan girl” implies she’s some random girl who likes Sonic.

Amy is and has always been friends with him. It’s also why she’s always so excited to see him. She even says “Long time no see” in Adventure. It’s a common saying for a reason. It shows how little these characters see each other and proves they mostly live independent lives.

Both Amy and Tails have followed Sonic in the old games too. Tails also finds Sonic all the time. You don’t hear anyone calling Tails a stalker. In Sonic X they and their friends all stay in the same house. This proves she’s not a stalker there either. Even if not always shown very well in the past, Sonic and Amy are best friends. I DO think the writers could’ve made their friendship clearer by having Sonic not act as uncomfortable around her, but that’s my opinion.

-Do you notice how in Boom, IDW, and other versions of Amy people commonly like are from material where Team Sonic includes her and treats her like she’s a part of the team? Instead of stories like in Sonic Riders where Amy has to find Team Sonic or Sonic Heroes where she makes her own group. Or any monument in the past where she’s either left behind or has to say “I’m coming too” and joins her friends anyway despite being left. I don’t think her friends meant any harm (and it probably wasn’t the writer's intention) but how the characters, especially Sonic treated Amy seems to affect how the audience at the time thought of her.

Another reason I don't think the writers wanted people to hate Amy is that usually, Sonic is blunt. He’s not the “I’ll just spare your feelings” type. Sonic is an upfront and honest character. He’d call Amy out assertively if he needed to.

While I won’t say Amy was written perfectly, I’ll chalk it up to her being written like a child. You know, how some little kids are always honest about how they feel? Like the moment in Sonic Battle when she’s talking about raising Emerald with Sonic. Kids play pretend all the time. I’m not excusing her moments of threatening Cream or any other questionable moments like in Sonic Rush. Sonic Freeriders is the biggest example and by far her worst appearance.

I will defend Sonic Riders. Sonic launched Amy into the sky with Eggman. Sonic isn't perfect either. Her anger wasn’t agreeable but justifiable.

-Also all Sonic characters have bad characterizations. A huge example is Shadow, but we don't define him by those moments. Amy should be no different.

Amy is meant to be exaggerated and cartoony. You know, like when Sonic and Knuckles fight or clash with each other. Same for Shadow too. They always fight, but it’s how their dynamics work. It’s never made to be taken seriously.

All of this was to say, Amy is a great yet flawed character. But I want people to know she’s always been a kindhearted, girly, silly, selfless, adventurous, loyal, and fun character people praise her for in Boom, IDW, and Frontiers. I wouldn’t say she’s “gotten better” because that implies she was never good to begin with. I see it more as the writing became easier for people to understand. The constant hate from the past has truly tarnished her reputation even today. To the point where her best moments are ignored.

Even though her love for Sonic is the cartoony and genuine part of her personality, it’s not the only part. No, Amy doesn't have to be romantic but other female Sonic characters exist for that reason. Amy is also a wonderful representation of a strong and confident character who is traditionally feminine at the same time. A good example is her being a literal comfort character because she comforts and protects everyone she comes across. She'll kick your butt for messing with her friends then help you with your emotional issues afterward. She'd make a great therapist.

My favorite examples of Amy's characterization are Unleashed, TMOSTH, and the IDW Sonic Riders Arc. Those are the main examples of how she used to be commonly written. It’s just the little things you’ve gotta pay attention to. Thanks for reading my less-than-organized rambling. Again, you don't have to agree with me, but I enjoy chatting with you lovelies. Hope I at least gave a coherent answer as to why people always loved Amy Rose!

Stay Creative! 💜

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