#he had a problem and he found a solution

[1988-fiend]

He wanted pop tarts and he made it happen. This is epic 💓

[agalychnisspranneusroseus]

Imagine you're Mr. Wu and your weird gay daughter runs away in tears after destroying some unespecified object while yelling about you ruining her life. Because you told her you'd be moving to another state. This is the last time you see your daughter in half a year, and when she comes back, she comes back... wrong. She's wearing a light leather armor, a fur-lined cape, and a green flower crown. She has two long scars, one alongside her spine and the other along her chest, the tissue around them covered in burn scars. Doctors say she shouldn't have survived. Doctors say she didn't. Yet she's right here, in front of you, hospital gown clinging to her small, fragile, trembling frame. She fidgets with her hands. Getting her to stay still has always been difficult, but now it seems impossible. She won't let go of her phone. She's always texting her two friends. When you take it away, she gets anxious. You always knew those damn phones cause kids to act weird, but your kid having a panic attack seems too extreme, even for her. Then again, she's always been odd. Nowadays, she wakes up crying and screaming almost every night, and you realize she's been stealing her phone from your bedside drawer every night to text her friends, returning it before you wake up. You catch her once and decide to give her that damn phone back. It's the only thing that calms her down, as if she were a baby with a pacifier. She spends her last weeks in LA clinging to her friends, having sleepovers and playing her weird board games with them. Everytime they drop her back at her house, there's an excessive amount of hugs and tears. But the moments when they call her, or when she leaves to meet with them, or when they show up at their door to pick her up... those are the only moments in which you see her happy. One of her friends, the rude and disobedient one, came back with a big scar on her face. She's been acting a lot nicer, though. The other one too. She acts a great deal more adult now. You doesn't know what happened or where your daughter went. She won't tell you. But you can tell this friendship is the only thing keeping her afloat right now. Maybe you know, deep down, that no one else would understand.

And then you decide to move anyway because fuck her amirite

[greenerteacups]

thoughts on Ginny and Harry as a couple?

There are a lot of people who find their romance in HBP forced. I don't think it's forced so much as underwritten, and the books don't get the chemistry quite right (though the movies certainly don't, either). There's potential, but they just don't get enough actual scenes of substance (besides Harry thinking she's pretty or feeling jealous of Dean) for a lot of readers to buy that they're not only in love, but deeply enough in love to break up, get back together, and wind up married.

That's not to say I don't see the appeal. There's a very cool scene in Book 5 where Harry's doing a woe-is-me-Chosen-One act, and Ginny effortlessly puts him in his place about it by reminding him that she was possessed by Voldemort at eleven, which is a rare glimpse into her character and also a great synecdoche for their relationship — Ginny is a grounding presence who, like Ron and Hermione, isn't going to be awed by his past adventures because she knew him before they happened. In that respect, Ginny's probably one of the few women Harry could feasibly wind up with, because he only ever seems comfortable around people (let alone girls) who can see past the Chosen-One schtick and treat him like a normo (see: Ron, Hermione, the Weasleys, Luna, Hagrid). True to type, he doesn't get interested in Ginny at all until she's ditched her celebrity crush and ceased to view him as an idol, because in his heart of hearts, Harry wants to be a normal boy, and it's stressed over and over that part of what he likes about his relationship with Ginny is how normal it feels. He kind of has a horribly supercharged version the celebrity dating problem: after the Battle of Hogwarts, anyone he meets is going to know him first as Harry Potter, Chosen One, Boy Who Lived, and Actually Fucking Resurrected Messiah of the Wizarding World, which is... I mean, it's possible that there are witches out there who could get over that, but Harry's not an extroverted guy, and I'm not sure how he'd go about finding them. Ginny's the one who's been there since the beginning, doesn't need anything about him or his past explained to her, and actually likes him for who he is.

When you look at it that way, it's not surprising he married his high school girlfriend. She's one of the few people still alive who doesn't see him as a demigod.

[jackass-jones]

To also go off of the point about cop!akihiko being annoying to me I gotta say that Akihiko as a character is very hit or miss with me because of how different adaptations of p3 will subtly alter his character. I felt like in portable with the femc route he comes off best, he’s a bit of a hothead with an obsession with fighting, but he’s overcompensating his strength so he doesn’t feel as weak and helpless as he’s been in many situations. He defines strength in a very literal sense, being physically strong and using that to protect others, but he’s lacking in emotional strength as a result. And in particular in this version I think he’s portrayed as a bit more goofy and sweet in a sense. He cares deeply for you as a friend and leader but he struggles with finding the words to describe how he feels. Hes kinda naive and gullible and has trouble noticing his surroundings. He has no clue what he’s doing but his heart is in the right place. I think he just comes off much more human and he has flaws, many many flaws, and that makes him all the more lovable

But then in other adaptations and spinoffs it’s like. They look at him through some hetero male bullshit filter and seem to view him as a lot more admirable and cool. Like in p3 dancing, theres literally an event where he’s talking with Junpei and Minato and they’re gushing about how perfect Akihiko is and how he doesn’t seem to have ANY flaws at all. And it becomes clear his inability to flirt with women just gets added as a way to make sure you, the Straight Male Player, don’t get insecure being next to such Perfection because at the end of the day, you’re still more charming and sexy than he will ever be because you’re better. It’s a “flaw” that’s only there to shield a sensitive male ego. And then in arena I mean, come on. He’s overly beefy and is a damn cop and travels the world and loves Protein™️ it’s his whole personality and he’s so clearly meant to be seen as hot but like, he’s just some shitty hetero male fantasy. Hes what the writers deem to be a Perfect Man that every guy wishes he could be, but don’t worry he’s still bad with women so you don’t gotta worry about him stealing your property- I mean, girlfriend!

And though I’ve not played reload and don’t really plan to anytime soon, judging from his social episodes they seem to have a similar problem. Akihiko comes off as a lot less approachable, like the year age gap is just too much of a barrier to get to know him properly. And he doesn’t have that dorky sweetness he has in portable, he’s just that perfect hetero male fantasy guy and don’t you fucking worry- he still has his protein powder with him

[voluptuarian]

finally figured out how to get my gothic romance hero/heroine in bed (officially) for the first time and Of Course it's happening on a cot in a storage room

[reasonsforhope]

Pictured: Luis Cassiano is the founder of Teto Verde Favela, a nonprofit that teaches favela residents in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, how to build their own green roofs as a way to beat the heat. He's photographed at his house, which has a green roof.

Article

"Cassiano is the founder of Teto Verde Favela, a nonprofit that teaches favela residents how to build their own green roofs as a way to beat the heat without overloading electrical grids or spending money on fans and air conditioners. He came across the concept over a decade ago while researching how to make his own home bearable during a particularly scorching summer in Rio.

A method that's been around for thousands of years and that was perfected in Germany in the 1960s and 1970s, green roofs weren't uncommon in more affluent neighborhoods when Cassiano first heard about them. But in Rio's more than 1,000 low-income favelas, their high cost and heavy weight meant they weren't even considered a possibility.

That is, until Cassiano decided to team up with a civil engineer who was looking at green roofs as part of his doctoral thesis to figure out a way to make them both safe and affordable for favela residents. Over the next 10 years, his nonprofit was born and green roofs started popping up around the Parque Arará community, on everything from homes and day care centers, to bus stops and food trucks.

When Gomes da Silva heard the story of Teto Verde Favela, he decided then and there that he wanted his home to be the group's next project, not just to cool his own home, but to spread the word to his neighbors about how green roofs could benefit their community and others like it.

Pictured: Jessica Tapre repairs a green roof in a bus stop in Benfica, Rio de Janeiro, Brazil.

Relief for a heat island

Like many low-income urban communities, Parque Arará is considered a heat island, an area without greenery that is more likely to suffer from extreme heat. A 2015 study from the Federal Rural University of Rio de Janeiro showed a 36-degree difference in land surface temperatures between the city's warmest neighborhoods and nearby vegetated areas. It also found that land surface temperatures in Rio's heat islands had increased by 3 degrees over the previous decade.

That kind of extreme heat can weigh heavily on human health, causing increased rates of dehydration and heat stroke; exacerbating chronic health conditions, like respiratory disorders; impacting brain function; and, ultimately, leading to death.

But with green roofs, less heat is absorbed than with other low-cost roofing materials common in favelas, such as asbestos tiles and corrugated steel sheets, which conduct extreme heat. The sustainable infrastructure also allows for evapotranspiration, a process in which plant roots absorb water and release it as vapor through their leaves, cooling the air in a similar way as sweating does for humans.

The plant-covered roofs can also dampen noise pollution, improve building energy efficiency, prevent flooding by reducing storm water runoff and ease anxiety.

"Just being able to see the greenery is good for mental health," says Marcelo Kozmhinsky, an agronomic engineer in Recife who specializes in sustainable landscaping. "Green roofs have so many positive effects on overall well-being and can be built to so many different specifications. There really are endless possibilities.""

Pictured: Summer heat has been known to melt water tanks during the summer in Rio, which runs from December to March. Pictured is the water tank at Luis Cassiano's house. He covered the tank with bidim, a lightweight material conducive for plantings that will keep things cool.

A lightweight solution

But the several layers required for traditional green roofs — each with its own purpose, like insulation or drainage — can make them quite heavy.

For favelas like Parque Arará, that can be a problem.

"When the elite build, they plan," says Cassiano. "They already consider putting green roofs on new buildings, and old buildings are built to code. But not in the favela. Everything here is low-cost and goes up any way it can."

Without the oversight of engineers or architects, and made with everything from wood scraps and daub, to bricks and cinder blocks, construction in favelas can't necessarily bear the weight of all the layers of a conventional green roof.

That's where the bidim comes in. Lightweight and conducive to plant growth — the roofs are hydroponic, so no soil is needed — it was the perfect material to make green roofs possible in Parque Arará. (Cassiano reiterates that safety comes first with any green roof he helps build. An engineer or architect is always consulted before Teto Verde Favela starts a project.)

And it was cheap. Because of the bidim and the vinyl sheets used as waterproof screening (as opposed to the traditional asphalt blanket), Cassiano's green roofs cost just 5 Brazilian reais, or $1, per square foot. A conventional green roof can cost as much as 53 Brazilian reais, or $11, for the same amount of space.

"It's about making something that has such important health and social benefits possible for everyone," says Ananda Stroke, an environmental engineering student at the Federal University of Rio de Janeiro who volunteers with Teto Verde Favela. "Everyone deserves to have access to green roofs, especially people who live in heat islands. They're the ones who need them the most." ...

It hasn't been long since Cassiano and the volunteers helped put the green roof on his house, but he can already feel the difference. It's similar, says Gomes da Silva, to the green roof-covered moto-taxi stand where he sometimes waits for a ride.

"It used to be unbearable when it was really hot out," he says. "But now it's cool enough that I can relax. Now I can breathe again."

-via NPR, January 25, 2025

[inbabylontheywept]

bad dating stories time: the shoe incident

so in highschool, my best friend wasnt allowed to go on dates unless there was another couple there to keep an eye on him. part of this was his parents being insane, but also, part of it was him being insane. in a problem with no reasonable parties, there are no reasonable solutions.

at some point in my junior year, my sorta-gf broke up with me, and i just wasnt feeling dating, which was bad for my friend, because he had a good thing going with a girl he met in court.

he kind of hounded me about it. kept pushing me to just put me feet back in the dating pool and i wasnt real thrilled about it, because i knew he was pushing me for his own benefit, not mine, so i kept telling him to fuck off, and after a few weeks of being told that i would date when i was damn well ready, he eventually said: okay. what if i paid for the date AND found you a blind date AND all you had to do was show up?

and i shouldve said no, i know, but i let him wear me down, and i will own my fault in that. a date starting on such a stupid premise could never have gone well.

but he still managed to find a way to make it worse.

i dont know how long he tried to set a blind date up. it couldve been multiple attempts. he couldve stooped to this immediately. but what happened in the end was that he called a girl from the ward he attended - a girl that he knew had a giant, mushy crush on him - and he said: hey! how would you feel about going on a date this weekend?

(you know, implying it was with him, but never actually saying it.)

and she said YES WOW I WOULD LOVE TO and he said great! and then he called me up and said he found me a date.

i did not learn about his crimes until several weeks later. i will die swearing before god almighty that i would never have allowed this travesty to happen if i had known.

that was on a monday. the date of the date rolled around that friday evening, and im sorry to confess, i really phoned the whole thing in. i showed up in my favorite comfy outfit, which was also a fashion crime: basketball shorts and flipflops and a baja hoodie. it was super comfy but it made me look kind of crazy. i picked him up first, and then i picked up his date next, and then we went to pick up my date, and thats where you're gonna get the play by play.

i arrived, walked across the yard, and knocked on the front door. she opened it almost immediately, like shed been waiting right by it, and i could see her expression go from OMG IM SO EXCITED to super disappointed, then disgusted and finally pissed. and because i didn't know about my friends sins, i thought it was from my outfit. which seemed... harsh. like, hey, im allowed to be quirky, fuck you. also its a blind date, i thought the deal was that we were both going to be sad broken sacks of mortality.

anyway, we looked at each other for several seconds before she slammed the door in my face.

i looked back at my friend. he was sweating bullets. i dont know what he expected from this, but there was this big long pause where we both tried to figure out what to do, and then the door opened up, and her dad invited me in, and he said she was gonna need a few minutes to finish getting ready, and that in the meantime we could sit and talk.

we did not talk. we did sit. i sat down on the couch, and he sat down in a chair across the couch, and then instead of talking he cleaned his pistol on the coffee table. i wasnt actually sure if it was a threat, or if it was just a fidget thing for 40+ year old republican men, but when i tried to help he got snappy so i just watched him put a pistol back together.

he was okay at it.

eventually my date came downstairs, still mad as hell for reasons beyond my ken, and i felt pretty guilty for being such a mess because i thought that was why she was so angry. i tried to make up for by walking her to the car and getting the door for her, just generally trying to be extra polite, but before i could make it back to the drivers side, her dad called me back to the door. so i flipped around, went to the door, and immediately regreted my decision.

soon as i was within range, her dad got waaaay too close to me, leaned in, and said "whatever you do to her, i will do to you," and my brain went into overdrive making three consecutive realizations.

realization one was, damn, the pistol thing was a threat. that sucks. what an asshole. realization two was, wait, im autistic and even i know theres a 0% chance me and my date even hold hands, least of all boink. does this guy actually think there's even a 1% chance of anyone in that car getting laid tonight? is he an idiot? and then realization three went through, which was wait, is this guy threatening to fuck me? and unfortunately, with my brain doing so much processing, my mouth was left to run amok, so somewhere between realization 2 and 3, i said:

"i can't get pregnant"

which, i swear, wasn't actually me trying to be a smartass, it was just me pointing out that he couldn't actually follow up on that threat. it just wasn't possible. we do not live in the omegaverse and im not scared of you.

still, it was an insanely catastrophic thing to say, and the moment we both heard it, we bluescreened. that single sentence obliterated both of our momentary streams of consciousness like a saltine in front of a sand blaster. problem was, he'd probably gone his whole life not even realizing someone could say something that stupid, and making that realization was going to cost him a lot of thinking time. me though? i had been saying shit like that for 17 years, i didnt have to rewrite my expectations of human nature, i just had to plan an exit and start striding. so i was already halfway back to the car before i heard "hey. hey come back. Hey. Hey. HEY. HEY WAIT. HEY GET BACK HERE. HEY-"

and then i was in my car, and i drove away.

if this happened today, he'd have called her, and the whole thing wouldve imploded then and there, but back then, there were still a decent number of teenagers without cell phones. especially the teenagers of insane, gun toting parents. so she just said: whoa what was that all about? and i said: dont worry about it, he'll tell you about it when you get home.

and she said: ok and went back to staring daggers at me and my friend.

WHICH SURPRISINGLY isnt even how the story ends.

we went to an improv comedy show, and it was a disaster. it shouldve been like, 7/10 tops, but between my date being mad, and my friend having a good time, and me having the existential terror of knowing that a guy with a pistol was probably waiting outside his house for me to come back, it was easily 11/10. i laughed way too hard at everything. especially the jokes that flopped. id sit there in this mostly silent room and laugh until i dry heaved a little, and my date was absolutely disgusted, and even my friend was a little embarrassed, which would just make me laugh harder. i laughed so hard that night i could barely talk the next day. and then the show ended, and my friend said, you know, that was a good time, but i think we should maybe do something a little chiller? who wants to walk around the park? and his date said yeah, and my date said no, and i finally had mercy on the poor woman so i said, look, im gonna drop you off. and i am so, so sorry about this, but im dropping you off like a block away. super duper sorry.

do talk to your dad about the pistols thing if you dont want this happening more in the future tho.

and she said: okay. so i dropped her off, and she walked a block down, and that was that.

then i drove my friend and his date to a park that was good for wandering. i figured they wanted something more private, so instead of following them around point blank, i chose a park with this 30 foot rope tower, and i climbed to the top and i said: hey i can see you anywhere from up here, you are officially chaperoned from a distance. get panopticoned idiot. except my friend really is an idiot, and he didnt really get the whole 'now i dont have to third wheel so insanely hard with you guys' thing so he climbed up the tower too, and then his date followed behind him, so there are three people basically sitting together on top of a telephone pole.

and then they started making out.

i was close enough to hear it.

i didnt really know what to do so i was just kind of sitting there, dissociating, when some college kids came around and started shaking the tower. my friend's date went aaaaaaaaaa im afraid of heights :( and my friend went oh, dont worry, ill hold you tight ;) and i went hey, im gonna climb down and ask them to stop.

so i did climb down, and i did ask them to stop, and they flipped me off, which i wasnt even mad about. at that point i was i was like yeah, it would be weirder if this wasnt a mess. gods plan has been to fly this day like a 747 into my metaphorical twin towers and brother he is close enough for me to see him grinning through the cockpit window. still, eventually the college students got bored, so they climbed up the tower, which gave my friend and his date a window to climb down, and together we walked back to my car.

now, i cant explain why this is, but sitting back in the drivers seat was my carriage-back-into-a-pumpkin moment. i'd been chill about all the chaos, just rolling with the punches, but sitting down made me realize how much of a shitshow the day had been, and while i couldnt go back and fix all of it, i could go back and fix one thing.

so i told my friend and his date, hey, you two, stay here and don't do anything weird. don't. then i walked back to the rope tower, and i started picking up the shoes the college students had left at the base in order to climb.

about halfway through this, i realized that if i took all their shoes, they might think i was in it for the money, and i actually wanted them to know i was in it specifically to spite them. fuck those guys. so i put all the right shoes back, gave myself a 100 foot headstart, yelled "nice shoes, assholes", did a little jig, and started running.

my advice to everyone is that college students are faster than you think. even with the headstart, and the whole climb down the tower thing, i was still only fivish seconds ahead of them by the time i got to my car. i flung the door open, looked in the backseat, didnt see anyone, flung the stolen shoes in the backseat, heard two "ow"s, took that as proof of presence, jumped in and pealed out of the lot.

my friend and his date popped up a few seconds later. they were, uh, doing something weird in the back seat. my one request - obliterated.

they climbed up to ask where the hell all the shoes had come from, and i was like yeah i stole them from the college students, and they were like oh. cool. hope you had fun. and i was like, i did. i did. but speaking of fun, what were you doing back there?

and for the first time in my buddies life, i think he was actually embarassed.

[humanjarvis]

a closer look

synopsis: every time you try to take your relationship to the next level, you always shy away at the last second. lucky for you, dr. zayne has a solution!

tags: inexperienced reader & zayne, soft dom zayne, reader fears penetration at first, zayne sets up a surgical camera so she can watch him finger her, vaginal fingering (duh), “anatomy” “lesson,” praise, “good girl,” improper use of hospital assets  pairing: zayne x fem reader word count: 2.3k

a/n: this came to me in a dream. enjoy

“Have I given you reason to be afraid of me?” Zayne asks you softly, attentive gaze trailing down your stiff body.

“N-no!” you blurt, thrusting your hands out in mortification. “You haven’t, I swear you haven’t. This is just…new to me.”

“Me as well,” he retreats from above you, moving back on the sofa to give you breathing room.

Just moments ago, you’d been writhing under him needily, his tongue plunging into your eager mouth as you groped each other with abandon. Spurred on by your initial pleas, he’d dared to take it further this time—further than either of you had ever been. But as his hand had traveled down your body, dipping just the slightest bit inside your panties, you’d gone rigid. Zayne, ever aware of your reactions, had stopped his movements immediately, looking seekingly into your eyes for answers. Unfortunately for him, once that cautious hazel gaze had found yours, you’d squeezed your eyes shut in embarrassment. 

“It’s nothing that you did, Zayne,” you sigh as you sit up, running a hand through your hair in frustration. “I know you’d never hurt me. I’m just…scared.” 

“Of?” he asks softly, and the way his kind face is void of any judgment makes you want to extract your brain and beat it for denying you the chance to feel him. 

Another sigh escapes you as you gather your thoughts. “What if it hurts?” you wonder shyly, fiddling with your clammy hands. “I always imagined it’d hurt. And there’s never…been…anything there, outside of medical stuff. That’s the only thing I have to compare it to.”

Nodding along patiently, Zayne extends a hand to you, pulling you to him when you accept it gratefully. “I’m sorry that you’re frightened, but I understand your hesitation. I’m content to just hold you in my arms, if you’ll let me. As long as it takes, I’ll wait for you.”

“No, I-I want to. With you, soon. That’s the problem—I’ll think I’m ready, but then the second we get close, I freeze up. I just don’t know what to expect, and that scares me.” 

Humming contemplatively, Zayne laces your fingers together. “I think I can help with that.” 

The usually bustling corridors of Akso Hospital are eerily quiet at night. 

Hurrying through them as if a ghost will jump out at any second, you scour the door plaques for room 429. 

I’ll be finishing up early today. If you’re able, can you meet me at the hospital this evening? Room 429, Zayne had messaged you hours ago. And with no other plans and a lingering sense of guilt that you know he’d disapprove of, you’d agreed almost instantly.

Combating pangs of confusion—he never asked you here at night, outside of official events—you don’t realize you’ve scurried past the door until the room numbers grow too high. Backtracking briskly, you tap the wood with two soft knocks before a calm “Come in!” beckons you inside. 

Room 429 is a standard hospital room—a large examination table, a sink and cabinets, and two simple chairs. At the small table near the back of the room—much humbler than the sleek standing desk in his office, you note perplexedly—Zayne sits, pen in hand, leafing through an endless stack of paperwork. Why did he move his office here for the night? 

“Great, you’re here,” he says, setting his pen atop a thick packet. “Take a seat.” 

“Um, okay,” you mumble obediently, heading toward one of the navy guest chairs. 

“Not there,” he calls. 

Turning to face him, you catch the way his eyes shift to the examination table. “Is this some kind of impromptu appointment?” you ask, his secrecy filling you with stubbornness. 

Zayne rises from the rolling chair that’s too small for him, crossing the room in measured strides. “Not a sanctioned one.” 

Before you can ask what he means, his hands are wrapping around your waist, lifting you up to deposit you on the soft table padding. 

“Hey!” you squeak, surprised but not fighting him. “What is all this? I had my annual checkup a couple weeks ago, I’ll have you know. And I won’t be your guinea pig, either.”

Zayne tsks with amusement. As he presses a button, a large black mount lowers from the ceiling, its sturdy hooks securing a small silver device. Another button, and the device’s tiny red light flicks on. 

And suddenly, your reflection stares back at you from a monitor on the opposite wall. 

Anticipating your interrogation, Zayne speaks before you can. “This is a high-definition surgical instrument. It’s used to help us see the body during minor procedures.”

You blink at him quizzically. “So…a camera?” 

“Yes. A camera. Repurposed for…recreational matters,” he quips with a slight upturn of his lips.

“You should know your own body,” he continues gently. “Exploring yourself—whether with or without me—is your right. And after last night, I figured…perhaps being able to see my actions as they happen would assuage some of your fears.” 

“You…when did you have time to…?” you trail off, staring up at him in wonder. 

“I believe I told you I finished my work early today. This was the reason,” he reveals. Even with you perched on the examination table, Zayne’s imposing height exceeds yours. His assurance is a warm blanket as he stands beside you, resting a large palm on your bent knee. “I’d like to help you explore yourself now. Will you allow me to?”

With a heavy gulp—more from anticipation than nerves, you realize—you nod your consent meekly.

“I don’t know what that means, darling. Can you give me words?”

“Yes,” you exhale shakily. “Help me. Please.”

Smiling softly, pride flashing across his face, he leans in to kiss you sweetly. Then, reaching up to bring the camera closer, he angles it toward your lower body. On the far wall, the feed is dangerously close to revealing what lies beneath your skirt. 

“I’ll raise this,” he says, lifting the fabric with care. “And these…will need to come off,” he eyes you, gesturing to your thin cotton panties. 

For a moment, you debate removing them yourself. But if this was about overcoming fears….

“Can you do it, Dr. Zayne? I wouldn’t want to get in the way,” you whisper coyly. 

His eyes widen as he pauses. Then, collecting himself, he inches his hands forward to tug at the sides of your panties, sliding them down with precision. “Of course,” he says softly. “I’ll take care of you.” 

As he sets his eyes on your naked cunt for the first time, Zayne shows admirable restraint, looking away after only a few tense seconds. Some hypocritical, eager-to-please part of you would almost be offended, if not for his tells: his quickened blinks, heavy breaths, and fidgeting fingers. 

“I’ll get started now,” he exhales, voice husky with veiled desire. “You’re free to stop me at any time.”

And as you gaze at him with trust and only a little bit of fear, Zayne begins. 

“This is your pelvic bone,” he gestures slowly. “It supports your body weight.” 

The warmth of someone else’s hand on your bare hip is a foreign feeling. Foreign, but not bad, you decide, relaxing under his touch. 

“The mons pubis,” he continues, hands ghosting over the mound beneath your belly. 

“And this,” he murmurs, spreading your folds carefully, “is your pretty little pussy.” 

The word—in here, from him, in reference to you—is so scandalous it makes you gasp. You try desperately to avoid his gaze, eyes flitting across the room in panicked arousal, but you don’t find the reprieve you’re looking for. 

Because on that far wall, looking back at you tauntingly, is the velvety skin of your most private part, glistening with your growing desire. 

Snapping you out of your staring contest, Zayne taps the flesh of your thigh twice. “Open, please. Wider.” 

Swallowing thickly, you oblige.  

“Good,” he praises, tracing your exposed entrance with an elongated index finger. “This is where I’ll touch you. Is that alright?”

Through heavy drags of air, you forget his earlier instructions, nodding quickly as your answer. When all he does is lift a brow, a teasing smirk playing on his lips, you hazily remember his request. “Yes,” you whimper apologetically. “It’s alright.”

“Well, then. Suck,” he orders simply, holding his finger to your mouth. 

The command startles you at first. But as you look between the man beside you and the far wall, recalling how frustrated you’d been with your fears last night, you part your lips slightly. Just enough for him to enter. 

Timidly, you circle your tongue around him, coating his finger in your saliva. Once he deems it wet enough, he taps your thigh again, and you release him with a soft pop. 

With half-lidded eyes, Zayne hums his approval, pushing closer to you to angle the digit at your entrance. “Hold onto me if you need to,” he whispers, pressing a light kiss to your shoulder.

And then, his finger sinks inside you. 

It’s one thing to feel the tension. To clench as a light, unfamiliar pressure pushes firmly inside your heat, claiming the untraversed territory with every inch. 

But as the discomfort subsides and you open your eyes, seeing it unfold is something else entirely. 

On the large screen, Zayne’s slender finger pumps in and out of you slowly, impactfully. With every exit, your pulsing pink walls hug his retreating digit, begging him to stay. And when he grants their request, every thrust back inside has them clamping around his finger, as if barring him from leaving them lonely. 

Watching with rapt attention, Zayne splits his focus between the monitor and you, gauging your expression for signs of discomfort.

But as your body melts with newfound pleasure, you sigh softly along to the rhythm of his pumps, eyeing the way he breaches your wetness with wanton intrigue. 

The way he disappears inside you, giving his body to yours…you want to kiss him. You need to kiss him. But the moment you lift your gaze to his lips, licking your own as you lean in, Zayne moves his face just out of reach.

“No,” he murmurs his denial, stroking your walls with added vigor as he turns your face back toward the screen. “Don’t get distracted.”

Grumbling your disappointment, you allow his hypnotic movements to recapture your attention. But before long, you’re curling into his touch. “Can you…m-more?” you pant, risking a longing glance up at him. 

“More?” Zayne repeats, slowing his pace to a deep probe that makes you writhe in impatience. “Is that something you can handle?” 

“Yes,” you cry, clutching his pristine lab coat. “Can handle it, if it’s you.” 

He hums contentedly. And a split second later, another long finger joins the first. 

Eyes glued to the screen, you see the intrusion before you feel it: his thick, united digits headed straight for your core. As he prods at the small opening, advances met with quivering resistance, you almost think you’ve asked for more than you can take. But as slick dribbles out of your squelching hole to welcome him, the fluid dulls the stretching sensation, and your fluttering cunt sucks him in greedily.

A loud, lewd moan has you arching erratically, and Zayne wraps a strong arm around your lower back to support you. 

“How does it feel?” he murmurs between steady pumps. “Are you still frightened?” 

“No,” you mewl ardently. “It’s good. You’re good. But I…” you pause, racking your fuzzy brain for the right words. 

“You what, my love?” 

“I can’t…I don’t think I can…like this…” you trail off with an embarrassed whine, hoping he understands your babbling. 

“Mm,” he nods sympathetically. “It’s natural that you can’t come from this alone. What a good girl you are for telling me.” 

With his free hand, Zayne leans forward to adjust the camera, centering it over your glistening cunt. Once satisfied, he flexes his thumb to rest gently on the twitching bundle above your entrance. “You know what this is, don’t you, darling?”

“Clit,” you breathe, the word leaving you in a garbled gasp thanks to the shocks of his feather-light touch. 

“That’s right,” he praises, kissing your temple while his fingers scissor lazily inside you. “This is how you’ll finish.” 

As your voices fade, room filling with the wet sploshes of your tightening walls, the force of his thumb grows heavier on your clit. You almost squeal as the pressure increases, instinctively lifting your hips out of the camera frame—to which Zayne firmly pushes you back down. 

“Watch,” he commands sternly. “So you’ll know how to do the same when I’m away.” 

Curling his other fingers inside you, Zayne rolls his thumb in devastating circles, grinding so deeply against your nub that it greets you with spasmic, greedy twitches on the monitor. For a moment, his movements are mesmerizing, his thumb drawing patterns on your clit in time with his measured pumps. But as he slips out his index finger to pinch your aching bud, the gushing slick heralding your release is the last thing you see before your eyes screw shut from ecstasy. 

As you writhe against him with thankful sobs, Zayne’s movements slow before stopping altogether. “It’s alright,” he shushes you. “Let it take you. You look beautiful like this.” 

And in the comfort of his reassurance, those sobs turn into quiet, blissful moans. 

You’re not sure how he does it—the sink and paper towels are on the other side of the room—but when you open your eyes, Zayne’s hands are clean. 

“I’m very proud of you,” he says gently, wiping a stray tear from your eye. “How do you feel?”

“Good,” you mumble, nuzzling into his palm. “You were right. Seeing it, knowing what you were doing…it did help,” you finish shyly.

“I’m glad. And in that case,” he adds, tapping the camera appreciatively, “I’ll ask around about the cost of installation in my home office.”

[ailithnight]

DPxDC Prompt #17

There is a room Danny's Keep he set up shortly after defeating Pariah Dark. It became necessary when the broader magical community realized Pariah had be defeated and therefore a new King took his throne. Danny found himself briefly bombarded with waves of attempted summonings.

Which, the summonings themselves, wouldn't have been so bad. Turns out people can't just drag the King of Ghosts to themselves on a whim. Danny has to actively accept a summoning to get pulled to it. And if he just decides "No," the pull and whispers go away. No problem there.

No, the problem is the offerings. And sacrifices. The things that people put in the circle as payment for even attempting to summon him. Like having to put a quarter in the payphone just to listen to it ring and ring and ring as the person on the other end of the call doesn't pick up. Since the summoning magic regarded these things as belonging to Danny even if he rejected the summons, they usually ended up just materializing in front of him if he didn't go to them.

Which, okay. It was funny that time he got to end a fight with Vlad very fast when a whole gold bar materialized and dropped on his head. And the food was nice sometimes when it was late and everywhere was closed and his parents had left samples in the fridge to contaminate everything into animation again. But the goat head dropping from the ceiling onto his desk during on of Lancer's English tests was not appreciated. Even if it did get the test rescheduled and the whole school shut down for a few days to investigate the "potentially satanic activity."

So, yeah, it was a bit of a problem. Fortunately, it was a problem with a relatively simple solution. Danny set up an inbox. With a bit of help from Tucker and Pandora, and a couple tips from Clockwork; all summoning offerings and sacrifices would now go straight to the dedicated room in the Keep.

And! As a special touch, the summoners would also get a chipper, automated voice saying, "The Ghost King you are trying to summon has more important things to do than answer you right now. Please leave a message in the circle with your name, date, location, contact information, and reason for summoning. The Ghost King will get back to you at his earliest convenience." Sam's stupid fancy girl gala voice had been perfect for that little message.

It was the perfect solution. Danny no longer had to deal with randomly materializing offerings putting his secret identity at risk. Pariah's skeletons, who had been antsy for something to do now that they were no longer bent under the thumb of a cruel tyrant, were instructed to take care of all the offerings; making sure everything was always cleaned up and put away. And all Danny had to do was stop by periodically to check in and "Officially respond" -ie, write a fuck off note- to the summoning messages (Clockwork's insistence).

A perfect solution. Up until Danny checked in one day to find the skellies pampering a whole ass boy. No. Not just any boy. Danny recognizes that costume.

"Why is Robin here?"

[coffee-and-geto]

BETWEEN FORMULAS, FLOWERS AND FEELINGS - SATORU GOJO

You are the imbalance in Satoru’s logical and rational reasoning.

pairing: nerd! gojo x student council president! reader

summary: being the student council president isn’t the easiest job in the world. It’s not like gojo — with his trademark glasses, his awkward smile hiding the most dangerous brain. because for him, he can resolve every problem, right? there is no formula that can escape his smart mind. not even you. so when he accepts to tutor you, could he really be sure feelings won’t become a new variable?

warnings: +18 MDNI, nsfw, smut, virgin! gojo, first time, oral (m! receiving), pinning, college AU, shojo vibes, quantum physics subject, slight angst, fluff, idiots in love, insecure! gojo, nerd gojo with glasses is hot, art by @/3-aem.

wc: 9,922

Ever since he was little, Satoru Gojo seemed to have been blessed with knowledge.

His very first Christmas toy — when he was finally old enough to have one — was a huge playset containing chemical transformation recipes to prepare by himself, using a handful of formulas and calculations.

When he turned ten, his parents gifted him a kit that allowed him to build his own electric train circuit, which he had to assemble using physics methods so that real electricity could power his trains — and sometimes even his cars.

By the time he reached middle school, scientific subjects like physics and chemistry became his second mother. Nothing escaped him. Formulas, molecular mechanisms, and chemical transformations held no secrets. This passion for complex methods shaped his logic.

For every problem, Satoru always found a solution. To him, the world was nothing but a set of solvable scientific probabilities, where nothing could slip through his grasp.

But growing up with barely controllable hormones… poor Satoru had experienced firsthand just how bitter that could taste, even at university.

The first time he asked a girl from his middle school to go out with him in his third year, Satoru never would have thought she’d laugh right in his face before calling him a useless nerd.

He didn’t let anything show. And yet, it was from that very day that Satoru’s glasses, his passion for science, and his own self-confidence betrayed him.

He decided to give up on feelings — classifying them as a deceitful, unscientific belief with a complete lack of logic, something better suited for grotesque purposes like the movies or romantic TV series that entertained uncultured people.

Satoru didn’t need emotions when logic always prevailed, never once disappointing him.

But upon entering university, he could never understand why — despite his silence and absolute discretion, buried in his studies — his cerulean blue eyes always seemed to find their way back to you.

You were the student council president of the school. Known for your upright mind, flawless organization, and a sense of justice so firm it sometimes bordered on harshness.

You had no time for anyone. You spent your days planning university events without wasting a single second — a notebook always pressed against your chest, and occasionally, a pair of glasses perched on your nose during intense activities like studying for exams or arranging event halls, which were regularly occupied by you and your staff.

What intrigued Satoru the most about you was your logic.

You planned everything, organized everything, all while maintaining grades nearly as excellent as his. You never wasted time hanging around with those ridiculous girls who would likely reject him if he ever dared to speak to them, and he had already admire witnessed you standing up for people like him — those trapped in their introversion and buried in their books — refusing to tolerate the injustice caused by the school’s most popular students.

A deep respect radiated from you.

Something Satoru refused to admit. Even though he knew you could short-circuit his brain in an instant.

Like that time when you had asked him for a pen at the library during your study session because he wasn’t far from your table. His face had turned crimson, and he could have sworn smoke was coming out of his ears. His mouth — so used to speaking with precision and efficiency — completely failed him in front of you.

The words got stuck in his throat, and the few sounds that miraculously managed to escape were nothing but incomprehensible stutters, earning him a confused frown from you.

In the end, he gave up on any attempt at conversation and simply handed you the best pen in his pencil case — his favorite. And he had almost silently prayed in his head that you would forget to return it so that you would keep it with you.

And he hated that.

This power you had over him — the way you made him nervous, shy, and desperate for you.

Just like in middle school.

Something he had sworn to leave behind.

~~~~

“NO, NO, AND NO!”

The event hall falls into a deathly silence as you shout your words with such force and vehemence that your fists crush the few sheets of paper still clutched between your tense fingers.

No one dares to move anymore — a part of the staff is busy moving boxes of decorations, two others are handing you papers to sign, some are hovering around you with questions, and others are amusing themselves by climbing ladders to place Christmas decorations — as if your scream alone has just pierced through the entire university.

With your jaw clenched, a vein pulsing at your temple, your cheeks flushed with anger, and your throat slightly irritated, you struggle to breathe as all attention shifts onto you.

“I said I haven’t decided on the organization of the Spring Formal yet, that nothing is supposed to be taken out, signed, or even requested until I’ve given the order, so what the fuck are you all doing here?!” you exclaim.

You push past the students in your way and snap your fingers at the two idiots fooling around with the decorations.

“You two — you’re fired.”

Then, you turn to the rest of the group handling the boxes. “If you don’t want to be fired too, hurry up and put that away!” Next, to the members waiting for you to sign papers. “Out!”

As the room empties in silence, filled with sulky and terrified faces at the thought of dealing with you, you take a deep breath before crouching down to the floor, burying your face between your knees, your arms trembling.

There isn’t much time left.

Director Yaga has given you a deadline to organize the Spring Formal, leaving you in charge of the theme, the venue, and the entertainment.

But, for the first time in your role, you are literally overwhelmed.

For the first time as well, no inspiration comes to you. The stress of classes, exams happening at the same time as the event date, your poor grades lately, and the pressure your team keeps adding on top of all that—at some point, you were bound to explode.

With all of this piling up, how are you supposed to manage?

That’s exactly what you asked yourself during your class that very afternoon, staring at your 40/100 in quantum physics.

With your heart sinking into your stomach, you hastily shove the paper into your bag, not caring in the slightest if it gets crumpled.

No one must see that the student council president allows herself to yell at her team while having such catastrophic grades. But your overloaded schedule no longer allows you to focus on your studies alone — how can you concentrate and stay organized when all you want to do is throw yourself out the window?

~~~~

“You need to register to require a tutor.”

“But I don’t need one.”

The male student raises an eyebrow. “So what are you doing here?”

You scoff. How dare he talk to you like that?

You’re in the library, one of the most soothing and stressful places in the world. You’ve had to find a way to get your grades up while you sort out your problem with Spring Formal, but in the meantime, you need to find a student who can tutor you without anyone knowing.

So what better way to find out than from the librarian’s assistant — who is also one of the Tutoring Center’s organizers?

“I need to know who’s the top student in quantum physics here,” you insist with a firmer tone.

Forgetting you’re at the entrance to the library, you purse your lips, a little embarrassed.

“We don’t have ‘top students’, prez,” he replies with a bitter smile — ah, so he knows who you are.

“So how do you help the students?” you ask with almost indignation.

He shrugs. “If you need help—”

“I do not,” you cut him off coldly, cheeks on fire as you adjust your bag over your shoulder. You sigh in annoyance at the student’s lack of efficiency.

“Then, how can I help you?” He gives you the most impertinent smile in the world, as if he’s just waiting for you to get the hell out.

You tuck a stray lock of your hair back behind your ear before rolling your eyes. “I need to talk to a top student in quantum physics, that’s all.”

The student looks at his fingernails as if they're the most important thing in the world and mimes huffing. “We don’t have any.” He looks up at you. “If you’re looking for one, there’s a nerd who’s the best in his class.”

Curiosity pricks the back of your neck, causing you to sit up straight. “Who?”

“Gojo, I think,” he said, frowning as if to remember his name. “Sato-thing, if I remember. Anyway, a nerd. You should know him, I guess.”

You shake your head, eyes almost squinting as you seek the memory of a Gojo name. But nothing comes to mind. So you shrug.

“What does he look like?”

“Albino. Blue eyes, nerd glasses, always dressed in a sweatshirt or shirt and he always has a book under his arm.”

“All right, thanks.”

Then you hurry out of the library and its oppressive walls, leaving the assistant to sigh with relief — as much as you do.

~~~~

“So, you are… Gojo Sato-thing?”

He has a little disappointed smile. “Satoru Gojo, prez.” With a nervous gesture, he places the strap of his shoulder bag back on his shoulder and adjusts his glasses, which slide down his nose.

You stare at him motionless for a few seconds, speechless at the all-too-perfect likeness of the Tutoring Center manager’s description. He’s got a book under his arm, a Digimon t-shirt over a dark blue plaid shirt and an innocent look on his face — he really wasn’t wrong.

You blink. “Um… yeah. Whatever.”

You check that no one in the corridor of the quantum physics wing has left any students lying around who might surprise you with him, then let out an exhausted exhale.

Faced with his 6'3, you owe it to yourself to raise your eyes and chin a little higher.

“I need your help. You're the best physics student in the class, right?”

He turns the toe of his shoe as a tic on the floor and nods imperceptibly.

“Perfect. I’ve got a little problem right now and—”

“Do you need me to do an assignment for you?” he says almost as if trying to divine your thoughts — is that hope you see in his eyes?

“No.” You knit your brows. “I’m having a problem with my grades and I’m swamped with my event responsibilities and I'm starting to get grades...” You chew the inside of your cheek to hide your pride before muttering, “...pretty bad. And I don’t feel like being given help publicly.”

In his confused expression, you add, “Otherwise it would be a real shame...”

From his height, Satoru’s shyness almost flies away in a gust. He’s got you there at last. In front of him. Talking about something. Like a dream come true — a reality where he no longer knows what his name is but whatever.

He even perceives a blushing creeping up your cheeks as you drift your gaze a little lower to your own shoes and your lips crumple into an adorably embarrassed and frustrated little pout.

Then of course he’ll help you.

He would give you more if he could, and he promises to himself he’ll do it.

“So you need me as your secret tutor?” he clarifies so softly.

You look up at him, clearing your throat. “Basically… yeah.”

“Fine. I can do that.” A small smile spreads across his pink lips and he digs his hands into his jeans, which are a little baggy for him.

You flicker your eyes, confusion animating your features. “Is that all?”

“Do you need anything else?” And you’d have sworn you saw hope still shining in his ocean-blue irises.

“What? No,” you retort incredulously. “But don’t you need something in return? Like, money or something?”

“...No,” he exhales, reducing his smile — though it still lingers. “I don’t mind helping you. Just give me your free hours so we can set a date. If that’s okay with you, of course,” he hastens to add, as if afraid of upsetting you.

Your lips part slightly. “O-Okay,” you finally say. “I’d like to do this as soon as possible.”

“How about today?” Satoru suggests, with a little more enthusiasm than he had anticipated himself. “Or even now, if you want.”

“Now?”

“Yeah,” he says with a happy nod.

“Don’t you think it’s a bit too earl—”

Barely ten minutes later, you find yourself sitting next to him once again in the library, which, for once, is not too crowded, pretending to have a casual conversation while, in reality, he is analyzing your failed test papers with an expert eye.

One elbow resting on the polished wooden table, one hand holding one of your sheets between his fingers, and the other with his index and thumb supporting his chin, Satoru lets his gaze travel line by line over your flawless handwriting—so much so that he forgets he’s supposed to be concentrating on helping you.

And not on the pretty way you write the letter ‘S,’ wondering how close he’d be to a cardiac arrest if he ever saw his name written by your hand.

When he finally manages to analyze the mistakes on your paper, Satoru straightens slightly in his seat, adjusting the collar of his unbuttoned shirt that suddenly seems to be strangling him with an invisible noose, despite his neck remaining completely free. His heart pounds at the speed of light — almost literally.

Calculations and formulas have always been child’s play for Satoru; his brain has always been wired for logic, rationality, and the addictive thrill of adrenaline coursing through his veins when he makes a new discovery, a new analysis that falls perfectly into place — like completing a puzzle and watching it come to life, or like a house of cards standing strong until the slightest imbalance brings it all crashing down.

You are the imbalance in Satoru’s logical and rational reasoning.

For Satoru, love is not a science. It’s just hormones that one must learn to control and not be fooled by.

And yet, even though he has devoted his body and soul to science, his heart will never cease to be yours — under your implacable and irrevocable hold.

Even with all the scientific weapons in the world, he will always be powerless before you.

With a flutter of snowy lashes, he returns to reality, setting his gaze on yours; persistent, waiting for him to say something, to give some kind of critique.

His mouth goes dry, heat rushes to his cheeks as he clears his throat, embarrassed.

“Well, uh... I guess we can start revisiting the notion of The Uncertainty Principle, if that’s okay with you.” He gives you a quick glance so unconfident that you restrain yourself from doing what you're thinking of: ripping off his adorable cheeks — adorable? Since when do you find nerds adorable?

“Okay,” you say, pulling a draft sheet closer.

As you move your chair closer to his to concentrate better thanks to the proximity, the effect is quite the opposite on poor Satoru. He nearly loses all composure when his trembling fingers close around his pencil.

“W-Well… Um, do you want me to give you a quick lesson on this again? You didn’t seem to grasp much of the concept.”

“If you can use simple words…” you mumble without much hope.

He swallows hard before explaining, “A rule in quantum physics says: you can’t know both the exact position and momentum of a particle at the same time. The more you know about one, the less you know about the other. Got it?”

You squint, uncertain, as you rest your chin in the hollow of your palm. “Mh-hmm…”

“So,” he draws two Delta symbols, each followed by an x and a p, then an equal sign, “this one represents the uncertainty in position while the other represents the uncertainty in momentum.” He leans slightly forward to clearly define the terms for you before breaking down the formula, trying not to sweat under the ghost of your breath caressing his hand because of how close you are.

“Okay. I don’t think I quite got all that.”

“It’s okay,” Satoru replies with a slight smile as he adjusts his glasses on his nose before returning to the sheet. “You confused uncertainty with actual errors in measurement, and you tried to calculate exact values for both position & momentum, which isn’t possible.” He draws an example of throwing a ball vs. tracking an electron. “You can’t pin down a quantum particle perfectly — it’s like me trying to figure out what you’re thinking all the time. Impossible, right?”

“...Right.”

“You don’t understand anything, right?” he sighs, a slight frown curling his lips.

“Honestly? Not a word,” you chuckle, a soft, honest melody that caresses his ears.

“Let’s make it more real for you, prez, then,” he snorts too, wiping away a big smile that deepens his dimples. “Imagine you’re running around campus planning this big Spring Formal thing. If I try to track exactly where you are at one moment, I have no clue where you’ll be the next second. But if I focus on how fast you’re moving between meetings, I can guess you’ll end up in the library… but I won’t know the exact second you get there. That’s basically the Uncertainty Principle — can’t have both at the same time.”

“Ohhhh, okay!” you say, a light illuminating your face. But a second later, your features drop. “But, wait… that doesn’t make sense. If we have better tools, we can just measure both, right?”

He chuckles softly. “Nope. Even if we had the best measuring tools in the universe, the universe itself won’t let us know both at the same time. It’s not a technology problem — it’s just how nature works.”

You groan, frustrated, and slump over your notes. “Physics is pain.”

He shakes his head, a lighter smile blooming on his lips. “You’ll get it, I promise. You just need time… and a good tutor.”

“You?” You snicker, but not meanly — just teasing him in this mood that feels so comfortable with him, something you never thought you’d experience. “You’re losing me more than I was before.”

You both sigh after a while, and he gives you a practice exercise, which you rush to complete so he can correct it.

For the first time in maybe weeks, or even months, you haven’t felt this light. Quantum physics has always been a difficult challenge to overcome, despite your habit of planning everything to avoid stress. But sometimes, doing everything alone has led you to not ask for help when you needed it the most.

So when someone reached out and showed you how relieving some of that weight could feel, the sensation sparked a desire in you — one that didn’t want this to end.

But you’re afraid it will make you dependent.

So it’s best not to get too attached, right?

~~~~

The following week, even though your understanding of quantum physics has somewhat improved, your stress refuses to do anything but skyrocket toward a full-blown anxiety attack.

Principal Yaga summoned you to his office because some students — the two you expelled last week — went to complain about your nervous and excessive behavior, claiming it warranted psychological support.

Outraged, you defended yourself by pointing out the inefficiency of your team, who fail to meet your needs without considering the mental load that comes with your responsibility as the student council president. And yet, that wasn’t enough to calm Yaga, who dismissed you with a stern reminder that if you don’t finalize the Spring Formal preparations soon, he won’t hesitate to replace you with a more competent organizer.

The mere thought — no, the haunting fear—of being replaced like a cheap supermarket doll plagues your nights with nightmares.

So, the obvious anxiety growing inside you bleeds into the most crucial moments — the moments when you’re supposed to stay focused instead of silently wallowing in your situation.

“Need help, prez?”

Ripped from your daze, you lift your gaze to the voice beside you, only now realizing that he’s been sitting next to you since the start of the lecture — completely unnoticed, completely ignored.

It’s Satoru, his laptop open in front of him, a small, friendly smile turned toward you—and only you. That tiny detail sends a strange, foreign wave through your stomach — not unpleasant, though.

“Oh, you’re here,” you mumble, turning your attention back to the professor.

“Since the very start, yes,” he replies, his voice softer now, tinged with a faint hint of disappointment as he twirls his pencil between his long, nimble fingers.

A silence settles between you, neither of you seeming inclined to break it.

In the lecture hall, only the sound of keyboards clicking and the amplified voice of the professor fill the large room. You try your best to follow along, scribbling notes as diligently as you can, but at this point, it feels like trying to form words by randomly pressing keys — you understand nothing.

“Need help?”

You slowly lift your head toward the familiar voice.

“You can explain it to me later, you know?” you mutter, careful not to let anyone else overhear your conversation — it could cost you.

“And we could save time by explaining it now.” His tone is soft, rational, kind, altruistic — every synonym that embodies maturity and gentle responsibility.

He’s made of sugar. Just for you.

You sigh, finally giving in with a nod, as Satoru flips his laptop into tablet mode to explain the purpose of the chapter — the name of which you’ve only just learned, despite an hour and a half of lecture on Wave-Particle Duality.

“So,” he says, writing the formula on his tablet with a stylus. “The general concept is quite easy. Quantum objects — like electrons — can act as both particles and waves, okay?”

You nod, leaning in closer to his shoulder to observe the definitions of the formula’s terms — a faint scent brushes against your senses. Clean laundry and a subtle drop of cologne. The scent imprints itself in your lungs pleasantly enough that you have to mentally slap yourself to keep from getting distracted from Satoru’s explanations.

He glances at you with those sharp blue eyes and raises an eyebrow. “You know what wavelength means?”

“It’s just for light, right?”

He snorts quietly. “Particles.”

“Oh.”

He holds back another laugh and continues his explanations.

Several minutes later, you find your eyes glued — no, entranced — by Satoru, this nerd with glasses that hide a brain far too brilliant for you. Maybe even for the entire university.

You notice it in everything he does — setting aside his physical appearance, which you’re starting to find cuter and cuter without even realizing it — every cell of his body breathes science, logic, the thirst for discovery. His brain analyzes every possibility, his fingers manipulate rationality, and his glasses help him weigh the pros and cons. His long, straight nose gives him an infallible instinct, a sixth sense that never fails, and his smile — his pretty, thin, pink lips—illuminate hypotheses with a dangerously innocent charm.

But he himself doesn’t even realize it.

“See? It’s like… imagine if you could be both a super serious president and a total mess at physics at the same time. Oh wait — that’s already happening,” he teases, a playful, cute smile blooming on his lips as he glances at you with sparkles in his eyes.

Oh, that damn smile.

And without meaning to, you join in his laughter, covering your mouth with your palm so as not to be heard as, for the first time in weeks, a weight is lifted from your shoulders. The little analogy that might have irritated you a few days ago seems silly to you. Why do it when he’s here?

The bell rings, announcing the end of class, and the hubbub of the students urges you to put your things away as much as possible before the teacher gives you more homework than you already have just to understand the lecture.

With your bag slung over your shoulder, you make your way towards the exit, at the end of the herd of students who have made you lose sight of Satoru. A little disappointment contracts your heart, but after all, why should he be waiting for you? There was no need. You’re not friends. Just two students who are nice to each other (well, mostly Satoru).

So as you walk out of the lecture hall, you almost come face to face with a 6’3. Your nose collides painfully with a hard, bumpy surface — wait, of abs?

Impossible.

A hand much larger than yours wraps around your elbow to steady you and meets your eyes down on your wincing face.

“Oops, sorry,” Satoru apologizes as his smile evaporates. “Are you okay? I just wanted to wait for you.”

Was it abs?

“No worries, I'm fine,” you assure with a smile as self-conscious as it is forced, one hand rubbing your sore nose. “That's sweet.” Then you look away to calm the blush that spreads like a puddle from your neck to your scalp and pray it's unseen.

“You sure?” he insists with a concerned frown.

“...Sure.”

Once your face has cooled, your eyes stare at the spot on his torso where your nose collided. That flat spot under the shirt that appears a little less to you now, seen up close. It's as if with every swell of his breath, you can see the beginnings of an abdominal bulge, but you shake your head to get this far-fetched idea out of your head.

Letting your hand fall back, you offer him a more confident smile and lead the way. “Shall we?”

With a slower nod, he follows you.

To bridge the silence between the two of you in the deserted corridors, you nudge him in the ribs and say, “You know, I still don’t get how you find physics fun.”

He feigns pain and smirks — does he only smile when he’s with you?

“I don’t find it fun, strictly speaking, but really very interesting. At least, enough to make me face my major.” He pauses to give you a teasing look. “And I still don’t get how you survive on four hours of sleep.”

“I am a vampire,” you grin stupidly, “I love working at night. I feel productive.”

“I see that. Your bags speak for you,” he chortles.

“For real?” you mouth, running your fingers over your dark circles as if to check his words when it makes more sense to look in the mirror rather than feel you up.

“Just joking,” he murmurs, dropping his gaze on the floor a second before looking up back at you. “But you seem very stressed lately, am I wrong?”

You don’t answer right away, reluctant to tell him about your doubts and what’s been bothering you for weeks. But you can. This is just two friends from the same quantum physics class strolling around campus at the end of a long day, isn’t it?

But maybe not close enough for him to be really interested in you? Maybe he’s just asking questions out of politeness and not out of any real concern for you. After all, you’re not really close.

“It's alright, just uni and student council stuff, as always,” you murmur with averted eyes. “We also need to plan our next tutoring session.”

“Yeah...” Satoru shoves his hands in his pockets and lets silence fill the gap between the two of you before resuming. “Maybe we could do it somewhere else this time, couldn’t we?” he offers without much hope in his voice.

You knit your brows. “What?”

“I mean... do you—uh, never mind.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Huh?”

He seems to chicken out and look away but you catch it before he could hide it — the tips of his ears are red.

“Nothing. Just... you’re really into this whole Spring Formal thing, huh?” he mumbles.

“Of course. I have a lot of work to do on it. But what were you asking me?” you insist with a softer tone and your hand wrapping around his arm — remarkably built, you note internally.

He finally twists his neck toward you to face you, lips pursed into a conflicted pout.

“You’re going to refuse.”

“You didn’t even try to ask,” you almost in a mid gasp and chuckle.

He runs a hand through his tousled snowy hair, then slips it around the back of his neck, rubbing it like a nervous tic. “I see that you’re stressed — even if you deny it. So would you accept to... maybe do work on our tutoring lessons in a better place?” He panics slightly under your unfathomable gaze, just waiting for the next part of his words. “I mean... I know a place where it could be less stressful and more relaxing because you deserve it... But of course,” he adds hastily, “it doesn’t commit you to anything and you don’t have to accept and we can totally carry on doing it at the library because really it’s just a stupid idea and I should just keep my mouth shut—”

“Satoru.”

His heart stops beating and he thinks his brain has short-circuited as he realizes it’s the first time you've said his first name in that tone.

Softly, reassuringly, and with obvious joy.

“Of course I’d like to work with you somewhere else. It means a lot to me that you thought of me like that,” you say softly as you stop in front of some stairs so you can look him straight in the eye. “I can give you my phone number and you’ll just have to send me the address, how’s that?”

Okay. His brain really has just short-circuited.

He doesn’t even remember how he managed to hand you his phone and record your number, wish you a good evening and return to his dormitory after being subjected to your beaming smile — of a particular radiance he’s never seen before on your face in all the time, however long, he’s spent gazing at you wherever you are — radiant even.

Lying on his bed, he stares at the ceiling. The silent night allows his thoughts to grow louder, as if several were trying to express themselves at once.

However, one image takes root in his eyelids when he closes them before sleeping.

You.

~~~~

“You shouldn’t have.”

“Do you really need to make this even more embarrassing?”

You shake your head. “It’s not fair.”

His features sag, and he lets out a tiny sigh. “Just please, accept it. I made it for you.”

At your feet lies a picnic blanket with red and white checkered patterns. On top of it are homemade sandwiches, cans of fruit juice, berries, cakes, and even a tub of ice cream resting inside a mini cooler. Satoru has even arranged the space to avoid a chaotic mess while working and has brought ultra-comfortable cushions to make the tutoring session as pleasant as possible.

He can’t do this.

Not with you, who arrived at the quiet, sparsely crowded city park, right under the most magnificent Japanese cherry blossom tree.

The cool breeze blows gently around you both, sweeping away a few strands of your hair that you’re forced to tuck behind your ears.

“Sit your ass down,” Satoru mumbles, looking away to hide an obvious embarrassment, though his hand pats the empty space he left just for you.

So, reluctantly, you sit cross-legged, grabbing a random sandwich — just so he won’t sulk — and try not to cry because it’s so ridiculously delicious. The berries couldn’t be fresher or juicier than any you’ve ever tasted, and not to mention the cakes he brought. The majority of the food is sweet — his sweet tooth showing up a little too obviously.

“Hope it tastes good,” he adds, his lips forming a slight pout.

“Never ate something that good,” you respond, mouth full of food. “You’re an angel.”

The word makes him freeze for a solid thirty seconds before he shakes his head and lets his gaze drift away — always avoiding — toward the nearby lake.

The ground is sprinkled with pale pink petals, blending into the vibrant green grass of this March afternoon. A few birds chirp in the distance, hardly anyone comes near your secluded spot, and the peaceful silence reigning over the park creates the perfect environment for getting work done.

Swallowing his own mochi, Satoru watches you take out your notes on the latest physics chapter, and instead of sitting across from you, he allows himself to settle beside you this time — without you pulling away.

He was hesitant from the start and may never be able to stop feeling nervous around you. No matter how often he’s around you or how much more familiar he grows with your presence, he can’t control those sudden spikes of nervousness that hit when he’s already comfortable — only for one small action or movement to give his poor little heart a crisis.

You hand him the exercises you worked on last night, and while he reviews them, you take out your planner and notepad — the ones you carry everywhere (even to bed and the bathroom)—to go over the organization of the upcoming Spring Formal.

An event that’s happening soon. An event with absolutely nothing planned yet.

You quietly jot down notes on possible themes, but after another glance at the endless, sprawling branches of the massive cherry tree, you sigh and toss your notepad aside onto the picnic blanket. No ideas in sight. You have no choice but to admit your incompetence. Your failure is inevitable.

“Here.” Satoru hands you back your corrected exercises, and you quickly scan through them.

Since the beginning of your sessions with him, you have to admit — you’ve improved.

This time, there are fewer scribbles and corrections from Satoru. Your formulas and applications are more precise, clearer, and better developed. All thanks to your hard work and Satoru’s expert guidance — the science genius himself.

There are still some non-negligible mistakes to fix, but at least the encouraging smile from your tutor warms your chest, silently telling you that you’re on the right track.

“This is really not bad,” he murmurs softly near your shoulder. “You’re seriously improving.”

“Thanks to my good tutor,” you reply, nudging him playfully with your elbow.

“What flattery. I don’t deserve this much.” Yet his so-called humility is betrayed by the deep red blush dusting his ears.

“Quite the opposite. I wish I could pay you back somehow.”

“You don’t need to. I told you it was my pleasure to help you.”

“And I feel bad about it,” you confess in a whisper.

“Don’t,” he insists — and dares to wrap his slightly trembling, warm hand over yours on the blanket.

Your heart flutters, like a butterfly trying to take flight, only to be tossed around by the wind.

“Thank you,” you whisper, with more honesty than you’ve ever given anyone.

“For being a good friend? Don’t worry, I’m glad to have you as well, honestly,” he murmurs back, punctuating his words with a light squeeze of your hand.

“And I—” he clears his throat, “...really appreciate you.”

Friends. Appreciate you.

“I appreciate you too. Really. I’m sorry if I mess up every move you try with me to help me,” you add with an apologetic smile. “Stress always ruins my life.”

“I told you that you couldn't deny it.” He raises his eyebrows and lift up an uncertain arm — seeing you not reacting has reassured him enough to pluck up the courage to pass it around you to console you. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

You let yourself go against him, burying half your face against him. “I’m in deep shit about organizing the Spring Formal. I haven’t prepared anything, I have no idea, and yet I’ve got plenty to do. Mr. Yaga warned me that he might replace me if I went on like this, and I feel like everything’s going to shit,” you say in a breath, a tiny barrier of vulnerability cracking.

His arm tightens in an attempt at comfort. He nods slowly, inhaling long breaths of fresh air before making a clicking sound with his tongue.

“Where’s your notepad?”

You hand it to him without protest, and he immediately grabs it and flips through it. Then, when he finds a blank page, he grabs a pen lying near the two of you and jots down a few sentences, the words of which you can only read when he hands you the notebook.

“An alignment of the planets?” You raise a curious, surprised eyebrow.

He nods with his chin and sketches a smile.

“It only happens in spring, practically. And there will be one before long.” He squeezes his arm around you again and chuckles. “A theme about planets might be nice, don’t you think?”

Lips parted, you gaze into the azure sky. Himself a little disarmed by your lack of reaction, he frowns without giving up his smile and softly pronounces your first name.

With zero control over your movements, there’s nothing to stop your lips from pressing tenderly against Satoru’s smooth, soft cheek — a firm but gentle kiss leaving an invisible, indelible trace on his radiant skin as you pull away to look into his eyes again.

“You're an angel,” you repeat a second time.

Well, the second time too, when Satoru’s heart, no longer knowing how to beat, simply stops beating.

~~~~

“Move them a little more to the right— Yes, that’s perfect.”

Your trusty notepad clutched against your chest, you admire the preparations unfolding in the venue for the upcoming Spring Formal, where the theme of planetary alignment is set to make this year’s university event truly unforgettable.

Finally, you’re no longer spending your time yelling at your team and barking orders fueled by the vibrant sparks of your stress. Instead, you’re giving clear instructions, each one accompanied by an encouraging smile for everyone.

“Maybe we could add midnight blue velvet curtains,” Satoru suggests, leaning over your shoulder, his chest brushing pleasantly against your back as he glances at the list of missing decoration orders. “We could stick fake stars on them, and it’ll draw more attention to the planets. What do you think?”

“I like the idea,” you giggle, despite the way your insides somersault when his warm breath grazes your ear, sending waves of goosebumps down your skin. You jot down a few notes as Satoru leans in even closer, gently resting his chin on your shoulder. “Not surprising, coming from the quantum physics genius of the entire university.”

Even though there’s nothing official between you — not if you ignore the feelings and trust that make Satoru more confident and relaxed in your presence — nor any concrete relationship, the warm intimacy settling between you two is anything but uncomfortable.

It’s like a mutual friendship, fully acknowledged by both of you, yet intertwined with threads of love left unspoken — often betrayed by moments of closeness like this one.

“You’re gonna make me blush again,” he admits with a light laugh, soft and delicate as a cherry blossom petal.

“Oh yeah?” You turn your head toward his — just enough for your faces to be so close that the tips of your noses brush. “Why?”

He sighs, fluttering his eyes closed for a brief moment before opening them again. “You know why…”

“I’m clueless when it comes to guessing thoughts, my hot nerd tutor,” you coo, a little grin spreading across your lips — those same lips he wanted to kiss until he couldn’t breathe anymore for the rest of his life.

“Maybe I could show you, then.” And gently, he places his hands around your waist, an easy, soothing smile on his face. “Is that okay if I do that?” After your nod, his smile grows even wider. “Also, could we do our next session at my place? I can’t stay at the library today because my mom is waiting for a package while she’s at work, so she asked me to take care of it.”

“Of course.” You take note of his suggestion while the rest of your team rushes to decorate the room and move boxes — some opened, some not. Then, you turn back to him, feeling the slight tremor of his hands against your body, the way the blood rushes alarmingly fast to his face, and how his eyes avoid yours.

“Blushing?” you giggle.

“You’re not embarrassed? I mean— It’s my place, not my dorm or the library, you know,” he mumbles.

You graze a kiss on his soft cheek and grin. “You’re freaking cute.”

“I’m not joking,” he whines lowly, a small, worried furrow forming between his brows.

“As am I.” You give his arm a little squeeze. “Everything’s gonna be alright. I don’t mind having you all alone in your house, though.”

And you burst into laughter when he chokes on his own saliva at your words — having never seen someone turn so red before.

~~~~

“I knew you liked physics, but not that much.”

Before coming to set foot in Satoru’s room for the first time, you expected to be dealing with a simple, uncluttered, organized room, and above all far more filled with bookcases overflowing with books rather than...

...the opposite.

Stepping into Satoru’s room feels like entering a nerdy galaxy of controlled chaos. His desk is cluttered with thick physics textbooks, some stacked neatly, others left open mid-read, pages filled with complex equations you can’t even begin to understand. Among them, a few manga volumes peek out, half-hidden like a guilty pleasure. Above, a whiteboard covered in messy formulas and doodles dominates the wall, the marker strokes chaotic but somehow full of purpose. His ceiling is scattered with glow-in-the-dark stars, forming actual constellations if you look closely, and a floating moon lamp sat on his nightstand, casting a soft glow over his unmade bed.

Everywhere you turn, there is something to mess with — a plasma ball that lit up at your touch, a Newton’s Cradle clicking rhythmically on his desk, even a weird futuristic clock displaying time in some incomprehensible format. His monitors hum with life, one running a sci-fi screensaver while another had what looks like a physics simulation he’d probably forgotten about. 

And yet, despite the overwhelming nerd energy, it was… comfortable. Lived-in. A place where ideas sparked and theories came to life — exactly what you could imagine his space would be if you’d thought things through a bit more.

“Wow,” you murmur, entranced. “It’s… just beautiful. Like a museum.”

“Heh? You’re flattering me really too much,” he chuckles nervously, scratching his neck where his undercut is. “But I’m glad if you like it. I want you to feel home,” he adds softly.

“Home?” You turn to him with a slightly embarrassed and moved smile. “You’re my home, actually.”

Nothing you say makes sense. Your racing heart lets your mouth babble nonsense and scare Satoru away. You’re far too embarrassing—

“I feel the same for you.”

Like a needle piercing a balloon, your vital organ explodes in your chest.

The next second, your brain regains control and orders your legs to move towards him, until your torsos brush against each other and your breaths mingle, giving birth to a gentle flame that burns only to be consumed.

Satoru whispers your name. “Can I try something?” he mouths.

You nod imperceptibly, your gaze lost in his ocean eyes.

Tenderly and with the most delicate gentleness, he cups your cheeks, tilting your head so that your face faces directly forehead to his. So close, you have a detailed view of the number of his light eyelashes, the different shades of blue mingling in his irises, the pleasant warmth of his tepid breath against you.

Then, his lips brush yours first, as if testing your reaction. But when your fingers latch onto his light-brown V-neck sweater, he feels the pressure rise in his blood and slowly, but suddenly, crushes his lips against yours.

It’s not rushed — just a soft press of lips, tentative, almost careful. As if he's afraid of breaking something fragile. So to encourage him, you sigh softly in contentment, then tilt your head the slightest bit to fit better, closer... Your hands remain gently clasped to his sweater.

He seems to get your message, because the next thing you know, he’s relaxing, moving more slowly and comfortably against yours. The world outside that moment doesn’t exist. Just him, just this — his lips, softer than you expected, the careful way he kisses you, as if he is memorizing every second of it. Time stretches thin, and even when you finally pull apart, neither of you move far.

Slowly, you open your eyes, only to find him already looking at you. His gaze is different now — quieter, warmer, like he is seeing you in a way he never had before.

For a moment, neither of you speak. The silence is soft, not awkward, filled with a kind of understanding that doesn’t need words. And then, just barely above a whisper, Satoru exhales a quiet, shaky laugh.

“Oh.”

Just that — like he hasn’t expected this, like he’s still processing the fact that it happened at all. And maybe it’s the way he looks at you, stunned and a little breathless, or maybe it’s just the warmth still lingering between you, but you find yourself smiling, a tiny, barely-there curve of your lips.

“Yeah,” you murmur back, voice quieter and warmer than you intended.

Neither of you moved away. Not yet.

You lower your head, a hot flush creeping up your cheeks and neck, and that's when you also understand where his “oh” is coming from.

Oh.

While he turns away to hide his face in his hands and prays to be buried in a grave on the spot, you burst out laughing — a frank, non-judgmental laugh. Simply savoring this pleasant moment with him (albeit with one small problem).

“Just with a kiss? Satoru, I swear you’re the cutest!” you continue to laugh, half-folding with your arms hugging your belly.

“It’s not f-funny!” And the poor guy doesn’t even dare turn around as he adjusts his pants, which is where his “problem” lies.

Smiling, you move closer to him, your lips still prickling from the perfect kiss. One of your hands slips to his shoulder and gives it a gentle squeeze. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” he mumbles, hiding his face again from your sight.

“It is,” you insist, wrapping your hand around his wrist to look at him. “I’m not judging you, I swear. It’s not like you can control that, is it?”

“I know, but— It’s so embarrassing. I feel like a poor virgin nerd that — well, It’s not like I am not but—”

You freeze, slowly losing your smile. “Wait… you’re a virgin?”

He nods, a little shameful pout creasing his lips.

“I—” you trail off. Taking a short breath, you lower yourself a little more to look at him as he covers his crotch with one hand. “I can help you with that, you know.”

His eyes widen, heart hammering in his rib cage. “W-What?”

An umpteenth laugh shakes your chest. “I mean, yeah. I don’t mind and I like you.” Then an idea pops into your head, like a lamp regaining its light. “Like, it would make up for the effort you put into helping me get good grades. What do you think?”

He straightens abruptly and gently but firmly pushes your hand away by the wrist. A serious look despite his embrace adds.

“No way. I already told you I don’t want anything in return.”

“But it’s just to please you,” you insist, flickering your eyes. “Don’t you want to know how it feels?” You take a few steps forward until you can wrap your arms around his perfect torso — the ideal balance of slim and muscular.

Your chin rests on his breastbone, a little imploring pout on your lips.

“C’mon, just an oral, I promise. I want to return the favor.”

He swallows hard, lips parted as if the words are stuck somewhere between embarrassment and want. His gaze flickers between your face and the floor, a mix of reluctance and curiosity in his eyes.

“But I—” His voice cracks slightly, a nervous laugh escaping him. “I don’t know what I’m doing…”

You smile, a quiet, knowing smile, and slide your fingers slowly down his arm, your touch lingering on his skin. “It’s okay,” you say, your breath barely above a whisper. “I’ll guide you.”

You can see him shiver at the words, his chest rising and falling rapidly. You take your time, moving in closer, making sure to leave no space between you. Your lips brush against his jaw, a delicate kiss that makes his entire body stiffen for a split second. He doesn’t pull away, though, and that’s enough to encourage you to go further.

“Just relax,” you tease, pulling back slightly to look up at him. “I promise I’m not going to bite.”

“I know, I just need to sit a bit,” he whispers, a wave of uncertainty in his eyes.

You pull away from him, feeling the palpable tension between the two of you. “Of course.” You take his hand in yours and guide him onto his bed. When he sits down on the mattress, you find yourself kneeling between his legs.

As your hands busily unzip his straight gray twill pants, you maintain eye contact. “Tell me if it’s too much or if you wanna stop, okay love?”

Love.

He nods gently, his elbows pressed into the softness of the mattress to get a view of your movements without him lying down completely. Lips trembling, Satoru feels obliged to bite them to calm himself as the heat almost suffocates him while all he has left is his boxer shorts hiding his growing erection under the thin fabric.

You can feel the air thickening between you, charged with the kind of quiet intensity that makes your pulse race. Your fingertips wrap around the waistband of his boxers and tug them down gently, letting the fabric rub against his length while he’s hissing.

“Sweetheart—”

“Relax, I’m just getting started,” you chuckle fondly.

When the underwear is pulled down, his erection springs free, slamming on his half-covered abdomen. The poor little thing, left alone, twitches painfully — dragging sounds like cute and innocent whimpers from Satoru — like it’s begging for your touch for a decade.

You curl your lips together, genuinely stunned by his size. 7 inches isn’t nothing.

“So you’re packing this from the start?”

“I— No…” He sighs, clenching his jaw as his eyes flutter closed. “Please, it’s already embarrassing.”

“But why? You’re beautiful, Satoru. And I’m not talking about your dick,” you snort. Your gentle, affectionate tone makes Satoru forget how to breathe and open his eyes again. “You’re beautiful on the inside too.”

“You’re only flattering—”

“I am not,” you state firmly, getting up from your knees to straddle his hips and cup his cheeks until they puff like mochi’s and he’s pouting.

Fucking adorable.

“Have you ever been into a relationship?” you whisper after pecking a kiss on the corner of his lips.

He shakes his head, stuttering a no.

“So  can I call you mine? Because I’d be yours if I could,” you mutter next to his jaw where you peck another kiss that makes him shiver and grip your hips with his hands.

He opens his mouth to say something and hesitates. “A-Are you sure?” he asks, eyes filled with doubt. ‘I’m a nerd and—”

“And my type is nerd guys,” you cut him off before pulling him into a passionate kiss. He gasps, tightening his grip on your as his lips gently taste your and steal his breath away. “I love you, Satoru.”

“Love you more. Since the first time I laid my eyes on you,” he murmurs back between kisses, eyelids shut.

You slightly pull away, a smile springing to your lips. “Pinning on me for so long? Aw, sorry to have been blind for this long too, then.”

He resists the urge to take you in his arms and lets you back down onto your knees, this time with his oversensitive cock throbbing in your hands as you begin to stroke it up and down, base to tip with all the slowness you can manage so as not to make him cum too quickly.

Satoru’s hips jerk up instantly, his chest rising and lowering because of his stuttering breath.

“Your hands feel so good and soft,” he whispers, sliding his big hands up to your shoulders, which he gently massages to relax you too. What a gentleman. “So much better than mine…”

“Yeah? You like it?” Eager to please him for his first time, you place a kiss on his angry red tip, licking a little strop with the tip of your own tongue.

“Hgn— easy,” he pants, hands shaking slightly as they interrupt their massages on your shoulders when yours lead them on your head, tangled with your locks. “What are you—”

“You can use my hair, if you want.” And you punctuate your words by taking his length back between your hands and kiss the fat head. It twitches in response, stealing little giggles from your sweet lips. Beads of precum leak along his length, helping you to wet him enough to stroke him faster as you part your lips and slide them down the length of him.

Satoru’s breath hitches when you take him, sucking in slow, deep strokes as your hand grips the base of him. You pull back slightly, your lips sliding back up, and you hear him groan, a sound that makes you ache. You repeat the motion, taking him deeper, sucking harder as you run your tongue along the underside of his cock, feeling him twitch in your mouth before you pull back again.

“Feel good?” you ask sweetly.

“You’re perfect,” he breathes out — even whimpering in neediness, “thank you so much…” His hands tighten in your hair, pulling you even closer, but it’s not enough.

You don’t stop. Instead, you take him deeper, your lips tightening around him as you move faster, the sound of your mouth on his cock filling the room, drowning out everything else. Satoru’s breath grows shallow, irregular, his body starting to tense, his legs flexing as he tries to hold back.

But you can feel it. The way he is so close, the way his body is winding tighter with every flick of your tongue. His fingers pulled at your hair, unsure to guide you just how he wants because what you were doing is already something he’ll owe you all his entire life — he is desperate, needing his release.

“F-Fuck,” he stutters, fingers digging in your scalp deliciously for you pleasure. “I love you, but please, g’nna—”

“—cum? Yeah, do it, love,” you purr affectionately as you teasingly suck his sensitive tip until he’s whining and fighting for his hips to not thrust up and hurt you.

He is there — at the edge — his cock twitching in your mouth, and you know he can’t hold on much longer. With one last deep, slow pull, he cums, his hips jerking as he releases into your mouth with a long, desperate groan. You swallow every drop, sucking him clean, your hands gently massaging his thighs as he slowly comes down from the high.

Satoru’s breath is ragged, his body shuddering as he slowly opens his eyes. He looks at you like you’re some sort of angel from heaven, and you smile, wiping the corner of your mouth before standing up.

“Feel better?” you ask teasingly, your voice light despite the heat still pooling in your stomach.

He sighs deeply, rubbing his eyes before carefully sitting up and hugs you in a tight embrace. He blows kisses all over your face, murmuring thank yous and how much he loves you and you find yourself in awe.

“You’re welcome, it’s the least that I can do for you, after all.” You press a big, firm, and sincere kiss on his cheek, and cannot stop smiling.

~~~~

The main room is bathed in a deep blue, soft, ambient light, the atmosphere almost otherworldly. Stars shimmer faintly on the walls, and delicate, hanging lanterns cast a stunning cold glow, like constellations scattered across the ceiling. The whole room seems alive, breathing with energy, as guests drift through the space, their laughter and chatter blending into a gentle hum.

At the center of the hall are huge telescopes, available for anyone curious enough to observe tonight’s planet alignment. The most important event of the Spring Formal.

Around the perimeter, tables are set with shimmering candles, their flames flickering softly, casting shadows on the faces of the students who’ve come to admire the setup. The smell of roses and lavender lingers in the air, mixing with the faint scent of freshly baked treats at the snack table. It feels like a dream — a celebration of the night sky brought to life.

Satoru stands beside you, his hand lightly brushing against yours as you both take in the beauty of the room. His smile is small but warm, his gaze drifting from the decorations to the crowd. There’s an unspoken pride in the way he looks at you, knowing you had a hand in making all of this happen, bringing the theme of the planets to life with such care.

“This is... perfect,” he says, voice soft but full of admiration. His words are simple, but they carry weight. You feel a soft warmth settle in your chest at the sincerity in his tone.

A small smile blooms on your lips. “Yeah…” you agree, turning to face him fully, now a grin spreading across your face. “It really turned out great. Thanks to you.”

His cheeks tint pink at the praise, and he shrugs, trying to act nonchalant, but the pride in his eyes is unmistakable.

“You really made this all come together,” he says, voice full of admiration. “It’s amazing.”

For a moment, you simply smile at each other, a comfortable silence settling between you. The warmth of his gaze makes your heart flutter in your chest.

“Want to dance?” you ask, already knowing his answer, but wanting to ask all the same.

He hesitates for a moment, that same shy, unsure side of him creeping back, but the smile on his lips says everything.

“Yeah,” he says, his hand finding yours once again, this time with more confidence. “I’d love to.”

As you both step onto the dance floor, the lights change again, and for a moment, the two of you are surrounded by the glow of the stars and lanterns, your bodies moving to the soft music that fills the room. It’s not a fast, frantic dance — just slow and gentle, like you’re in your own little world. You feel the gentle sway of the music, and the weight of everything around you fades, leaving just the two of you in perfect harmony.

Maybe it’s the magic of the planets aligning, or maybe it’s just him — but either way, you think, you wouldn’t mind orbiting around Gojo Satoru a little longer.

a/n: there we go! I AM DRAINED BC OF SCHOOL AND COURSES GUIDANCE BC LAW IS SO HARDDDD!! hum hum, beside that, i hope you guys had a nice week and that you are all taking care of your little faces (if not i'm gonna do it for you). writing this felt like... refreshing? i mean, nerdjo is the little mochi i'm eating when i go to the supermarket lol. and gosh, he's so cute that i'm going crazy haha.

reblogs, comments, and likes are very appreciated as always <3

also, this is how i pictured this cutie pie:

tags: @bearwithmoo @elliesndg @lymsfm @mutsu422 @drippymcdrippison @koshhin @v31v3t @wisheclairr @sanemistar @monokaix

[arolesbianism]

The sadness and agony that emerges everytime I start a new oni save and am forced to remember what it's like to have a dupe without a hat only to put them in a hat because I think they'd look cute only to remember hats make half of them look bald but I spent this long maxing out a skill for them so Im too stubborn to back down and remove the hat

[nightingale-prompts]

Danny can't taste- DCxDP Prompt

The problem with being half dead is that so are your senses. While certain foods are still as tasty as ever they are relegated to food found on offering plates like bread, fruits, cheese and wine. But Danny just wants to eat a good burger and unfortunately, those aren't offered to the dead.

This has led to Tucker and Sam burning food offerings for Danny in the past, but there has been another solution.

Danny just adds copious amounts of extra stuff to his food to satisfy his numbed tastebuds.

20 sugar packages to his coffee, a flood of hot sauce on his burgers and anything else he could get his hands on.

One afternoon after class Danny ended up meeting Tim at the Batburger on campus. There Tim watched in horror as Danny filled a cup of Sprite, added blue raspberry sour Death Ball candies to it, added citric acid, added plutonium 9 hot sauce, and extra sugar. It was the most horrifying baby blue concoction Tim had ever seen. It looked like a normal soda but it was liquid death.

And Tim wanted to try it next.

(A drink that would cause a small Victorian child to disintegrate)

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC My Brother in the Mirror

Damian doesn't like mirrors.

He never mentioned the fact to other members of the family, but they are detectives and vigilantes, it's their job to be observant. Which, after so many years, becomes a habit.

Damian doesn't actively avoid the mirrors - he has a mirror in his bathroom, he didn't express any discomfort over going into a mirror labyrinth at some carnival they've attended (he expressed disgust over taking part in something so stupid, in his words, but that's a whole another story), and he actually spent a few minutes in front of the funhouse mirrors when no one was looking, watching his own reflection distort in various ways. He also has no problems with his self-image - he doesn't mind pictures of him taken at any time (unless it's Tim, but that's, again, a whole another story), he's drawn a few self-portraits that were rather accurate and he liked them.

He just doesn't like mirrors. For some reason.

His family, both close and extended, never questioned it. They did some gentle research to see if the dislike was caused by some kind of problem Damian was experiencing without telling anyone, but when they found no proof of that, they've just decided it was some quirk of his. Everyone has quirks. Dick doesn't like eating cereal like a normal person, Tim despises sleep, Steph is at war with any color other than purple.

That is, until one day, Tim witnesses Damian sitting in front of a mirror.

He is not even aware of it - the whole family is having a game night, and through some arguments and rearrangements on the couch, Damian ends up sitting on the left side of it, where his back is turned to one of the three mirrors in the room. Tim, who's lost the last round, is slumping in an armchair nearby, pointedly looking away from the screen where Damian and Jason are enthusiastically competing over the first place in Mario Cart. Of course, Tim can't just not watch it since he needs to know their strategies. But turning back around would also be admitting defeat.

The solution? Easy, watch the screen through the mirror.

Which is when he notices it.

Damian in the mirror doesn't act the same as Damian in the room. Out of the corner of his eye, Tim can see the real Damian moving around, shoving Jason with his elbow, fully concentrated on the game, and yelling something. Damian-in-the-mirror is sitting unnaturally still, the back of his head over the couch unmoving.

Tim forgets all about the game when Damian's reflection starts to turn around. Slowly and carefully, eerie in the way the horror movies are, the boy in the mirror turns his head around like an owl, his neck twisting inhumanely.

His eyes are green. Green like the toxic waste, like Jason's madness, like acid in cartoons, like the Waters of Lazarus.

Damian in the mirror smiles, his unblinking, gliwing eyes fixed on Tim, and his teeth are sharp and pointy, and there are too many of them, humans can't smile this wide.

"-im? Tim!" A hand nudges him in the shoulder, and Tim looks away from the mirror, finding Dick standing over him. The noise of the game room returns all at once, and, wait, when did it become quiet for Tim?.. He must have a strange expression on his face because Dick's easy smile falls slightly, and he frowns, "Is everything okay?"

Tim looks back to the mirror, but the green-eyed boy in the mirror is gone, and the mirror only reflects Damian as he is: sitting on the couch.

"Yeah," Tim shakes his head and forces a smile on his lips, "I just zoned out."

"Okay," Dick pats him on the shoulder and gives him the controller, "It's your turn now."

Tim takes the controller and turns around, facing the screen. Tim throws a quick glance at Damian, who had slid down on the couch so his head would not be in the reflection anymore. Tim sees the cold, warning hint to his eye, a clear do not speak of it message.

Tim doesn't like that the mirror is now behind him.

[jimxnslight]

All This Time? || JJK

Summary: Another day, another boyfriend caught cheating. You’re hardly surprised, but before you can even process another one of many betrayals, your best friend Jungkook offers a solution: a blind date. The twist? The guy Jungkook has in mind might not be a stranger at all. 

Pairing: Jungkook x reader

Genre: f2l, fluff, a bit of angst

Word Count: 4.2k

A/N: I dare you to take a shot everytime Jungkook manhandles Y/N 💀 but anyways, when I tell you these two are so cute, had me giggling and kicking my feet while I was writing them lowkey 😭 I will be writing the “blind” date, so this will have a second part!

Part 1 || Part 2

“I’m going to kill him.”

“Jungkook wait-! Oh my god, put those keys down right now!”

“No.”

“Jungkook!”

“No.”

You groaned, eyes rolling so far back into your head you might all well have passed out right then and there. Currently, your arms were wrapped around Jungkook’s inked bicep, trying to pry the car keys from his fingers with all the strength you possessed, but you might as well have picked a fight with Godzilla himself. In fact, with how easily Jungkook was putting his shoes on while fending you off, you might as well have not been there at all. 

That realisation made you let go of his arm with a huff, the glare you sent him also doing nothing to stop the man from tightening the laces of his shoes. The moment he stood, you scrambled to place yourself in front of his main door, crossing your arms as Jungkook walked over to you with an unimpressed look - as if you were being the immature one here. 

“Y/N, move.”

“No,” you countered, happy to throw the word back in his face. 

“Y/N-”

“No! You’ll go to jail and then I’ll have to take Bam in and he’ll crap on everything I own!”

Jungkook’s jaw instantly dropped in offense, “it was one time.”

“Oh please, I saw the way he was looking at my tulips the last time he was at my place,” you threw a critical eye towards the hallway, knowing very well that Bam was probably lurking somewhere behind those cream-coloured walls, “that dog is just waiting to strike, I know it.”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“You’re being ridiculous,” your hands dropped to your hips as you shifted your gaze back to the black-haired man before you, already clad in a navy and beige tracksuit, “you’re just going to- what? Beat the hell out of a man and expect to get away scot-free?”

“That sorry excuse of a man needs to be taught a lesson on loyalty, and I have no problem giving him one. Now move.”

“No.”

A frustrated breath escaped Jungkook’s lips as he stared down at your stubborn form, a muscle in his jaw flexing in the process. He looked annoyed, clearly irritated by the fact that you were preventing him from making good on his earlier threat. You knew you shouldn’t have found it amusing - maybe even a little attractive - but still, his furrowed brows and displeased lips did nothing to stifle your triumphant smile.

Jungkook’s gaze narrowed at your smug grin, something shifting in his eyes as he scanned you. For a moment, you genuinely believed he was going to let it go and return to the video game the two of were playing before all hell broke loose. You almost began to celebrate preventing a life full of Bam's poop in your apartment. 

But you should have known you weren’t the only stubborn person in this room. 

Jungkook stepped forward, earning him a suspicious look, but before you could ask what he was doing, he suddenly wrapped an arm around your legs and pulled. 

“Oh my god-!” You gasped, lurching forward as you were abruptly hoisted onto his shoulder, as though you were nothing but a sack of potatoes. Your hands instantly grabbed onto the back of his jacket, not realising just how tall Jungkook really was until that moment. 

“Are you insane-?! Put me down!”

“No,” he said, and you could practically see the smug look that must’ve been gracing his lips then. 

“Jeon Jungkook, put me down right now!” You practically screeched, your grip on his jacket tightening desperately when he began walking towards his living room - with you still on his shoulder. If you weren’t so scared of falling on your face you might've died of embarrassment. 

“Bad, Jungkook! Stay! Or sit, or whatever- just put me down!”

He snorted, “I’m not a dog.”.

You groaned, letting your forehead smack against his back. You had to ignore the feel of his muscles flexing after each step, “you’re right, Bam would’ve actually listened.”

As if summoned by his name, Bam suddenly bounded into the living room with a happy bark, his dark and light brown fur gleaming underneath the light of Jungkook’s lamps. He was jumping up and down excitedly, as if the sight of you thrown over Jungkook’s shoulder was the most marvelous thing to witness. 

That made you huff. “Just look at him. I bet he’s excited because he thinks you’ll finally let him eat me.”

“Leave him alone, you’ve hated that dog since day one.”

Bam’s bark reverberated around the room, causing your gaze to snap to him, but it narrowed when you noticed him now sitting patiently on his hind legs, head tilted in your direction. His gaze was laser focused, boring into you so much that your lips parted to ask Jungkook why he was acting so weird.

But before you could, Bam suddenly lunged towards you, making you shriek. 

“Bam, sit,” Jungkook ordered instantly, his voice straining as he fought the laugh threatening to escape his throat. You shot daggers at the dog now obediently sitting back, face innocent as ever. 

Stupid dog. And his even stupider dad. 

Another shriek almost escaped your lips when Jungkook suddenly dropped you from his shoulder, your back landing on the soft cushion of his couch. With how tightly you’d been clutching his jacket, it was a miracle you hadn’t ripped it off him as you fell.

Jungkook crossed his arms over his chest as he towered over your seated form. 

“Alright, I’ve humoured you for long enough, but no more. What is going on with you, Y/N?”

“Me?” You scoffed incredulously, “your dog just tried to kill me and you’re-”

“Not that,” he cut you off with a shake of his head, “you just found out your boyfriend cheated on you and you don’t seem to care at all.”

You froze, the sudden change in topic catching you off guard. You didn’t expect him to bring it up so bluntly - or rather bring it up at all. Jungkook had made it clear that he hated your boyfriend since day one, so you had honestly expected him to breeze past this development in relief. 

You pursed your lips, racking your brain for a reasonable excuse that would satisfy him. 

“We were only together for like half a year, it’s not like I’m going to fall apart over a guy I barely even dated.”

“I don’t want you falling apart over any guy, especially that trash bag,” he said instantly, “it’s just… when you found out Saejin cheated on you all those years ago I had to practically beg you not to key his car.”

“Funny how the tables have turned…” You muttered, but Jungkook just gave you an unimpressed look. 

Your gaze dropped to your lap, unsure of how to change the subject to something a bit more lighthearted, and a bit less embarrassing. But the logical part of you knew that once Jungkook was stuck on something, it was nearly impossible to deter him. And he seemed very stuck on this topic right now. 

Your hesitance caused the silence to stretch until Jungkook’s doe eyes suddenly widened, the realisation dawning on him.

“Oh my god, you already knew didn’t you?”

“I didn’t know know,” you countered immediately, “I just… had a feeling.”

Jungkook raised a brow. “How long?”

“You know, I think it’s getting late maybe I should-”

“How long?”

You squirmed under his sharp gaze, “a month or two? Or… four.”

“Four months?” Jungkook repeated incredulously.

“Like I said it was just a feeling,” you opposed, feeling the need to defend yourself, “I didn’t actually find out until yesterday when I found the girl’s bra in his car.”

“I don’t understand, if you suspected that Jaehyun was cheating on you then why didn’t you confront him? Or even just figure it out on your own? You know I would’ve helped you out.”

The Y/N Jungkook knew would’ve confronted him the second you had any inkling of a doubt; the fact that you hadn’t was making him nervous. He prayed that the guess he had in his mind was wrong, because the thought of you going through something like that all these months alone was a nightmare come to life. 

“I just thought I was being paranoid.”

“You’ve never been an unreasonable person, if you suspected something it had to be for a reason. So, why would you think that?”

Your fingers began to fidget with each other as your gaze continued to stay fixed on your lap, the embarrassment of it all making you feel small. But the moment Jungkook noticed the shift in your demeanor, he sank into the cushion next to you, an arm ghosting over your back as it found purchase on the sofa behind you. 

And then, as though also detecting the change in mood, Bam suddenly jumped up from his stationary position and scurried over to you both. A melancholy noise sounded from the back of his throat before he plopped his head onto your lap, big puppy eyes staring up at you curiously. 

“Come on, you know you can tell me anything,” he assured, the softness in his voice making your head spin, “there’s nothing you could say that would stop me from being here for you, I promise.”

“Cringe,” you mumbled mindlessly, masking the sound of your suddenly rapid heartbeat.

“Y/N…”

“I know, I know,” you said, your voice unintentionally matching his softness. Your hand moved to brush over Bam’s sleek fur in defeat, earning you a pleased woof, “I wanted to prove a point.”

Jungkook’s head tilted in question, eyes following the movement of your hand. 

“Do you remember that Christmas dinner my mom held last year, the one where Hyunjin dumped me during dessert?”

“Bit difficult to forget. It took everything in me not to break his nose.”

You rolled your eyes. 

“Well, after everyone went home my mom and I were cleaning up, and she started joking around about how I couldn’t keep a boyfriend for longer than a year. I know she was just trying to cheer me up, and she probably didn’t mean it that way, but it got me wondering… why is it that I just can’t seem to stay in a long term relationship?”

You swallowed hesitantly, the words that had been plaguing your mind for months finally finding an outlet, “I wondered if maybe I was the problem, that maybe my expectations were too high or I was too paranoid as a girlfriend or something. So when I got with Jaehyun I decided to be a bit more… laid back, you know? Like letting a few things go and all.”

Jungkook’s brows furrowed as he absorbed your words, his jaw tightening in frustration. “Let a few things go?” he repeated, voice laced with disbelief, “Y/N, you let him cheat on you for four months.”

“Okay, obviously when you put it like that, it sounds bad-”

“Because it is bad. Letting things go doesn’t mean ignoring red flags the size of Bam. What were you thinking?”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair, “I was thinking maybe I was too demanding before. That if I just relaxed, maybe I could finally have something that lasted.”

Jungkook shook his head, unimpressed, but his voice was still soft when he spoke, “lasted? Y/N, do you want a relationship that lasts, or one that actually makes you happy? Because those aren’t always the same thing.”

“Then what is it, Jungkook?” You threw your hands up, catching the way your voice cracked in frustration, unintentionally revealing just how heavy this topic had been weighing down on you recently, “what is it about me that’s so hard to love?”

“Loving you is the easiest thing in the world,” he shot back, making something in your chest flutter, but then he seemed to catch himself and cleared his throat quickly, “I mean, there’s no way you’re blaming yourself for how those relationships went down. Come on, Y/N, every one of those guys was a moron and a half.” 

Your laugh lacked any humour, “yeah? Then what does that say about me? I’m the one who keeps picking them.”

A look passed through his eyes, something firm but tender. There was something else too, a look you couldn’t quite decipher. 

“It says that you see the best in people, even when they don’t deserve it,” he said, gaze unwavering, as though he wanted to make sure you understood every word that dropped from his lips. “It says you give chances when others wouldn’t. That’s not a bad thing, Y/N.”

“It sure as hell feels like it,” you scoffed, looking down at your hands. Bam’s nose nudged against your fingers.

Jungkook’s gaze softened. He shifted closer to you, his knee brushing against yours in the process, “look, I get it. You wanted to prove you could make something work. But settling for less than you deserve just to keep a relationship going? That’s not proving anything. That’s just punishing yourself.”

You hated how easily he cut through your defenses, how he always seemed to see right through you no matter how well you thought you were hiding it. But then again, you’ve been best friends for years, it shouldn't have surprised you at this point. 

You swallowed, your throat feeling dry, “yeah, well… it’s not like it matters anymore anyway.”

Jungkook studied you for a long moment, the close proximity making the action stand out way more than it should have, but just when you were about to find an excuse to put some much-needed distance between you, he suddenly stood.

You blinked, “where are you going?”

“To beat the hell out of Jaehyun.”

“Oh my god,” you rolled your eyes, grabbing his wrist, “Jungkook, no!”

“Jungkook, yes.” 

You groaned, your hold on his wrist tightening. Truth be told, you actually had no clue just how serious he was being. On one hand, there was a possibility that he was joking, but, considering how much he’s held back all these years despite hating every single one of your boyfriends, there may be some real pent up frustration he was finally ready to let go of. 

“Please sit back down,” you whined, tugging at his arm uselessly. He barely budged, the hours he spent in the gym clearly trumping the couple minutes you spent on the treadmill three months ago. Instead, the edge of his lips twitched in amusement as he watched your sad attempts at getting him back on the couch. 

But then, without a warning, he tugged against your grip, pulling you off the couch with ease. 

You stumbled forward, colliding right into his chest, and before you knew it Jungkook’s arms had circled around your form. Your breath stalled for a second, the action catching you completely by surprise, but then you found yourself slowly easing into it, your own arms hesitantly wrapping around his torso. 

“Please don’t ever doubt yourself like that again, okay?” He murmured against your hair as his hand raised to caress your back soothingly, “your confidence is the best thing about you, and no one should be able to take that away, especially that loser.“

There was something so intimate about this moment that you couldn’t help but nod shyly into his chest, your voice failing you. 

Ironic. 

With your cheek pressed against his chest, you could hear his heart beating rapidly against his ribs. Though the logical part of you knew you were probably just mistaking your own heartbeat for his. You’ve known Jungkook for years, but being this close to him seemed to be making your body malfunction in ways you thought it never could. 

Jungkook wrapped a strand of your hair around his finger absentmindedly as he spoke.

“Things are going to be better next time, I promise.”

“There’s no need,” you snorted, inwardly finding his promise kind of sweet, “I’m swearing off dating for the rest of my life. I’m starting to think it’s just not for me-”

“No!”

You paused, pulling back to look up at him with wide eyes. His expression was a reflection of your own, as though he himself was surprised by his reaction. There was a silent pause, long enough for Bam to tilt his head in question at the suddenly odd atmosphere, before you spoke slowly.

“No?”

He cleared his throat with a nervous chuckle, black strands of hair falling against his forehead as his gaze strayed from your own, “I- um… I meant that you shouldn’t just give up, you know? I’m sure there’s someone out there and all.”

“What’s the point? It’s not like I’ve got anyone in mind, and I don’t believe in dating apps.”

“What if…” Jungkook hesitated, mind racing as he grasped at some reason, any reason, for you not to give up just yet. There was an idea already forming in the back of his mind, one he couldn’t believe he was actually considering, but he couldn’t stop the words when they suddenly began to tumble from his lips. 

“What if I set you up with someone?”

“You?” This time you pulled away from him entirely, eyes wide as you searched his hesitant face. You would have thought he was joking if it weren’t for how serious his tone seemed. But it was so ridiculous. Jungkook setting you up with someone? You’ve only met a few of his friends: Namjoon, Taehyung, and you think Jin…? Did Jungkook have any of them in mind?

“Yeah,” he replied, scratching the back of his neck, “I might know someone that would be a good fit…”

“Oh? You been holding out on me, Jeon?”

He shrugged, gaze still traveling everywhere but in your direction, “something like that.”

“Do I at least get a name?”

“No.”

Your brows furrowed, “Jungkook, I swear if it’s some weirdo you play games with online-”

Jungkook laughed softly, his bunny-like grin gleaming, “no one online, I know him very well actually.”

“Then who?” You pushed, “is it an old friend or-”

“Are you in or not?” He interrupted with a raised brow. On the inside he was nervous out of his mind, the opportunity he’d been waiting forever for finally presenting itself. But then he noticed your hesitance and his voice softened. 

“Just trust me, okay? I wouldn’t set you up with just anyone.”

Well… you did trust Jungkook… with your life actually. And besides, there was no way you were going to pass up on a chance to see who Jungkook thought would be a good fit for you. Was it someone studious and quiet? Extroverted and wild? 

“Okay fine,” you finally gave in, curiosity getting the best of you, “but only on one condition.”

Jungkook straightened up, his nervousness multiplying tenfold. 

“No, killing Jaehyun.”

He groaned, flopping back onto the sofa dramatically.

“You’re too mean.”

“And you’re dramatic.”

“I’m the dramatic one?” Jungkook’s brow raised, “you stayed with a cheater for 6 months because of some stupid Christmas party comment. That’s dramatic.”

“You’re a dead man, Jeon Jungkook.” 

You grabbed a pillow from the sofa and threw it at his head, an action he of course blocked easily with a laugh. You tried to throw another at him, but he grabbed your wrist and tugged, causing the pillow to drop from your hand and accidentally land on Bam. The doberman barked in annoyance, shaking his head as if he were disappointed by the childish theatrics before him. 

“Okay okay, I’m sorry,” Jungkook laughed, fending off your pillows until he grabbed your other wrist, causing both your hands to stall momentarily. Your own laugh escaped your lips as you pushed forward, shoving both pillows into his face. 

“God, aren’t you feisty today?” He managed to say between the pillows before sitting forward and wrapping an arm around your waist. You yelped when he pulled you back onto the couch beside him, the distraction causing you to drop the pillows onto the floor. Jungkook grinned at your defeated form.

“You done?” 

You turned to shoot back a reply, but paused when you caught sight of him. His practically black hair was ruffled into a mess, framing the dips of his face, while his chest rose and fell slightly quicker than earlier. You watched as he pushed himself forward a bit as he began to unzip his navy and beige jacket, shrugging it off only a moment later. Underneath was a short sleeve black t-shirt that revealed his toned figure and biceps. 

Just like that the comeback died on the tip of your tongue. 

“You’re the last person to talk. You’re dating history is a nightmare,” you muttered instead, crossing your arms over your chest. 

“I’ve only had one girlfriend in the past few years.”

You snorted, watching as Bam made his way next to Jungkook’s seated form, “yeah, and that girlfriend was worse than all my boyfriends combined.”

Jungkook scrunched his nose in a grimace as the bitter memories resurfaced, “okay, I admit that choice wasn’t my best. But there’s no way she was worse than your boyfriends.”

“Jungkook, come on… She put strawberries in my food during the summer party last year so that I would leave early - and I don’t even know what I did for her to do that. She was insane.”

Jungkook’s jaw clenched as he recalled that scary moment, remembering how she’d dropped small bits of strawberry into your food when you weren’t looking, knowing you were allergic to them. Thankfully, your allergy wasn’t so severe, so the most you’d gotten were hives and a bad cough, but Jungkook had been terrified. He’d driven you to the hospital immediately, even though you’d insisted you would be fine. And then when everything had come to light a few days later, he’d been furious, breaking up with her on the spot. 

“My bad, I tend to repress most memories of her,” he muttered, “you’re right, she was a nightmare.”

He sighed, trying to rid his mind of that woman. It automatically fell back on your condition, which made him groan.

 “Fine, I won’t kill Jaehyun.”

You smiled in satisfaction, “thank yo-”

“Although, I’m not responsible if he accidentally trips and falls onto my fist.”

“Jungkook!”

“Fine, fine,” he grumbled, trying to stifle his amusement, “no violence.”

You narrowed your eyes in his direction, making him raise his hand in surrender. 

With Jungkook finally subdued, the atmosphere was allowed to settle into a comfortable silence, nothing but the sounds of nightlife - you hadn’t even realised it had gotten so late - bustling four floors below. The two of you watched Bam make his way between you before jumping onto the couch. You remembered when he was just a small puppy, so small that you could’ve scooped him up with one hand. Now he was much bigger, his body barely fitting in the space between you and Jungkook as he settled into the cushion, this time resting his head on Jungkook’s lap. Jungkook’s hand scratched softly behind his ears, the action so warm you felt it in your chest. 

“So, where exactly will this mystery date take place?” You asked, eyes still trained on the adorable moment before you.

Jungkook shrugged, the grin on his face answer enough, “you’ll find out then.”

“You’re so annoying.”

“You’re so impatient.”

You rolled your eyes, shifting to the side as you brought your legs to your chest. You rested your head against the back of the sofa, watching Bam - and maybe his dad too - fondly. The exhaustion from your day was slowly starting to get to you. 

“You know, for how much of a devil Bam usually is, he’s actually being such a good boy right now.”

Jungkook made a noise of mock offense. “Wow. So he’s a good boy, but I’m the annoying one?”

“You literally tried to commit a felony like ten minutes ago.”

He scoffed, tilting his head as if considering. “Felony is a strong word.”

“You were going to break a man’s jaw.”

Jungkook shrugged. “Okay, misdemeanor, then.”

You reached over to smack his arm lightly, and he chuckled, rubbing the spot dramatically as if you’d actually hurt him. The moment stretched between you, laughter fading once again into something quieter, something warmer. You didn’t know why your heart suddenly felt heavier in your chest, why the way Jungkook was looking at you made your stomach twist in a way that had nothing to do with nerves and everything to do with something you couldn’t name.

Jungkook cleared his throat, shifting slightly. “Anyway, don’t worry about the setup. I promise, he’s a great guy.”

You nodded, but the uneasy feeling in your stomach didn’t fade. There was something about this whole thing that felt…off. You just couldn’t quite put your finger on it.

“Alright,” you said, shaking off the feeling. “But if this goes horribly wrong, I get to pick your next date.”

Jungkook’s smirk faltered for just a second before he recovered. “Yeah, sure. We’ll see.”

You raised an eyebrow at his sudden hesitance but let it slide. For now.

Something told you this was going to be interesting.

[jeonginsleftcheek]

Be Quiet and Drive (Far Away)

pairing: chan x afab!reader

genre: angst, smut

wc: 1.9k

synopsis: you call your best friend in the middle of the night, seeking comfort in his presence and it takes an unexpected turn.

warnings: swearing, depression, semi-public, unprotected sex, creampie, mildly proofread

a/n: i love deftones with a burning passion

masterlist

You couldn't take it anymore.

Sitting alone in your apartment as you stared out the window and into the night, watching life pass you by. While you just stood in place. The same old routine over and over again, your body was moving on autopilot at this point. It seemed as if everyone around you was getting everything they wanted. A dream job, a perfect partner, whatever their little heart desired; while you were stuck with nothing.

Your hands were always left empty just like your soul.

And the emptiness kept growing every day until your tears had dried. There was no point in crying anyways, it never brought any solution to your problems, it only gave you headaches and bloodshot eyes. Your hand reached out for your phone hesitantly, shakily.

You knew he was awake because you knew your best friend like the back of your hand. So, you called him up. And he knew just what you needed without you having to explain it. He could read it in the tone of your voice and even though it made his heart clench in pain when he saw you like this, totally and utterly defeated; he still craved to be next to you. At least as a distraction.

That's how you ended up in the passenger seat of his car somewhere around 1:30am, dressed in a hoodie and sweatpants, your face bare and tired. And still he gave you a dazzling smile as if he was looking at the sun, not the dark cloud filled with rain that you felt like right now.

"You wanna put your playlist on?" Chan asked and you nodded, the familiar comforting tones of Deftones' Sextape flooding through the speakers of his car made you slump into the seat instantly.

Chan didn't ask, he never did, he always waited for you to start talking about it by yourself, he knew you needed some time to collect your thoughts before pouring your soul out to him. So, he just started driving into the dark night.

You stared out the window, everything seemed to pass by so quickly the more he sped up, the lights of the city becoming a river of blurriness as you pressed your forehead against the cold glass, your warm breath creating a little cloud on it.

You hugged yourself and closed your eyes tightly. You were transported to another place, a place where you weren't lonely and disappointed. A place where you weren't a let down. A place where you felt like you actually belonged, so far away from all of it. All the smiles of people who suddenly stopped talking to you just because they found someone better, someone more interesting to share their time with. They all started fading away into the darkness of the night sky.

Chan drove and drove, your playlist was almost finished by then, meaning you had spent an hour just driving around mindlessly together. He parked in a spot you always ended up at, high up above the city where you could see every building, every road and every tree.

Silence replaced the last song of the playlist before both of you got out wordlessly. You took a deep breath of the fresh night air and walked over to the little wall that was built there for safety reasons. Chan followed you after stretching his arms and legs and you let out a deep sigh.

Both of you stared at the stars quietly, your eyes connecting the little shining dots into various shapes before they found Chan's.

He gave you a small smile and you couldn't help but return it even if it didn't quite reach your eyes.

"My intrusive thoughts are telling me to throw my phone over the wall or some shit like that." you said suddenly and Chan let out a short laugh.

"Please don't do that." he shook his head. "I really don't wanna have to go climbing down there to get it."

"I'm not that crazy."

"Debatable." he teased you and you punched his arm, making him laugh.

The two of you went quiet again before you felt the nagging sadness washing over you again.

"I wish I could fucking disappear sometimes. Or just run away from here, somewhere far away." you said as you stared at the city in front of you.

"You'd be running from yourself then. That's kind of impossible."

"Don't go all psychological on me." you rolled your eyes playfully and Chan sighed with a smile on his face. "You know what. I don't wanna talk about it at all. Sometimes I don't even know why I even feel like this. Sometimes I'm just... not me."

"It's okay, Y/n. You don't have to always have a reason for feeling down, sometimes it just is what it is." Chan said, standing closer to you.

"I know." you said quietly, suddenly feeling bad that you made him come here in the middle of the night and you couldn't even give him a proper reason for it.

But, Chan didn't mind. In fact, he loved that he was the first person you'd reach out to when you get like this, it meant he was your comfort. And you had no idea that despite millions of stars shining in the sky, your best friend still found himself drawn to the sparkle of your eyes.

His fingers twitched by his side; how many more nights of this could he take? How many more times will you hurt yourself until you finally learn just how much you're worth?

He had no idea what the hell washed over him but something snapped deep inside his soul when you looked up at him as if you were searching for an answer inside his eyes. He reached out and cupped your face, the last thing he saw before closing the distance between you was your eyes widening and then fluttering shut.

You also had no idea what came over you but as soon as Chan's lips touched yours it was like in those cliche romantic movies, the feeling like everything clicked and fell into place. It wasn't fireworks exploding as they always describe it but it was definitely a fire burning deep inside you. The spark was always there and you just needed one push to finally ignite it.

Your hands clutched onto his shirt as you pulled him closer and his hand splayed on the back of your neck as he tilted your head and pushed his tongue into your awaiting mouth. Everything was spinning around you, and you were enveloped in Chan's warmth and his familiar smell.

Your brain melted and you couldn't think about consequences as he gripped your hair and swirled his tongue around yours. You couldn't form one coherent thought as he backed you up against the car, pressing his body against yours, making you feel wanted, warm, protected. You grabbed at his shoulders as his hands landed on your waist, then slid down to your hips, gripping you as if to ground himself. His lips never left yours not until you needed to breathe desperately.

You gasped for air and Chan opened the back door, a darkness in his eyes that you've never seen before but it made you shiver, tingles running up your spine.

"Get in the back." he said, softly but firmly and you got in, grabbing his hand and pulling him with you. As soon as he sat down and closed the door you were pulled into his lap and you pressed yourself against him. Neither of you said anything, your bodies melted together as your hands roamed on each other, lips dancing together again.

"Chan... please." you said, you had no idea what you were asking for, you only knew that you needed him to completely cover you and to erase everything with his touches and kisses.

Chan was everywhere, his lips and teeth on your neck, hands on your thighs, your hips, your ass, your back. He was mapping you out, making you his, making you feel everything you always craved for.

"Fuck! I can't take it." you don't remember the last time someone touched you like he did, kissed you like he did and you started grinding on him, even through layers of clothing you could feel how hot and hard he was and you were getting desperate.

Desperate to erase all the thoughts plaguing your tired mind.

Clothes were pulled off, albeit clumsily in the small space of the back of his car and Chan didn't even have time to admire you and worship you like he always wanted, you were already grabbing his length and lining yourself up.

"Wait, wait!" he stopped you and you looked at him, your heart beating hard against your chest.

"Are you sure?" he asked. You knew there was no going back or backing out of this right now.

"Yes." you said and sank down on him, whimpering at the stretch. Chan let out a low grunt as his hands gripped your hips, his middle lifting up automatically into you.

"God, you're so tight." he groaned and looked at you and you whimpered, your entire body shivering.

There was a thought in the back of your mind, a realization that you were fucking your best friend and that nothing will be the same after this but you ignored it and started moving on top of him. Chan guided you, holding your waist and helping you fuck yourself on him as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and fell forward into him, your breasts pressing into his chest.

"That's it baby... Fuck, just like that." Chan groaned and couldn't help it as his hips lifted up to meet yours. You clenched around him involuntarily when he spoke like that, his voice soft and familiar in your ear.

Nothing existed in that moment except him, his hands on your skin, his lips on your neck, his low moans in your ear and his length buried deep inside you. The car windows fogged up from the warmth your bodies created and all your worries melted into a puddle somewhere in the back of your mind. It doesn't matter, that was the only phrase bouncing around in your brain as Chan gripped your hips with a bruising hold, fucking up harder into you and bringing you back to the present moment.

You almost didn't realize you were making such loud sounds until you became aware of yourself, your body as it tensed up, close to the edge you so desperately wanted to fall off of.

"Fuck, Y/n!" Chan moaned your name, like a prayer spilling from his lips and you were pushed off the cliff as you exploded around him, your entire body shaking and your ears ringing.

As you clenched around him, Chan lost it, drowning in your warmth, your scent, your hands, your body slick with sweat and he pushed you down on him, burying himself so deep inside as he came, moaning your name over and over again.

You slumped against him, the warmth of his seed filling you up completely erased any thought left in your brain. Chan didn't say anything, afraid to break the fragile moment and have you try to run away from him. He held onto you, his embrace warm and familiar as you clung onto him, your face buried in his neck and your hearts beating together rhythmically.

You didn't want to think about what this meant or what tomorrow could bring.

But Chan's warm hand found yours and you thought that maybe, just maybe, life can be bearable if he was there with you and this time you wouldn't be left empty.

@moonchild9350 @janepg @velvetmoonlght @hwanghyunjinismybae @jehhskz @porangporangmeong @laylasbunbunny @laughatdanger @jeonginslefthand @sapphirewaves @s3ungm1nxxl0ve @painterhyunjin @moon-ttokki-x @saintcosette @ooshyana @frehyun @scarlet789 @skzdust @schniti-is-in-the-house @hwangjoanna @sona1800 @channiesrightasscheek @justwonder113 @yvettemint @inaribu00 @httpdwaekki @possum-playground @ria-april @yn-x-them @mariahxrrera @0omillo0 @halfwinterhalfuniverse @cooldeermagazine @delulkpopstan143 @todorokiskitten @compersian @azxulskz @stayp1eceposts @minniesverse @skzdreamer13 @0325ale @j-ji-jia @shannthewriter @mhluvie @my-neurodivergent-world @hyyunjinnn @spookybuttsstuff-blog @pancake-freckle @felixsbrowniesarmystayengene @minhooofr @hyunjincanraptoo @yaorzu-blog @ari-hwanggg @linofthelace @hyunjinlosthisamericano @the2000girlani @hhjlvr @beabidoobee @psychicdreamers

the playlist i love sm:

[queeniewithabeanie]

The Dreamcatcher

Dpxdc Prompt #26

All vigilantes get bad dreams. Of the ones they couldn't save, the criminals that got away, even of their fellow heroes dying. When you take up the cape you are practically signing an agreement for nightmares to haunt your sleep.

It's apart of the job, no matter how terrible.

One night after a long patrol, when the Bats were all dreading sleep, it was Steph that brought it up.

"We should get dreamcatchers. Hang em up on our doors, they'd help."

No one responded immediately, every single one of them knew that was a pipedream, including Steph.

"If it makes you feel better, go for it Steph." Dick finally obliged, after a too-long awkward silence.

When the intricate dreamcatchers appeared on the doors to their bedrooms a week later no one took them down. They all had ways to cope and if Steph giving all of them dreamcatchers gave her comfort who were they to deny it? Plus it was nice to have a bit of hope, no matter how fragile.

They didn't expect the dreamcatchers to actually work.

Danny had been dragged, beaten, and broken beyond repair by the GIW. He barely escaped their clutches with his half-life still intact and ran off to the closest city he could find, Gotham.

He built a life there, and slowly but surely the threat of the GIW only appeared as a background thought of his waking mind. It was a different story, however, when he was asleep.

They still hurt him every night, only difference was they weren't there to document it and look at him like guinea pig.

So Danny, like the problem-solver he was, made his own solution. After a few too many close calls with Nocturn he had found a way to infuse dreamcatchers with just enough ectoplasm to make them actually work. If they could repel an ancient ghost what was a few bad nightmares? He didn't have money to spare to buy one so he made his own and hung it up by his door.

He started sleeping better, with no nightmares of his own to haunt him, but that didn't mean his nights stopped being interrupted by screams. Not his own, no, apparently living in a city with so much crime and grime could lead to it's own traumatic experiences.

His neighbor's daughter had been kidnapped and trafficked, only recently brought back into his custody. She was 5 and Danny's heart broke every time he woke up to her shrieking.

So he made her a dreamcatcher too.

And then she told some of her friends who had also been hurt by someone, because who in Gotham hadn't, and they requested some dreamcatchers from him as well.

Word spread and soon Danny had a suitably profitable business on his hands.

He didn't charge much, most of his clientele could barely afford food, but he still needed to eat too.

Then the vigilante Spoiler came up to him and asked if he did custom orders.

Danny could see the hope behind the white eyes of her domino, desperation from years of built of pain and suffering.

"No usually, no, but if it's for the heroes of Gotham I can make an exception."