#'and if not there's always substance abuse'

[lostfracturess]

symptoms and causes | ch. 16

pairing — professor gojo x med student reader

summary — he's arrogant, self-centered, and he's your professor. renowned for his brilliance in neurosurgery and infamous for his allure. too bad you have to work with him on this research team. now you're stuck with dr. satoru gojo, delving into the complexities of both the brain and the heart — and of how far you'd go for a love that could destroy not only him but you as well.

word count — 11.5 k

warnings — 18+ ONLY. contains explicit sexual content, substance and alcohol abuse, dark and themes, unhealthy relationships, codependency, trauma, medical content and mentions of death, illness, abuse, and blood. full trigger warnings available on the masterlist. reader discretion is advised.

previously — unable to watch satoru turn to his abusive family for help with naoya's massive lawsuit, you're heading to his party against satoru's wishes, hoping to find something, anything, that might help his situation. but what happens when satoru decides to crash the party? and what will you find in that locked room?

author's note — hello lovelies, welcome back !! this chapter picks up right where we left off, but through satoru's eyes this time. also important note: this chapter contains a brief mention of SA concerning a background event not related to any of our main characters. as always, please mind all trigger warnings. and now enjoy the chaos <3

series masterlist + playlist + ao3 + wattpad

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I saw her the moment I stepped into that goddamn party, and everything inside me went still. 

Like that moment right before you drown, when the water first fills your lungs and the world goes quiet. Terrifying and so still.

She stood there under those cheap neon lights, looking scared and yet so beautiful—beautiful in that terrible way that makes you want to destroy something, that makes you want to tear it apart just to prove it's real.

Every fiber of my being screamed to go to her, to grab her and get her the hell out of here. Away from this place, away from him, away from all of it. 

But I couldn't move. Couldn't let the mask slip, not here, not with all these eyes on me. So I plastered on that easy smile and played the part of the mildly annoyed professor who just happened to crash a student party.

As if my skin wasn't crawling with the need to use again, veins begging for something—anything—to take the edge off. As if the mere sight of her didn't make me feel like someone had reached into my chest and ripped my fucking heart out, her next breath away from something I might regret.

She looked up at me with those pretty eyes of hers, and I saw the guilt there, swimming just beneath the surface. And for one horrible moment I thought, Good. Let it pull her under like it's pulling me. Let it fill her lungs the way fear is filling mine.

I almost hated her then — for lying to me again and again, for doing stupid things behind my back again and again, for making me feel this goddamn helpless again and again and again and fucking again.

But what lay beneath was worse. Because I knew why she was here. Always trying to save me, even if it meant throwing herself into the deep end, drowning right alongside me. And that's the worst kind of torture, isn't it? 

Watching the person you love cut themselves open on all your broken pieces, bleeding themselves dry, yet still reaching for more. And that thought made me want to scream.

"We'll talk about this later," I said, forcing that easy smile back onto my face though everything inside me was screaming to get her out of this goddamn house before she got herself into more trouble. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I need a drink."

I pushed past her, shoulder grazing hers, and I had to clench my fists to keep from turning back. Had to bite my tongue until I tasted blood to keep from saying something I couldn't take back. She had no idea what she did to me. Or maybe she did, and that was even worse.

Love and hate tangled together in my chest until I couldn't breathe. Because that's what she does to me — makes me feel everything at once, until I can't tell what's real anymore. Until I can't tell if I want to love her or ruin her. Until I can't remember which one would hurt more. Who I was before her. If I was anyone at all.

And it hit me then, as I left her standing there, all defiance and reckless stupidity and so unbearably precious it physically hurt—this must be what they mean when they say love and hate are two sides of the same coin. Because I loved her so much it felt like hatred. Hated her so deeply it could only be love.

Always on the razor's edge. One wrong step, and we'd both bleed out. Maybe we already were.

When was the last time I even went to a party like this anyway? Years ago, probably. Back when I could still pretend I had my shit together. Before I understood what it meant to love someone so consuming that self-destruction became a form of worship.

I needed a drink. Maybe ten. Maybe something stronger. 

Bass thundered through the floorboards as I shouldered my way deeper into the house, some shitty pop track slamming in my skull. Or maybe that was just the rage still burning in my bloodstream.

Sweaty bodies pressed in on all sides, but I barely noticed, lost in the chaos raging in my head. Lost in the desperate need scratching at my throat to turn back, to find her, to make sure she hadn't slipped away like every other good thing in my life.

I ordered vodka. First sip burned, but not enough. Never enough to wash away the fear, to forget that she was here, in this house, with him. The same bastard who'd tried to—My grip tightened on the glass. Yeah. Definitely needed something stronger. Here's hoping these kids still remember how to party.

"Professor Gojo! No way!"

A group of my students appeared beside me at the bar, their faces flushed with alcohol. Aoi, of course—that kid was everywhere. And Miwa, looking starstruck as always. Just my fucking luck.

"Is this what you all do instead of studying for my exams?" I asked, letting that easy smile slide into place.

"Come on, Prof, we've been killing ourselves over your damned hard exams," Miwa chimed in, all bright eyes and alcohol courage. "We deserve a break."

I let myself slip into the familiar role. The cool professor. The guy everyone wants to hang with. It was easier than I expected, letting their drunken energy wash over me, cracking jokes, making them laugh. Almost enough to wash out the withdrawal that made it nearly impossible to think straight. Almost enough to forget why I was really here. Almost.

Aoi was rambling about something, but I wasn't listening. Instead, I turned slightly, catching her gaze across the room. She looked at me like she wanted to kill me. Funny, how we wanted the same thing sometimes.

My woman. My stubborn, reckless, absolutely infuriating woman. Even now, with me watching her from across the room, I could see that defiance bright in her eyes. Even now, even here, in defiance of everything I'd asked of her, she stood her ground. 

It was admirable, really. And sometimes, that very defiance made me want to break her. Perhaps only to prove I could. To prove she wasn't in control. Perhaps because I was terrified that I wasn't. That I never was.

It's terrifying how thin that line is.

"See? Fucking legend!" Aoi raised his beer, at something I said, I think. I can't remember. Something clever, probably. Something that fits the role. "To the coolest professor on campus!" 

I raised my glass, I think. I can't remember. And that's when I caught sight of them by the front entrance. Suguru walked up to her, still standing where I'd left her, and cradled her face in his hands, tilting it up to meet his gaze. My god, could he be any more obvious about it?

I knew that look in his eyes. Had seen it countless times before, during all those long hours in the lab when he thought I wasn't paying attention. The way he'd lean in close to check her work, his hand lingering on her shoulder a moment too long. The way his eyes would follow her every move.

My best friend, in love with the love of my life. What a sick fucking joke.

He was examining her face now, probably making sure she was alright, being the good, caring friend he always was. His thumb brushed across her cheek, and something violent stirred in my gut. Because she didn't pull away. Of course she didn't. She never did, not with him.

They looked good together, standing there in the dim light. The brilliant researcher and his gifted student. No addiction between them. No sharp edges that sliced you open if you got too close. And I hated that.

I watched as she placed her hand over his, the gesture unbearably tender. Watched as he smiled down at her, that gentle smile he reserved only for her.

And just for a moment — one single, agonizing moment — I let myself picture a world where I hadn't reached her first. Where she'd chosen him instead. The better man. The one who'd never drag her down into his own personal hell.

The thoughts spiraled darker, louder, until I could barely breathe through the noise. Glass creaked under my grip. I needed a fucking pill. Needed something, anything, to make this stop. To make everything just fucking stop.

"Professor?" Miwa’s voice. "You okay?"

More students crowded the bar, blocking my view of them. One of them—what was his name? Third-year, not a complete idiot—shoved another beer into my hand. I chugged it in one long pull, their chatter fading to background noise.

"Well." That voice. That fucking voice. "Look who decided to crash my party after all."

I turned, meeting Naoya's scarred face with a smile that was all teeth and no warmth. "Zenin. Quite the gathering you've got here."

"Indeed." He signaled the bartender. "I gotta say though, I'm surprised to see you here, Professor. Don't tell me you're playing chaperone tonight?"

His words stripped away any pretense. He knew. Of course he fucking knew why I was really here. Not that I'd been particularly subtle about it.

"Just felt like reliving my youth," I said, taking the drink he offered. Anything to keep my hands busy, to keep myself from finishing what I'd started with his face.

Zenin's smirk widened, the scars pulling his flesh into something even uglier. "Ah yes, the good old days. Back when teachers knew their place and didn't go around screwing their students."

The fake smile slid off my face, the glass creaking in my grip as I pictured how easily his windpipe would crumple under my hands. How satisfying it would be to watch that smirk disappear for good.

"Careful, Zenin. Your face is already fucked up enough as is. Would be a damn shame if something happened to what's left of it."

He laughed, the sound grating on my last nerve like nails on a chalkboard. "Always so protective. But tell me, Professor, does she know the real reason you're here? Does she know about the—"

"Enough," I bit out.

"Oh, did I hit a nerve?" His eyes flicked across the room, landing on her. The way he looked at her made my vision bleed red around the edges. "She really is something else, isn't she? Too bad I didn't get a chance to get her alone that night—"

My hand lashed out before I could think, fisting in his collar. The fabric bunched in my grip as I hauled him close enough to see my own fury reflected in his eyes. "You fucking—"

Then Suguru was there, his hand slamming down on the bar between us. Silent, steady—a wall between me and a one-way ticket to unemployment. He didn't say a word, just fixed me with that look. The one I'd explicitly asked for earlier. Stop me before I do something I'll regret.

Fuck, I was really starting to regret that request right about now.

Then I felt her—her touch impossibly gentle as she laid her hand on my bicep, the heat of her skin seeping through my shirt. She leaned in close, "Satoru, can we talk for a minute?"

Her soft plea sliced through the haze, and suddenly I became acutely aware of the deafening silence that had fallen over the room, of the countless eyes boring into us.

I uncurled my fingers from Naoya's collar one by one, even though everything in me screamed to finish what I'd started. To paint the walls with whatever was left of his face. But I couldn't. We both knew. So I stepped back and followed her.

─── ·✧· ───

She led me through the crowd, her fingers still wrapped so gently around my arm. We pushed our way past the prying eyes, down a hallway, until she found what looked like an empty office. Probably belonged to Naoya's father, judging by the dark wood and that rich people smell.

For a moment, we just stood there, neither of us willing to shatter the fragile silence. Moonlight sliced through the blinds, turning everything silver and strange, like we were underwater. Maybe we were. I wasn't sure anymore. Her hand slipped from my arm, and suddenly I felt cold.

I collapsed into the chair behind the desk, the leather groaning under my weight. She stood silhouetted at the window, arms wrapped tight around herself, and I had to look away. Had to focus on something else, because I knew one glance at those eyes and I'd break.

My fingers found the pill on their own. Out of habit, really. Without thinking, I snatched up the silver letter opener next to me and crushed the pill beneath it, watching the powder scatter across the polished wood like fresh snow. I bent down and let the burn fill my nose, sear through my brain, numbing everything in an instant. 

When I looked up, she was staring. Always fucking staring, with eyes that flayed me to the bone. And she did it so effortlessly. Saw through everyone around her with that unnerving precision. Or maybe she saw through everything so clearly because she looked for the very things she wanted to hide from others.

"That's new," she said. Not an accusation. I was glad it wasn't.

"It's faster."

I averted my gaze and sank deeper into the chair, letting my head fall back against the headrest as warmth flooded my veins and the ceiling blurred and shifted above me. And then everything went soft around the edges, like looking through frosted glass.

A long exhale escaped my lips. Finally—fucking finally—the constant noise in my head, all that shit I can't shut up—the love, the hate, the fucking terror of it all—it faded to a whisper. The world got a little quieter, a little less sharp. A little more bearable.

For one perfect moment, I could actually breathe. Could almost convince myself I was in control. That this wasn't killing me. That I could walk away if I had to. That I wasn't fucking terrified of losing her. Of becoming him. Of everything.

I groaned, fingers raking through my hair, pulling, needing the pain. My hands were shaking again. Or maybe they never stopped. I couldn't tell anymore.

"You're angry," she said.

"No shit. What gave it away?" I scrubbed my hands over my face. "You showing up here after I specifically fucking told you not to? Or me nearly rearranging Zenin's face again?"

"Satoru—"

"Don't." I squeezed my eyes shut, fingers yanking at my hair again, trembling worse now. From the drugs, the rage, the fear, who the fuck knew. It all bled together these days. "You have no idea what he'd do. If something happened—" I stopped. Couldn’t continue.

"I'm not alone," she said, like that made a difference. "Maki, Yuta, Toge—they're all with me. We're being careful."

"Careful?" I sat upright, forcing myself to meet her gaze. "There's nothing fucking careful about this! It's reckless! You shouldn't even be—"

"I'm doing this for you—"

"Don't." I cut her off. "Don't make this about me."

"But it is!" She stepped closer, eyes blazing. "What, you expect me to just stand by and watch? While you fall apart?"

"This isn't your problem to fix—"

"Like hell it isn't!" Another step. Her eyes seared into mine. "I can't fucking take it anymore. You're in this mess because of me. Because you protected me that night. So don't you dare tell me this isn't my problem to fix."

I stared at her, something in my chest fracturing. "You think that's why I'm doing this? Because I feel obligated?"

"I think you're trying to protect me, like you always do."

"Then don't make me protect you all the goddamn time!" I shoved up from the chair and braced my hands on the desk. "I beat him within an inch of his life that night. I would've killed him if—" My throat closed around the words. "And I'd do it again. In a fucking heartbeat. That's what scares the shit out of me. What I become when it comes to you."

She went still.

"And if he hurt you again," the words scraped out of me, "I—I don't know what I'd do. So please. Just please don't make me find out."

I said the words I'd been turning over in my head for what felt like eternity. Don't make me find out, don't put yourself in danger, don't break my fucking heart. Which really meant break me all you want, just don't leave. I wouldn't survive it.

Her gaze dropped briefly to my hands, and she said, "You done?" 

Her question threw me. Done? God, this infuriating woman. But then I followed her line of sight and saw my hands clenched into white-knuckled fists around the desk’s edge. I slowly released them, my knuckles cracking in the sudden stillness.

I slumped back into the chair, exhausted, defeated, throwing an arm over my eyes. "God, I fucking hate you." The way she stood there, unflinching, unafraid—it made me insane. "I hate that you make me feel like this—so fucking terrified all the time."

"You don't hate me," she said.

"Sometimes I'm not so sure anymore," I answered.

How does it never get easier, I wondered. Loving her. Needing her. It just cuts deeper, spreads further, until I'm drowning in the ache. Until I can't breathe without feeling it in my lungs. And yeah, I hate her for that sometimes.

I couldn't look at her. I knew she'd be there, unyielding, waiting, enduring everything I threw at her, as she always did. Never breaking. Maybe that's what I hated most.

"You're so fucking stupid," I breathed, but it came out wrong. Too soft. Too much like 'I love you'. Too much like 'Please don't leave.' 

"I think that's mutual." She crossed the room then and leaned against the desk, arms folded over her chest. "I'm sorry I lied to you."

I lowered my arm and looked at her. "No, you're not."

"I am sorry for worrying you," she tried again, and I almost believed her, wishing desperately that she'd never have to worry about anything the way I worry about her. "Go ahead, say it. Tell me how stupid I was to come here. I know you're dying to."

"Why would you think that?"

She kept her eyes fixed on the floor. "Because it's true. I make the wrong choice every fucking time."

I watched her, this brilliant, stubborn woman that I love so much, beating herself up over choices that weren't really choices at all—just impossible situations with no right answers. Like there was ever a right answer. And sometimes she reminded me so much of myself. As if I hadn't spent years doing the same thing, and probably still do.

But seeing her do it—it was like staring into a mirror and seeing not just my reflection, but the reflection of everything I hated about myself.

"I think that's mutual," I echoed her words back to her.

With a heavy sigh, I pushed up from the chair, gripping the edge of the desk for a second. Then I reached for her, hands landing on her hips, tugging her close, needing her close. My lips ghosted over hers. Hesitant. Unsure. When she didn't pull away, I kissed her. My hand came up to cradle her face, thumb skimming her cheekbone as I deepened the kiss.

"Alright, what's the plan?" I murmured against her mouth.

She told me about the locked room upstairs and her plan to get it. So calm. She told it so calm. Like it was that simple. Like this wasn't the most insane thing I'd ever heard. But I knew she'd go through with it no matter what I said.

"You seriously think I'm gonna let you anywhere near him with alcohol involved?"

"No," she said. "I think you're going to help me."

"Times like this, I'm really feeling that age difference between us," I said, but we both heard the resignation in my voice. The moment I'd already lost this fight.

"So you'll help?" she asked, ignoring my comment.

Before she could celebrate her victory, I yanked her closer, fingers twisting in her hair. With a sharp tug, I forced her head back until she had no choice but to meet my gaze, her throat bared. Our eyes locked, and I saw the instant her breath hitched.

"On one condition."

"What's that?"

"When we get home, you're gonna make it up to me for all the stress you've caused. Got it?"

"Is that really how you want to play this?"

"Oh, love, I think we're way past propriety at this point."

A shiver ran through her — one that made me almost smile. I could feel her pulse racing beneath my fingertips, could feel the way she melted into me despite herself. It almost made this whole mess worth it.

"Now then." I pulled back just far enough to look her in the eye. "let's have some fun, shall we?"

─── ·✧· ───

So, here's the fun story about how I ended up playing beer pong with my arch-nemesis (besides Sukuna, that is) against my future lovely wife and some chemistry nerd who wouldn't shut up about covalent bonds. Not exactly the Saturday night I had in mind.

I mean, here I was, standing next to Naoya — yeah, the same guy whose face I'd rearranged a few months back — trying to aim at red plastic cups while you were absolutely wiping the floor with us. Turns out that whole '10 years of grief training in alcoholism over your dead father' wasn't just a cute phrase you threw around. Who would've thought?

But really, trying to out-drink an opioid addict? That's like challenging a fish to a swimming contest. Except the fish is in heavy withdrawal. So like, with no fin. Not my finest analogy. I blame the alcohol. What was my point again?

Anyway. Most annoying part? This chemistry department kid with these wide, bright eyes wouldn't stop talking to you about molecular structures. And you were actually entertaining him. At a party. About electron transfers. Of all the insufferable things.

"So if you consider the aromatic compounds—" he was saying, and I swear on my medical license, I didn't mean for the ball to hit him. And I definitely didn't mean for it to hit him that hard. Pure accident, really. 

The ball bounced off his shoulder, effectively shutting him up. They both turned to look at me. "Molecular restructuring in organic compounds? Really?" I shrugged. "At a party?"

She shot me that look. You know the one. The classic 'I-can't-believe-I'm-sleeping-with-this-idiot' glare. It's become quite familiar these days.

"Trouble in paradise?" Naoya said beside me, and I briefly considered rearranging his face again. For symmetry's sake, of course.

But then she bent over to pick up the ball, and suddenly organic chemistry was the furthest thing from my mind. I definitely shouldn't have let her leave the house in that skirt. Though knowing her, she probably wore it just to torture me. 

"Getting distracted, Professor?" she said, straightening up with that little smile that never fails to make me want to do wildly inappropriate things to her in very public places. She leaned across the table, deliberately tapping one of our cups with her finger, giving me her most innocent eyes. Because apparently, driving me insane was her new favorite pastime.

"Me?" I lifted the red cup she'd tapped to my lips, taking my sweet time with the drink, my eyes never leaving hers. "Never."

And somewhere in the haze of beer and the way she was looking at me, I tried to remember why the hell we were even here. Oh right—something about stealing keys. Real professional operation we've got going here. The medical board would be so proud. Their star surgeon, reduced to playing beer pong as a distraction tactic. 

Naoya's keys were right there on the table, practically screaming to be grabbed. But between her legs in that skirt and the way she kept biting her lip every time she lined up a shot, I found myself giving fewer and fewer shits about saving my career and more about how quickly I could get her alone. Priorities. I clearly had them. Alcohol might have scrambled them a bit, I guess.

I caught a glimpse of Suguru standing off to the side of the beer pong table. He was pinching the bridge of his nose, his eyes darting back and forth between me and her like he was watching the world's most stressful tennis match. I really owed him one for putting up with this shit.

Near the chemistry kid, a girl approached who looked a bit like Higurama's intern—though I wasn't entirely sure. She looked different, wearing makeup and dressed up. But that couldn't be her. She'd avoid places with flashing lights because of her epilepsy. I must be seeing things.

Then Naoya, because clearly this shitshow wasn't enough of a disaster already, decided to "level up the process." He snapped his fingers at a passing bartender, and before I could process what the fuck was happening, there was a tray of perfectly lined up tequila shots on the table. Complete with cinnamon and orange slices, because apparently, we're keeping it classy while trying to get my future wife drunk.

"New rule," Naoya announced, his scarred face pulling into what I can only assume was meant to be a grin. "Next shot I sink, you drink both. Beer and tequila."

I glanced over at her, my gut churning. Not from the alcohol—it'd take a hell of a lot more than this to get me there—but from the way she met Naoya's challenge with a nod. That stubborn tilt of her chin that always meant trouble. My palms started to sweat.

Of course, Naoya's ball dropped perfectly into her cup. Because the universe really does have a sick sense of humor.

Watching her reach for both drinks, I found myself wondering what the medical board would be more pissed about — me playing drinking games with students, screwing one of my students, or the fact that I was seriously considering murder. Again.

Then, by some physics-defying miracle or sheer dumb luck, the chemistry kid actually landed a shot. He looked as shocked as the rest of us when the ball plopped into Naoya's cup. But it was her next shot that really got my attention — perfect arc, clean landing, like she'd been doing this her whole damn life.

"Drink up, Professor," she said, but there was something different in her voice.

She reached for the tequila, and then—fuck me—propped one leg up on a nearby beer crate, the motion making her skirt ride up just enough to flash a strip of skin above her tights. Wait. Those weren't tights. Those were fucking stockings.

My brain short-circuited as I realized she'd been walking around all night in stockings. Actual stockings, with what I knew had to be a garter belt hidden under that criminally short skirt. The same spot where she was now deliberately sprinkling cinnamon.

The sight of that exposed sliver of skin between stocking and skirt made my blood boil. When the hell had she even bought those? Had she worn them just for tonight, knowing they'd make me lose my goddamn mind? Was she trying to get herself killed?

Because right now, watching her purposely dust cinnamon on that band of exposed skin, I wasn't sure if I wanted to murder her or fuck her. Probably both. My mouth went dry, and it had fuck-all to do with the alcohol.

"Well?" She tilted her head, all innocence except for that knowing look in her eyes. "Coming to get your tequila?" 

Like she had to ask twice. Yet I hesitated. With all these people watching? What was she playing at? It was reckless, careless, like she was deliberately trying to expose us. It was power play, a challenge. And I knew, that she knew, that I couldn't resist.

A slow smile spread across my face as I sank to one knee before her, the crowd fading into a blur of noise. All that mattered was her—the way her breath hitched as I gripped her calf, the way she tensed as she realized that I made a whole show for her (poor girl didn’t expect that now, did she?)—the feel of her skin on my tongue.

I took my sweet time with the cinnamon, letting my tongue glide over the exposed strip of flesh, feeling her shiver. My teeth grazed her skin, just enough to draw a soft gasp from her lips. If she wanted a show, I'd give her a show. And part of me wanted to shove that skirt higher, to chase that taste of salt and cinnamon further up her thigh until—

Focus. Fucking focus.

I straightened, stepping into her space. She held an orange slice in one hand, the shot glass in the other, and I couldn't help but notice how her pupils had blown wide, how her chest rose and fell just a little faster than normal.

I plucked the orange from her fingers with my teeth, my lips brushing her skin, then took the shot glass, using the movement to press closer, my mouth right by her ear, "What exactly is your plan here?"

"Create distraction," she breathed back.

God help me, but it was working. I was definitely distracted. Whole damn crowd was distracted. And watching her play this game—watching her play me—was probably the hottest and most infuriating thing I'd ever experienced. And I'm pretty sure everyone could see I was hard too.

"You're distracting the wrong audience," I whispered before knocking back the shot.

In the midst of trying to control my homicidal urges over those goddamn stockings, she caught my eye and subtly jerked her head. I turned, making it look like I was just checking something, and spotted them—Zenin, Okkotsu, and Inumaki hovering on the other side of the table behind Naoya, waiting for their chance. 

Right. The keys. The whole reason we were here. I almost forgot.

The game continued, the tension building with each shot. We were down to the last round — winner takes all. That's when she decided to really test my patience.

"Let's make this more interesting," she announced, her voice carrying over the crowd. "Losers jump in the pool." A pause, then because apparently she was hell-bent on giving me a coronary. "No clothes."

"You wouldn’t dare," Naoya scoffed.

"Try me," she replied. 

I shot her a warning look. She subtly chewed on her bottom lip, meeting my gaze with an unnerving calm, perhaps her way of saying everything's gonna be okay. It did little to ease the knot in my stomach.

One shot left. If she made this, Naoya and I would be stripping down for a midnight dip. If she missed—

I tried not to think about her in that pool. Tried not to think about those stockings getting soaked. Tried not to think about murdering every sorry bastard who might lay eyes on her. Either way, this woman was going to be the death of me. If I didn't kill her first.

Naoya landed his shot, fucking prick. I missed mine for obvious reasons. Chemistry kid missed too, leaving everything on her shoulders. The ball left her hand, arcing through the air in what felt like slow motion. It circled the rim, then rolled away.

The crowd went wild. Naoya's victory smirk made me want to punch his face in. I glanced over at her, wondering for a second if she'd missed on purpose. But there was no time for that.

"Well?" Naoya's voice. "I believe the losers owe us a show."

"The game wasn't exactly fair—" I started, but she cut me off.

"Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted, Naoya?" She turned to him, her words sharp. "To see me undress without having to drug me first?"

The crowd went dead silent. Naoya's scarred face contorted into something ugly. "Watch your mouth, little girl. You're not as untouchable as you think."

"And you're pathetic," she spat back, then turned away from him. "At least I get to choose when I undress, right?”

She started walking toward the pool, each step deliberate, commanding. I followed, caught between pride and sheer terror at what she was about to do. At the edge, she turned back to me.

"Don't," I pleaded, but she was already reaching for the hem of her skirt. It fell, revealing the dark lace of her stockings. Then her top followed, and I stepped closer, trying to shield her from the leering eyes.

"This is insane." But my protest died as she stood there in only black lace, and then I saw them—the bruises from the fire still painted across her waist and ribs. Dark purple and yellow marks that hadn't yet faded, cruel reminder of how close I'd come to losing her.

The sight sobered me instantly. Something twisted in my chest, sharp and painful. The bruises I'd carefully tended to, the ones that still made her wince when I changed her bandages—on full display for this crowd of drunk idiots, turned into a spectacle.

"Please," I begged, my voice barely audible. "Don't do this."

She met my gaze, and for a fleeting moment, I thought I’d reached her. But then that smile—the one that sealed my fate—touched her lips. "Sorry, Professor," she whispered, and then she was gone, falling backward into the pool, taking a piece of me with her.

The splash echoed in my ears like a gunshot, and I was already shrugging off my jacket, ready to either dive in after her or use it to cover her when she surfaced. A cold, hard fury settled in my gut. Naoya was going to pay for this.

The crowd roared as she surfaced, her hair plastered to her face, water tracing the curves of her body beneath the soaked lace. Our eyes met across the distance, me standing at the pool's edge, and I didn’t bother to hide my disappointment. Something flickered across her face—regret maybe, or shame—before she looked away.

Hell broke loose. Bodies crashed into the water, sending waves across the pool. Even Naoya stripped off his shirt and dove in, reveling in the attention. The whole party seemed to shift to the pool in a matter of seconds — clothes flying, drinks splashing, the pristine water turning into a churning mess. 

Perfect distraction.

But I barely registered any of it, my world had narrowed to her. I watched as she climbed out, leaving a trail of wet footprints on the concrete, practically sprinting past me, her gaze fixed on the floor, while water dripped from her hair, her skin, the dark lace clinging to her form.

Behind her, the pool had turned into chaos — exactly what she'd planned, I realized. 

I gathered her clothes from where they'd fallen and followed her inside. I caught a glimpse of Okkotsu's quick movements near the discarded clothes by the pool. 

Well played.

─── ·✧· ───

Her dripping form drew curious eyes as we moved through the foyer. Each step felt like a penance—hers for the recklessness, mine for letting it happen. Heads turned, conversations died, the sudden silence punctuated only by the soft drip, drip, drip of water from her hair.

Kento’s face flashed past, but I barely registered him. No doubt he'd give me shit about it at the university later, like he didn't already know something was up with me and her.

I wrapped my jacket around her shivering shoulders, fighting the desperate urge to reach for the opioids hidden in my pocket. Withdrawal, guilt, and fury burned together in my veins, making me want to crawl out of my own skin. 

I stepped in front of her, partly to block all those eyes on her, partly to hide how bad my hands were shaking. None of it was worth it. Not the keys, not avoiding my parents, none of it. How did we end up here? How did I allow things to get to this point?

Upstairs, she dressed quickly, water still dripping from her hair, leaving damp patches on her clothes.

"Are you cold?" 

"I'm okay," she said, avoiding my gaze. 

She was shaking. I could see the goosebumps on her arms. "You're shivering," I said and reached for her, but she pulled away.

“I’m fine, really.”

Despite her words, I pulled her close. She didn't resist this time, tilting her face up to mine. Her eyes were bright, and for a second, I thought she might cry. The world could have been watching, for all I cared. If those tears fell, it would be my undoing.

And then I thought of everything she'd done, everything she'd had to do—for me. My twenty-four-year-old student, forced to protect me from my own damn parents, to beg for my own money. Because I’d hit a guy who tried to hurt her. Why was it all so fucked up?

The high was long gone, leaving this gaping hole. My limbs felt heavy, detached, like they belonged to a stranger, unable to reach out and fix what I’d broken. And we were so far from where we started.

"You're disappointed," she finally said. She wasn't asking.

"We should leave." Because I couldn't bear to watch her sacrifice one more piece of herself for me.

"You can leave."

Before I could say anything back, Zenin came bursting into our corner, Okkotsu and Inumaki right behind her, her eyes all lit up. "That was fucking insane!" she yelled, waving something around—Naoya's keys. "But it worked! I can't believe it actually—" She stopped short, finally noticing the tension between us.

The win felt empty. Yeah, we got what we came for. But what did it cost? Looking at her, still shivering a little in my jacket, I wasn't so sure it was worth it. I was supposed to protect her. Instead, I just kept watching her throw herself in the fire for me. 

Some professor I was. Some man I was.

Strange how winning can feel so much like losing, especially when you realize you're not the one paying the price.

─── ·✧· ───

I stayed outside Naoya's room, playing lookout. At least that's what I told them. Truth was, I couldn't stand being in there, couldn't bear being near her, watching her fight my battles while I was barely holding myself together.

The itch under my skin had spread, making my whole body crawl with invisible insects while she did the dirty work. Even after everything, she was still trying to save me. 

And I was still letting her.

I slid down the wall, my head hitting the floor. How did we end up here? What the fuck were we doing? What the fuck was I doing?

I'm thirty-five years old, for fuck's sake. Why was I acting like a goddamn teenager? I should've stopped her, shouldn't have let her leave the house to begin with, should've been the adult. But instead, I let it happen, standing by and watching where it led. Again.

This whole situation was insane. We were in too deep, and I knew it. But I couldn't seem to find my way out, couldn't seem to stop this trainwreck we were on. It was like I was watching it all happen from outside my own body, powerless to change course.

What kind of man was I? What kind of professor? I was supposed to be her mentor, her… something more. Instead, I was dragging her down with me.

I thought back to that night, the one that started it all. The night I found her in the lab, working late, hunched over her microscope. She looked up at me with those eyes, those damn eyes that seemed to see right through me. And I was lost. I knew it was wrong. I knew I should have walked away. But I didn't. I couldn't. Drawn in. Consumed.

And now, here we were. Trapped in this fucked-up situation of our own making. I wanted to blame her, to say it was all her fault for being so reckless, so damn stubborn. But I knew that wasn't true. I let this happen. I didn’t stop it. But why? 

I could replay the events in my mind, frame by frame, but the crucial moment, the point where I should have intervened, remained a blur. It was as if some part of me had wanted to see where this ended.

Music still drifted up from downstairs, the bass thumping through the walls. It felt wrong, out of place. Like we were in a different world, a fucked-up one, while everyone else was living their normal, happy lives.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block it all out, trying to pretend, just for a moment, that this wasn't happening. That we weren't here. That everything was okay. But it was happening. And I was in it, and I knew I couldn't hold my breath much longer.

My hands wouldn't stop shaking. Kept seeing things in the corners of my vision. Shadows that shouldn't move but did, faces that weren't faces at all. The wallpaper breathed. In and out. In and out. Like a lung.

Stop it. Just stop all of it. Make it stop. But it won't stop, can't stop, because she's in there right now, digging through his things, trying to save me save me save me why won't she just stop trying to save me?

Everything felt wrong, sick, twisted. Too bright and too dark all at once. My skin didn't fit right anymore. Nothing fit right anymore. God, I needed a goddamn fix.

A cough. I pressed my hand against my mouth. When I pulled it away, my palm was red. 

Huh. That's new. 

I stared at the blood, watching it pool in the lines of my hand. It looked wrong somehow, too dark, too thick. The longer I stared, the more it seemed to move strangely, crawling along the creases of my palm.

Was blood supposed to move like that? Like it was alive? Like it was trying to tell me something? I couldn't remember anymore. I couldn't remember a lot of things lately. The blood kept moving, kept spreading. 

Maybe this was it—maybe I was finally losing whatever scraps of sanity I had left, sitting here on a dirty floor watching my own blood drip down my palm.

A part of me wondered if he'd been right all along, that I was becoming him, the very thing I’d always feared. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. I was supposed to be better, different. Not this—huddled on a filthy floor at a college party, watching my blood move as if in psychosis, while she risked everything for me. Again. 

The door handle turned. Shit. I wiped my palm against the dark carpet, smearing the blood into the fibers where it vanished like it was never there. I scrambled to my feet just as they emerged. She moved quickly, shoving something beneath the waistband of her skirt. Before I could speak, she grabbed my arm.

"Let's leave." There was something like panic in her voice. "I'll tell you outside."

I gripped her hand, my own pulse quickening, and we went downstairs and pushed through the mass of drunk students. But then the music cut abruptly, plunging us into a moment of strange silence before panicked voices filled the void. 

"What the hell—?" Okkotsu’s shout cut through the din from behind us.

Then I saw the flashing lights—red and blue strobing through the windows. Fuck. 

"Cops!" Someone shouted, and the whole house erupted into chaos as people scrambled in every direction.

"Everyone freeze!" A voice boomed through the foyer. "Nobody moves!"

We reached the entrance as two officers shouldered their way through the front door. The bigger one looked like he benched trucks for fun, taking up almost the entire doorframe as he planted himself there.

"Listen up!" he bellowed, one meaty hand resting on his belt. "Party's over. Nobody leaves until we check IDs."

Perfect. Just fucking perfect.

I felt her tense beside me, those things hidden in her waistband might as well have been burning her skin. I could practically feel her panic.

"Look, officers." I stepped forward, forcing my voice into something professional. "There seems to be some confusion—"

"No confusion here," Truck-Bencher cut me off, the scar on his lip twisting as he frowned. "Got noise complaints, reports of underage drinking. Everyone stays put."

"I'm faculty at the university. These are my students and they're all over twenty-one. You're wasting everyone's time—"

"Nobody leaves until we say so."

"You really want to process IDs for over two hundred students?"

"You telling me how to do my job?" He shifted closer, chest puffed out despite me having two inches on him.

Withdrawal crawled beneath my skin like insects, each bite feeding the rage that built vertebra by vertebra up my spine. "Depends. Are you actually doing it, or just power tripping?"

"Back the fuck up." His hand dropped to his belt. "Last chance."

I felt her fingers digging into my arm, trying to pull me back. But the rage was a living thing now, burning away anything resembling sense or restraint. "Or what?"

The punch came fast. I dropped, and heard the sickening crack of bone against flesh—not mine. Some poor student next to me. For a heartbeat, everything stopped. Then chaos.

Bodies everywhere. Screaming. Shoving. Radio static cutting through the roar. Her hand in mine as we pushed through the surge. Her friends somewhere behind. Everything blurred. I can't remember when she let go of my hand.

I just remember the scream. Different from the others. Then her voice, "Get her on the ground!" I shoved through the mass of bodies. Saw the girl on the floor. Ice flooded my veins.

I knew that face. Higurama's intern. My patient. My responsibility.

I dropped beside her, my hands shaking so violently I could barely feel them. Her eyes rolled back. Withdrawal made everything too sharp, too bright. I couldn't think. Couldn't—

Satoru. Satoru. Satoru. Satoru. Satoru. Satoru. It was her voice. Fingers gripped my arm. "Satoru, look at me." I met her eyes. Steady. Unnerving. "Focus."

Everything snapped back into place. My phone was in my hand before I realized I'd moved. "This is Dr. Gojo from Jujutsu Medical. Twenty-six-year-old female, epileptic, pre-seizure presentation. We need immediate assistance."

My voice was mechanical, professional. Inside, my mind screamed. Why was she here? Had she been drinking? Were her meds interacting with something? I should know this. Should be better than this. Should be fucking better. 

Nausea rose in my throat and I'd never felt more like a failure in my entire fucking life.

Behind us, the fight continued to rage. A man’s voice bellowed, trying to restore order. Then Suguru was there, kneeling beside her, his hands gentle as he cradled her head. He murmured something, soft and low. The tenderness in his movements caught me off guard. 

"The ambulance is taking too long." His voice cut through everything. Before I could process it, he had her in his arms, head protected against his chest and moved.

─── ·✧· ───

I can't remember how we got to the hospital.

Everything blurred into fragments. Flashing lights, squealing tires, the weight of everything crushing my chest. Each breath scraped like broken glass. My hands wouldn't stop shaking until I swallowed three pills. Maybe four. I lost count.

The fluorescent lights overhead were too bright, too harsh, making my skull feel like it was splitting open. I wanted to crack my head against the wall.

Some part of me was still moving, still speaking in that detached doctor voice — rattling off medical history, medications, possible interactions. Years of training overriding the screaming in my head. But they never trained us for this.

Never trained us for how guilt tastes like acid in your throat while watching your mistakes breathe shallowly on starched white sheets.

They taught us to make clean incisions, to suture arteries, to restart hearts. But not how your own heart would seize when you recognize the face on the floor. Not how your girlfriend’s hands would be steadier than your own worthless trembling ones as you fumbled for your phone, your throat closing around the words "this is my fault", "please" and "I'm sorry."

Didn’t prepare us for withdrawal turning your hands into treacherous strangers while someone seized at your feet. For the shame that festers in your gut as you come down, struggling to remember basic fucking dosages through the need scorching through your veins.

They never warned us how love would carve you open worse than any scalpel, making you both butcher and victim, instrument and incision. Never warned us about loving someone while you’re falling apart. How it feels like drowning in open air, your chest cracked wide and your beating heart wrenched out into daylight, desperate and terrified and somehow still pumping, still fighting, still so fucking afraid.

Higurama's intern lay still now, the steady drip of the IV marking time like a metronome in the silence. I watched the gentle rise and fall of her chest, my mind replaying the medications, the dosages, searching for the mistake I must have made. There had to be one. There was always one.

Perhaps he was right about me after all. Funny how even now, even here, I could still hear his voice so clearly.

"You okay?"

She sat across from me, swallowed by my spare clothes—an old t-shirt and sweatpants that draped loosely on her frame, a blanket draped over her legs. Anything was better than those clothes from before, those fucking stockings I'd personally thrown in the trash.

"Satoru?" she tried again. "You okay?"

I couldn't bring myself to answer.

"Talk me through her meds again," she said, resting her head in her palm. Her eyes, piercing and unwavering, never left my face as she waited.

I rubbed my temples, trying to focus through the exhaustion. "Standard anticonvulsants. Levetiracetam, 500mg twice daily. Added phenytoin after the first seizure." I fell back into my chair, scrubbing my hand over my face. "She couldn't tolerate the Levetiracetam, so I switched to Topiramate, 500mg thrice daily."

She was quiet for a moment. "Side effects?"

"Minor. Tremor in her extremities sometimes, but nothing she couldn't handle. It was working." I paused. "It was supposed to be working."

"EEG results?"

"Showed mild abnormalities. Nothing that would explain a seizure this severe." I scrubbed at my face again, harder this time. "I should have seen it. Should have caught something."

"Satoru." Her voice held that gentle firmness I knew so well. "You did everything right."

"Then why did she seize?" I stood abruptly, the chair screeching against linoleum. I turned away, unable to bear her gentle gaze. Outside, dawn was breaking in shades of grey. No color, no warmth, just an endless stretch of concrete and clouded sky bleeding into each other. "If I did everything right, why is she lying here?"

"Because sometimes that's just how it goes. You know this better than anyone," she said. "Medicine isn't perfect. Neither are we."

My reflection stared back at me, ghostly and distorted in the glass. Dark circles, stubble, hair a fucking mess. A doctor coming down from a high while his patient lay in a hospital bed.

"I should have increased the dosage earlier. Run more tests. I should have—"

"Seen the future?"

"I should have been better."

"You are already the best," she said, but it felt like a lie to me. "But even the best can't control everything."

Higurama's intern stirred slightly in her sleep, and we both fell silent, the moment stretching taut between us. I dragged myself back to the chair, sinking down with my face in my hands.

"You didn't do anything wrong," she whispered, leaning forward to brush a stray strand of hair from the girl's forehead. "Sometimes life just happens, and all we can do is be there to pick up the pieces."

I wanted to believe her. God, how I wanted to. But the truth sat like stones in my stomach.

"I hate this," I whispered.

"I know."

Silence.

"Do you blame yourself?" she asked quietly.

"How can I not?"

Because it's stupid, you know this. I could feel them in my bones, the words forming on her lips before she could speak them. "How did that ever change anything?" I said before she could start.

She leaned back, the chair creaking slightly. "Do you think we are terrible people?" she asked, her voice so soft I almost missed it.

I turned to look at her then, really look at her. Even exhausted and worried, wearing my old clothes, she was still the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. Like a drug I couldn't quit, a high I'd chase until it killed me. 

And what did that say about either of us? That I wanted to crack her open, crawl inside her skin and nestle myself in her marrow? Wanted to consume her, devour her, until there was nothing left but the two of us, fused together in the most depraved way possible?

It was as if we were always meant to find each other. But it was a penance, for both of us.

"I think I am what I am because of you," I finally said.

And it was the truth. She'd molded me, shaped me, just as I'd shaped her. We'd ruined each other for anyone else, stripped away the innocence and left only the filth and grit behind.

Her hand fell from her face, her eyes meeting mine. "And I am what I am because of you."

"Does that scare you?"

"I think one gets used to it."

"Yeah," I said finally, my voice rough. "I guess you do get used to it. Until you don't."

She frowned, but before she could voice something, Suguru stepped inside. 

He said we should leave, and maybe that was for the better anyway, though I couldn't quite shake the feeling that there was an edge to his voice. Anger, perhaps. But I couldn't blame him. Not really.

I grabbed her things, my hand finding its familiar place at the small of her back as we headed for the door. Suguru's voice followed us down the corridor. "What did you find in Zenin's room anyway?" he asked, as if it were something to be discussed in the doorway.

I walked ahead.

I didn't need to hear again about the unconscious women on the Polaroids. 

─── ·✧· ───

Too quiet.

He was never this quiet.

"How bad is it?" I asked, perched on the edge of the exam bed where the paper sheet betrayed every nervous shift of my weight with stupid crinkles. Pale morning light filtered through the blinds, casting thin stripes across the linoleum floor.

I'd coughed up blood again earlier this morning. More than last night. The metallic taste had filled my mouth before I even opened my eyes. I'd stumbled to the bathroom, careful not to wake her—she needed the rest after we spent the whole damn night at the police station.

I stared at the red running down the drain. Way more than there should be. I'd blamed it on stress and alcohol last time. But now? It meant my liver was probably failing faster than I'd thought. Coagulation system breaking down, blood vessels becoming fragile. Textbook end-stage.

I called him then. He was still at the hospital, had slept there while looking after Higurama's intern. His face had gone pale when he saw me walk in. Guess I looked as bad as I felt.

We ran tests. All of them. Blood work, chest X-rays, the works. And now here we are. I watched him reading what I assumed was my death sentence, waiting for him to finally look up, while the clock on the wall ticked away the seconds.

But he kept his eyes fixed on the test results, holding himself with the careful rigidity of someone handling explosives. Another bad sign.

"Suguru."

He exhaled slowly, finally meeting my gaze with eyes that said everything before his mouth could form the words. "You should have started treatment sooner. We talked about this months ago."

"Yeah, yeah, I know." I tried to wave off his concern. "What do the results say?"

His fingers tightened on the papers until the corners creased. "Your liver enzymes are through the roof. AST over 1000, ALT even higher. Bilirubin's climbing while albumin's dropping. Your PT/INR values—" He trailed off, shaking his head. "Your liver is failing, Satoru. Not just damaged anymore—failing."

I let the clinical terms wash over me. The doctor in me understood the implications perfectly. The addict in me wanted to laugh at the irony.

"Well," I said, forcing lightness into my tone, "guess I should have listened to you sooner, huh?"

Suguru's expression hardened. "This isn't a joke. Without immediate intervention—" He caught himself, but I could read the rest in his eyes as clearly as any lab report.

Without immediate intervention, I was dying. Fitting, really. That my body would choose to betray me just when I'd finally found something worth living for.

"How's the withdrawal going?" Suguru asked, setting down the test results.

"Managing." I ran a hand through my hair, trying to ignore how even that simple movement felt like too much effort. "Reduced the hydromorphone gradually. Down to about 5mg now."

"Satoru." His voice carried that familiar note of frustration, the one I'd heard a thousand times before. "You need to stop completely. Not reduce—stop. Your liver can't handle any more strain."

"I'm trying," I snapped, then immediately regretted the harshness. "Sorry. I know you're trying to help."

Suguru pulled up a chair, sitting down with a heavy sigh. "We need to start treatment immediately. The protocol won't be pleasant—high-dose corticosteroids, immunosuppressants, possibly plasmapheresis if things get worse."

"Sounds fun."

"It'll be brutal," he continued, ignoring my sarcasm. "The side effects alone—you'll need to be monitored constantly. Multiple blood draws daily, frequent imaging. And absolutely no narcotics—your liver won't survive it."

I absorbed this, the clinical reality of what lay ahead settling into my bones. "So basically, I get to feel like shit while you stick me with needles and watch me suffer."

"That's about right. But it's either that or start planning your funeral."

"At least you're honest." I attempted a smile that felt more like a grimace. "When do we start?"

"Tomorrow morning. I'll admit you tonight, get you set up in a private room," Suguru said, already reaching for admission forms.

"Monday morning."

He looked up sharply. "What?"

"I have a family dinner on Sunday," I shrugged. "Can't skip it."

"Are you insane?" Suguru's voice rose to fill the small room. "Your liver is failing, Satoru. This isn't something you can postpone for a damn dinner party."

"Monday morning," I repeated firmly. "I gave my word I'd be there."

"Your word won't mean much if you're dead."

"I can manage two more days."

"No, you can't." Suguru slammed the test results down with enough force to make me flinch. Since when is he always so fucking tense? "Your numbers are critical. Every hour we delay treatment increases the risk of complete liver failure."

"Monday."

"For fuck's sake, Satoru—"

"I said Monday. I need to do this, Suguru. Please."

He stared at me for a long moment, jaw clenched so tight I could hear his teeth grinding. Finally, his shoulders slumped.

"Fine. Monday morning, first thing. But if you show any signs of deterioration—any at all—I'm admitting you immediately. And no alcohol at that dinner. Not a single drop."

"Deal."

"I mean it, Satoru."

"I know," I said, trying to inject some levity into the heavy atmosphere. "You can do all sorts of things to me on Monday. Not like I have much on my schedule anyway."

"So Yaga has exempted you?"

"Temporarily relieved of my teaching duties until further notice." I tried to keep my voice light, but the words still choked me. "Apparently, licking your student's leg in public view isn't considered acceptable behavior. Who knew?"

"Everyone would have known that."

"Most people were too drunk to remember anyway, or too busy dealing with the police raid afterwards to care." I shrugged. "Silver lining?"

"This isn't funny. Do you have any idea how serious this is? Your career—"

"My career?" I almost laughed. "In case you missed the memo, my liver's failing. I think my career concerns just got bumped down the priority list."

Suguru fell silent.

"Besides," I added, "maybe it's for the best. Can't exactly teach while going through treatment, can I?"

"Yaga doesn't know about your condition?"

"No, and he's not going to. As far as he's concerned, I'm just taking some time to... reassess my professional boundaries."

"And when he asks why you're not fighting this?"

I sighed. "Let him think what he wants. I've got bigger problems right now."

"Like a family dinner you're insisting on attending despite being on death's door?"

"Exactly." I flashed him a grin, this one a little more genuine despite everything. "See? You're getting it."

"You're impossible."

"That's why you love me."

"That's why I'm going to enjoy sticking you with needles on Monday."

"Kinky."

His expression sobered, eyes searching my face. "You should tell her."

The mere mention of her sent a knife twisting in my gut. "No."

"Satoru—"

"I said no. She has enough to deal with right now. This stays between us."

Suguru shook his head but didn't argue further. He knew me too well to waste his breath.

"I will," I added softly, more to convince myself than him. "When I'm a bit better."

"This will kill her."

"I know."

Silence.

"I'm sorry," I finally managed. "For being an asshole. For everything. And... thanks for coming to the party with me."

"You already apologized."

"I mean it." I met his gaze. "You've always been there, even when I didn't deserve it."

Something shifted in his expression—a flicker of the friendship we'd shared before everything got so complicated. Before I'd dragged us both into this mess.

"Just don't die on me," he said. "I've invested too much time in keeping your stupid ass alive."

I pushed off the bed, steadying myself against the sudden dizziness that threatened to knock me over. "See you Monday."

"You're a stubborn idiot," he called after me. I didn't disagree. 

I stopped at the door, turning back. "Hey, what's going on between you and Higurama's intern anyway?"

Suguru stiffened slightly. "Nothing. Just concerned since she's my patient now too."

I studied him, noting the subtle tension in his shoulders, the way his gaze shifted slightly left—his tell when he wasn't being entirely truthful.

"Sure," I said, too exhausted to push it further. "See you Monday."

As I walked away, I wondered if he knew how obvious he was. Then again, who was I to judge? I was hardly an expert at handling matters of the heart.

─── ·✧· ───

I paused outside our apartment door, my hand trembling on the handle. Withdrawal clawed through me, a living thing twisting my gut. Each breath was a struggle, my lungs constricting as if they'd forgotten their purpose. Just breathe, idiot. In, out. You're almost there.

Relief flooded through me the moment I opened the door. Her shoes were there, neatly arranged next to my scattered ones. Her coat on the hook. She was home.

Strange how that simple fact could lift the weight crushing my chest, made breathing a fraction less painful. No matter how bad things were, coming home to her felt like breaking the surface after being underwater too long.

Dog bounded up to greet me, tail whipping back and forth, before darting off toward the bedroom. Smart boy knew exactly where to find her. I kicked off my shoes, let my jacket fall where it would, and followed.

She was there, sprawled across our bed in a sea of papers, bathed in the warm light of the bedside lamp. The sight of her stole what little breath I had left. Hair messily pulled back, drowning in one of my old t-shirts, completely lost in whatever she was reading. Beautiful. It was a beauty that made my heart ache.

Without a word, I crawled onto the bed, dragging myself up until I could rest my head on her stomach. I paused, remembering the bruises on her midsection. But before I could pull back, she gently tugged me closer and I surrendered, resting my head against her warmth. 

I wrapped my arms around her waist and her fingers found my hair instantly, like they belonged there, gentle strokes that made my eyes flutter closed and I thought, this was home. This was peace. Even as my body screamed for relief, even as guilt gnawed at me, here with her, I could almost believe everything would be okay.

"What are you reading?" I mumbled against her shirt, already knowing the answer. Why did she still throw herself into this project? Did it even matter anymore? But I already knew that answer too. Distraction.

"Research papers. For our project." Her fingers never stopped their magic. "Everything okay at the hospital?" I wondered for a second how she knew where I went, but then she said, "Antiseptic smell."

Did I always smell like that? Like the harsh, sterile scent of the hospital? I hated it. Hated how it seemed to cling to my skin no matter how many times I scrubbed my hands raw. Hated the way it reminded me of sickness and death.

I hugged her tighter, breathing in her familiar scent as that was so unlike the clinical smell of the hospital as I crafted the lie. Yeah, everything's fine, I told her. Had to check on something with a patient. Normal stuff, nothing to worry about. Standard procedure.

But even as I spoke, the guilt in my stomach twisted. The truth was, I wasn't sure how much longer I could keep going like this. I could feel myself slipping, losing my grip on the things that mattered most and I couldn't help but wonder if I'd even make it to the end.

If I'd be there to witness the results of our research, to stand by her side as we perhaps do something great. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to drown out the intrusive thoughts, focusing on the feel of her beneath me, the steady rise and fall of her breath.

Her fingers paused momentarily in my hair, and I knew she sensed something off. She always could read me too well. But then she resumed the gentle stroking.

"You'd tell me if something's wrong, right?"

"Of course," I whispered, another lie to add to the growing pile.

I tightened my arms around her waist, as if by holding her close enough, I could somehow make up for my betrayal. As if loving her fiercely enough could somehow balance out the pain I was about to cause her. Monday felt both too far away and not nearly far enough.

Desperate for a distraction, I asked about how it went at the police station. She said it was fine, her friends were with her as they'd needed to clarify their statements, she explained, her fingers still weaving through my hair. Everything had been too hazy right after the party.

She mentioned they needed me to verify my own statement again too. I bit back the urge to say that they'd likely have to come to my hospital bed for that. Instead, I just hummed in response. Whatever it took to make that little shit pay for what he'd done.

"He won't hurt anyone else," she added. "We'll make sure of it."

Something about her struck me as odd. How could she be so unaffected by everything that had happened? Like we didn’t just discover that Zenin Naoya was—

"You're so calm about it." 

"And what would you have me do?"

I didn’t know. Maybe I should be grateful that at least one of us could keep it together. 

I turned my head, pressing a kiss to her palm. I wanted to tell her how proud I was of her, how sorry I was for dragging her into this mess, how I feared the rumors that would follow her through university halls. How fucking terrified I was. How much I loved her. But it all just crowded in my throat, tangled with all the other truths I couldn't voice.

Instead, I just held her tighter. "I'm sorry," I whispered.

"For what?"

I didn't answer. Couldn't answer. Or lie again. I clung to her, as if she were the only thing keeping me from falling apart, pressing my face into her stomach, trying to blur myself into her very being. "Satoru,” she winced, a small sound escaping her lips. "You're hurting me."

"Please," I pleaded, tears pricking at my eyes. “Just… bear it for a moment. Please.” But then, a sudden tickle rose in my throat, and I sat up abruptly, he movement sending the room spinning.

"You okay?" she asked, sitting up as well, her hand cradling her side.

"Yeah," I managed, before another cough clawed its way out. I stood, turning away from her, my hand coming up to cover my mouth. When I pulled it away, blood glistened on my palm.

"Satoru? You sure you're okay?"

"Everything's fine." I curled my fingers into a fist, watching red seep between my knuckles. "Just need some water."

I should call him again. Should probably head to the hospital right now. Every logical part of my brain screamed at me to seek help, to stop this madness before it was too late. 

But Sunday's dinner loomed in my mind. One last chance to fix things with her, to make things right before everything inevitably crumbled around us. Just two more days. I just needed to hold on for two more days and then I could let the chips fall where they may.

Even as blood painted the back of my throat red, I clung to that desperate hope, that foolish notion that I could make this right. I knew I was being stupid. Reckless. Playing Russian roulette with a fully loaded gun. 

But then again, what did it matter anyway?

<- prev chapter | next chapter ->

author's note — welcome back, i hope this wasn't too intense, even tho i went through all stages of grief writing this chapter, but i'm quite happy with how it turned out. hope you all survived seeing things through satoru's eyes once more. writing from his perspective is always both challenging and thrilling in some strange way.

quick note, as this is somehow not obvious to some people: i understand that this story deals with controversial topics and might not be everyone’s cup of tea but this is purely fictional work, and i'm just here to enjoy a stupid little hobby. i am not looking for criticism. if the story makes you uncomfortable, feel free to block me and move on.

for those following the spin-off: yes, this chapter runs parallel to remedies and reasons chapter 04 ! if you want to see how certain events played out from a different angle, definitely check out the suguru spin-off.

and i want to thank you all for your incredible support. your comments, messages, and theories continue to blow me away. seeing how deeply you connect with this story and catch all the little details i sprinkle throughout brings me so much joy. your thoughtful analyses and wild speculations make writing this stupid story so much fun !! :''))

also a massive thank you to @/nanamis-baker who beta reads all these chaotic chapters, listens to my rambling about plot points, and talks me down whenever i'm convinced everything i write is terrible <3

& second quick note about the alcohol consumption in this story: while it's serve the narrative of the story, please remember that alcohol is toxic to the body and brain, with no "safe" amount. please be mindful of your health and wellbeing.

next chapter we'll be back to our regular pov as we deal with the aftermath of... well, all of this. until then, take care of yourselves ! and as always, thank you for joining me on this chaotic journey and being patient with my slow updates <3

ps: if you want to get notifications for future updates, you can join my taglist here !

tags — @browrm @panteramarron @starlightanyaaa

@myahfig4 @rosebluod @bloopsstuff @depressedemosantaclaus @nanamis-baker

@tofumiao @shoruio @s3vtrue @rosso-seta @bnha-free-writing

@chiyokoemilia @bonequinhagojo @janbannan @mikkmmmii @yeiena

@coeqi @faustina @glenkiller338 @yenmrtnz @buni-bunnydoll

© lostfracturess. do not repost, translate, or copy my work.

[sultrydxrling]

(DRAGON HYBRID X READER

ORC COUPLE X READER

ONLY HUMAN/ MONSTER WORLD/ STRAY HUMAN/NEIGHBORHOOD SLUT/MULTIPLE MONSTER/ KNOTTING/STALKER)

Monday.

Monday was spaghetti night at the Fairfield household. You approached the door and rapped softly against the wood, and a dog barked behind it. This made you smile as your mind wandered into the void.

You thought about the past week and all the dinners you would be attending, grateful for the warm welcome from everyone you met. Recently, you moved into a lovely suburban neighborhood, and many of your neighbors, including the Fairfields, have offered to help you settle in and get involved with the community.

Mrs Fairfield opened the door, her emerald skin glowing radiently with her tusked smile,

"Hello! (Y/n), right?"

You smiled because she remembered your name and nodded,

"Yes, ma'am."

You beamed as her husband walked up behind her and rested his arm around her waist, a hand on her hip, "We're glad you could make it!"

He was only half a foot taller than his wife, his black hair pulled back into a small half-ponytail hairstyle. He has a beard that stayed along the edges of his chin, refusing to grow anywhere else, but it looked wonderful along his jawline. The larger orc gently pulled his wife a few steps back as they gestured for you to come in.

"Come on in, the dining room is this way,"

Mrs. Fairfield said, leading the way through their home. As you walked with her, you took in your surroundings. The living room felt warm and inviting, with flower-patterned couches in front of the fireplace and a simple grey rug underneath them.

Candles were scattered throughout the room, accompanied by charming little antiques on the mantel. The kitchen featured a Southern rooster theme that brightened your mood and created a comforting atmosphere.

Mr. Fairfield sat at one end of a large table, which was proportionate for the happy couple despite their stature.

You found your place at a seat in the middle of the long side of the table that you almost had to climb into because of its height. Mrs. Fairfield snickered as she watched you and slipped on her oven mitts. She carefully pulled dinner out of the oven.

"Thank you for inviting me over, Mrs.-",

You watched as she leaned over, getting a slight glimpse of her pantyhose, almost up to her panties themselves underneath her dress as she leaned over. This made your face flush a deep red, almost as red as her thick hair that curled beautifully. A few of her curls escaped from her lovely-looking bun.

“Oh please, call me Jen!”

She beamed as she set the dish on the table. Upon further inspection, there was a crispy-looking substance on top, and you were pleased to smell parmesan cheese.

"This is my famous baked spaghetti! I topped it with parmesan and homemade croutons!",

Her excitement made you smile, and you patiently waited to be served or to serve yourself - whichever came first. She handed you a pair of tongs, and you twisted the tongs around in the spaghetti, carefully maneuvering some of them onto your plate.

"Do you have any extra of those croutons?",

You looked up at her curiously.

"Oh? Of the homemade, unfortunately not. But I do always keep a bag!"

She walked over to a door that opened into her pantry and snagged a brightly colored bag of 'Texas croutons' off of one of the white shelves.

She placed the bag next to you to allow you to help yourself, and you did. As you ate, the whole table traded stories about where they grew up, things they enjoyed as kids, and how you could be the only human.

You explained that you were just found on the side of the street, blood was around, so maybe your parents had been hurt, but you weren't sure. You were taken in by a lovely dragon couple and raised alongside the rest of the monster society.

You were bullied by some kids and adored by others; it was a normal childhood. Mr Fairfield or Mark, as he'd introduced himself to you soon after Jen did, talked about his childhood and past with abuse from his family, but good friends.

Jen stood and poured herself and her husband a glass of wine,

"Would you like some, darling?"

It was almost impossible to tell her no as her eyes fell on mine.

"Yes please..",

You smiled.

She filled your glass, and over the next couple of hours, the talking continued, as did your drinking.

You all moved to the living room and found yourself leaning all over the couple, and you apologized profusely when you noticed how bad you'd gotten about keeping yourself up.

They brushed away your apologies and welcomed your comfort. You felt a heat growing between your legs, Jen was so pretty in this blurry lighting, her dress cupped her breasts just right, and it drove you crazy.

"Eccuse me Mrs.. Jen."

You slurred softly.

"Your- uhm. Your chest is very nice.."

A hot blush coated your face, and you hid your face in Mark's lap. He groaned softly because you'd nuzzled right up against his arousal.

You sat up and curled into yourself. Jen snickered and unbuttoned the front of her dress, her lacey bra peeking out from beneath the fabric, black lace accentuating the beautiful emerald of her skin. You worked your way into her lap and kissed them sweetly.

"There you go, sweetheart."

She stroked your head with her large hand and moved both of her hands to your nice shirt, ripping it slowly down the middle trying to unbutton it, but you didn't mind very much, she was so gentle and strong.

Her husband unzipped his jeans, freeing himself from the prison that had held his throbbing length. His face flushed a darker green, and he apologized for his size, yough me must've been at least 9 inches.

You crawled over to him and took it eagerly into your hands. Seeing how small they were around him, he throbbed in your hands. You licked at his tip softly, arching your back on your hands and knees.

Jen tried to gently work you out of your jeans, tearing them in a few places but managing to work them off. She gently rubbed a large finger between your legs at your genitals, a soft moan escaping your lips as the heat of her finger made contact with you.

You took the bright pink tip into your mouth as much as you could fit, happily sucking. You rubbed with both hands and moved your hips against Jen's finger excitedly.

You slipped out of your underwear carefully climbed onto Mark's lap, and lowered yourself onto his now well-lubricated tip.

He said it was 'Small,' but it took all your strength to fit it inside your tight hole, stretching you around its girth.

Jen undressed fully, smiling at you as she leaned back against the opposite end of the couch. She watched the two of you and began to rub herself, she was so wet that you could hear it from where you sat.

Mark held tightly onto your hips and began to lose control of himself, almost using you like a handheld toy. Your mind swam with dirtier and dirtier thoughts as they used you to please themselves.

You imagined becoming their prized pet and them inviting you over more regularly, turning you into the perfect toy for them.

The Orc beneath you grew inside of you as he came close to finishing, his cock pulsing and throbbing as his tip rammed into your cervix.

"God, Yes! Please ruin me!",

You cried out and they did just that, they spent hours passing you between the two of them. They always took care of you and made sure you came, and after, you got to see their beautiful shower.

The stone wall made the whole shower almost look like a waterfall or a rainforest. Jen put her hair up and helped you clean yourself in the shower.

Once you were clean, she washed your clothes and helped you into them, and soon after drove you home.

They bid you good night and sent you off with plenty of kisses, leaving you breathless. They watched you unlock and enter your door, protecting you, their sweet toy.

You fumbled your way to bed and stripped naked, feeling your soft silk sheets against your skin. The wind blew into your room, causing your sheer curtains to flow lightly in the moonlight. You smiled at the lovely breeze that greeted your skin on the warm summer evening and snuggled into your pillow.

Your relaxing was interrupted by a sound outside of your window, like movement in the mulch of your bushes. You, however, opened your eyes to see nothing had changed and laid back down, soon after drifting off to sleep.

Tuesday.

You awoke to your alarm and you saw something in your window, but it was gone when you blinked.

You rubbed the sleep out of your eyes pushed yourself out of bed, and walked over to your calendar to see which it would be for dinner.

The abriviation you'd written down was, Ero-Drag, which was Eragon, the Dragon.

He was a large, but polite creature. His scales showed a dark red, deep auburn reflected by the sun. The spikes around his ruff and along his back and tail were an even deeper red color, almost black.

When you'd met him, he'd very carefully taken one of your hands into his claws and brought it to his maw. As Eragon carefully kissed your hand, his hot breath and a little smoke brushed against your skin.

He decorated his claws with a few gold rings, and he wore a nice pair of black slacks and a black dress shirt with a purple vest. The royal purple was accentuated by the small, shining designs along the fabric.

He was very kind and charming and had brought smoked ham to the potluck.

You didn't eat very much, but you'd grabbed a small bite of everything and complimented his cooking.

He thanked you with a soft rumble in his throat and asked if you were free at some point during the week, and told him Tuesday was good.

He said he wanted to take you shopping first, which was sweet. You figured it was a part of his dragon tendencies to enjoy nice things, so it didn't seem too out of place.

He'd given you his number, so you gave it a ring.

He picked up instantly, his gruff voice slipping through the speaker.

"Hello? Who's this?"

You told him your name and asked if there would be a dress code for the shopping trip, to which he replied to be casual nice, to mean a dress or a button-up shirt, etc.

You smiled and decided to throw on a simple outfit, but it was nice like he'd requested.

(Outfit is optional based on reader preference)

He sent you a text and you opened your phone.

"Hey, I'll be coming to pick you up in thirty minutes. Is that enough time for you to get ready? Im taking you to breakfast. You should eat to start our day even if it's something small."

You gathered your things and sat on your couch.

"Im ready now, but take your time. I wouldn't mind breakfast :)."

"Alright, then i suppose I'll be on my way then. See you soon."

You smiled at this and sent him your address and decided to sit on your front porch swing.

After about ten minutes, Eragon pulled up to the sidewalk in a black, low-riding car. He slipped out of the driver seat and the car raised slightly from the lack of his weight.

He was just as charming as the day you saw him, but today, he wore a tight, charcoal grey turtle neck with a long black trenchcoat draped over his shoulders. Shining gold buttons laced the edges, and the cuffs folded over with gold cufflinks to hold them together.

His black dress pants gently squeezed his thighs in a way that made you almost instantly aroused.

Eragon opened the passenger door and smiled at you, his fangs showing slightly.

"You look good, here get in. I'll get the door for you."

"Thank you"

You slipped into the passenger seat and reveled in his red leather interior. Some of the paneling was black faux wood with small gold ribbons flowing through it.

He took you to a nice breakfast place, "Sandy's dine in". The waitress seated the two of you in a booth,, then left you with your menus. you picked out a meal with two pancakes, bacon, and eggs.

Eragon looked up at you, his elbows braced on the table, and his hands casped together under his chin.

"What exactly brought you to this area?"

"Just trying to start over. Humans also aren't very kind. Where I used to live, it was a very predominantly human populated area. There were different creatures few and far between. However, I've found myself more comfortable around hybrids or just non humans in general."

He smiled at you and nodded in 'fair' agreement.

"I understand the sentimant. It's nice to be around new things. That's why you've inspired me to try something new!"

He laughed softly and announced to me in his gruff voice.

"I'm going to try the Cali club."

You raised an eyebrow, wondering if this was supposed to be new, but then you remembered different creatures like having different diets as well.

"What do you usually eat?"

"Mostly just meat. Not that I can't have anything with vegetables in it, I just usually don't feel like it if I don't have to."

"Well, I'm glad you get to try something new. Even if it's not very new to me."

He smiled proudly, and once the waitress came by, you both put in your orders. She came back with them and your decided drinks.

The dragon gently stared at his sandwich and poked at the tomatoes with one of his claws. This made you smile and slipped the tomatoes off.

"You'll like it better without these. Less wet."

You laughed, and he tried the sandwich hesitantly, a soft crunch beneath his teeth as he bit into it.

"Wow."

He said with a mouth full.

"This is super new.. but it's nice and kind of fresh. I prefer more meat, but it's nice."

"We'll do a burger place next time."

You giggled and cut into your food after spilling syrup over your pancakes.

"Next time?"

His eyes lit up, and you looked up to meet the gleaming yellow.

"Of course. I'd love to go out again."

You both finished up your meals, and he politely helped you into the car, opening the door again.

The day was spent walking around nicer clothing stores and him doting on you. Eragon told you to let him know if you wanted something—anything. Moving from store to store, you would look at something you might like, then cringe at the price tag if it was anything over fifty dollars. As the dragon noticed this, he slowly began grabbing the things you would look at, if they were clothes, he would politely order you to try them on.

You and he would look at the different clothes and both of you would give your opinions on how they fit and looked. And if it wasn't clothes it was cute things like stuffed animals or blankets, maybe even cute little trinkets.

The dragon playfully scolded you for checking the price tags and would swat your hand away if you tried to turn even one.

"Do you like it?"

He asked, looking down at you with a smile.

"Yes.."

You answered, though relatively hesitantly.

When he was ready to drive you back to his home, you had several bags full of wonderful clothes and perfumes. He finally turned down a gravel road, the stones looked like obsidian and the occasional geodes.

Once he pulled into a circular driveway and stopped the car, he gestured for you to stay inside. You examined the house through your window. It was relatively large and appeared to have both an attic and a basement. The exterior walls were made of dark stone, resembling a marbled black color. The home looked both cozy and elegant, with the door displaying a rich dark oak hue, accented by hints of red in the sunlight.

"I'll get the door for you, dear."

Eragon stepped out of the car, opened your passenger door, and stepped back, offering his paw.

You slipped your hand into his grasp, lightly reveling in the strength in them. Your mind wandered to other, more inappropriate places. The way his claws might lightly dig into your sensitive flesh.

"Are you alright?"

"Oh yeah, I was just thinking."

"What about?"

He smirked, his canine teeth showing.

"Nothing, just off in space, I guess."

He smiled slightly as he led you to his front door, then opened it for you to let you walk in. The interior was nice and very warm. There was a fire burning, and there looked to be herbs that were tossed in the fire as well.

Due to this, the living room smelled like sage, and you smelled something else, then turned to see a large sage incense stick, held upright on a small altar.

To the left of the front door was a small mudroom with a rack full of Eragon's other pairs of shoes.

"Do I take off my shoes?"

You gestured at the room.

"Yes, please."

As he followed behind you, he gently held your hip, only to move you to the side carefully.

He removed his shoes and you followed suit, placing your shoes gently on the ground in front of the rack. You noticed how big his shoes were compared to yours, and curiously leaned foward to look at one of his shoe souls.

'Size 16' read in a small circle. Your mouth hung slightly agape in shock.

"Alright, the dining room is this way. I think i can smell dinner cooking so it should be ready soon."

You nodded, and he led you through a hallway on the opposite wall of the mudroom, taking a right turn a foot past the fireplace.

The hallway was short, walking into a larger dining room, and like the Orc family's house, the table was bigger than what was meant for you.

"I found a chair that would help you accommodate for the small height difference."

He gestured to a chair to the left of the end of the table. You assumed the one at the end was his, and your eyes fell onto your chair.

The decor matched the other chairs, featuring dark wood and red cushioning. The designs on the seats mirrored his vest, showcasing intricate swirls in the fabric.

The only difference was a small step on the left-hand side of the chair that protruded only a few inches out.

You smiled and thanked him quietly for the accommodation. He gently held onto the right side of the chair, trying to provide balance as you climbed into the large seat.

Once you sat down and were settled, he leaned forward close to your face, and a toothy smile greeted you.

"I'll be back soon. If dinner is served before I return, feel free to eat. I'm going to freshen up, and if you need it, the bathroom is just there, down that halway."

He pointed to a hallway along the left wall.

The dragon walked back through the living room and up the stairs to what you assumed was his room.

Food was served, and a plate was set in front of you by an older woman wearing a nice, black button-up shirt with an apron draped over it.

It was a larger plate, a decent amount of sliced, grilled fajita meat was lain on the left side, and mashed potatoes sat near the top of the plate.

The last thing on the plate was green beans, clearly fresh. You could see the seasonings mixed into everything and the heavenly smell filled your sinuses.

You couldn't help but steal a few bites while you waited for the other to return, and within the following five minutes, he had.

"I hope it's alright. I'm not sure how to mix meals very well. All I eat is the meat usually, as i explained earlier at breakfast. I know we just ate. But i stay hungry. You can choose to eat or not. it's up to you."

He laughed softly and took his seat, his plate unsurprisingly just covered with thicker slices of the fajita meat. Some of them looked undercooked, but that was likely how he enjoyed it.

"No, I dont mind at all."

You stated politely. The diner moved along and as he ran through his plate within a few forkfuls, you began to discuss our interests.

Eragon talked about his welding company, though he didn't look to be the labor-working type.

"Do you work there too or just work on paperwork and finances?"

"Oh no, I work too. Helps me keep up my build and feel energized."

You thought about his strength and decided this made sense. Your mind once more wandered to more sinister things, for instance, his hand slipping under the table.

You were snapped out of your daze when he asked you a question.

"Would you like a glass?"

"Hm? Of what?"

"Whisky.."

He smiled and raised his glass curiously as if he'd been talking about it for a couple of minutes. But your mind was far too busy.

"Yes, please."

He nodded and poured you some from a gorgeous bottle, the neck very long and the basin very only round.

"I was wondering if you'd take.. some pictures for me. I'm testing out a new art form, and we'll, you look like the perfect inspiration. If you don't mind me saying so, of course."

"Oh well.. I wouldn't mind helping you with art."

The question sounded very odd, but considering you were imagining him doing things to you anyway, it was very welcomed.

"Good. Thank you. After we finish our whisky, we'll get started."

The two of you talked and both sipped your whisky slowly. You were slightly buzzed once your glass was empty and he stood, offering you his hand.

"Come, my dear. I'll lead you to my room. There's a room just off of it spasifically for my photography."

You nodded, and once you entered his room, there was a huge, California king-sized bed against the right wall, facing out into the room.

It was a black wooden canopy bed and a thick, black, velvet curtain surrounded the frame, draping itself onto the floor.

There were other various furniture pieces that matched the bed and its bedding color, which was a royal red with golden embroidery. Seemed to fit the theme.

Eragon took you into an offset room through a door to the left, and it was mostly empty apart from a stool, a set of photographer-esque lights, and a black backdrop.

There was a small table with a black velvet wrap of rope resting on top of it.

In the far corner was a metal pot of something glowing brightly. It looked like lava, reflecting its goldfish hue onto the black walls.

"The art I practice is the art of Shibari-. It's an ancient Japanese art of rope bondage that stemmed from martial arts. I will wrap the rope around your body into many knots and designs that complement your natural curves."

You smiled as you looked around and decided this seemed fun.

"Well.. is there anything I have to wear? Like a special outfit or...?"

"If you choose, you may wear nothing at all, but I'm sure I have something lying around if you prefer not to."

You excitedly took this offer and looked toward his bedroom.

"Do you want me to undress in there or here?"

You gestured to his room, just to make sure he saw.

"Whatever makes you more comfortable."

God, you wanted to tear into him. His politeness was so attractive. You chose to, hopefully, tease him a little by undressing in the other room. You'd hoped he wanted you just as much as you needed to feel him.

You slipped into Eragon's bedroom and undressed yourself, excitedly folding the clothing and setting it on his bed.

Once you were naked, you peeked around the door frame into the other room, blushing slightly.

"Haha, awe. Don't be bashful, I've seen many beautiful bodies. And if I may say so, I've been excited to see you since you went into my room to change."

You stepped into the room, covering yourself a little before trying to relax and taking a deep breath.

"Wow, you -"

He paused as he studied your body and braced his elbows on his knees, paws almost clasped together in prayer.

"You're astounding…"

Your face turned a deeper red, and you walked over to him slowly."

"So what do i do?"

"Just stand in those lights, I'm going to wrap the rope around you. Just tell me if it gets uncomfortable, alright?"

"Mhm."

You answered softly and stood with your legs slightly spread and your arms relaxed at your side.

He spent hours, delicately tying knots and wrapping you in the rope.

There were knots few and far between in random spots over your body, all managing to cross comfortably over your skin to hold you carefully.

The knots and rope lines created many different shapes around your body, a small circle created over your stomach and around the separate sides of your chest.

Eragon attached a hooked rope to a pulley and used it to pull you into the air, and he wrapped and tied the rope to a metal attachment on the wall.

You hung above the ground, watching him connect the rope strands to hooks on the ceiling, then tying more and more knots.

Once the shape came together, the red ropes looked like wings, erupting from your back and holding you in the air.

"Alright.."

He climbed down from his small steps tool after finishing the last knot, then stepped back, Inspecting his work and your body, which he greatly admired.

The dragon walked to the corner of the room where the melting pot rested and scooped a small handful out of the most definitely over-boiling temperature liquid.

He didn't even wince as he walked over to you and dipped one of his claws in the glowing liquid.

"I warn you this might hurt, but it's a part of the heart."

He used his claws to trace the burning hot, liquid gold across your skin.

It was a simple, small circle just under your left collarbone, but the pain seared deeply into your flesh. You screamed and tears welled in your eyes.

Once he was finished, he cooed softly.

"Sh..shh.. it's alright. It's almost finished. Just a little bit more."

He gently licked over the circle, his saliva giving a numbing on the new, golden wound.

He began dripping the melting gold over the road, and of course, small droplets dripped down the rope and onto your skin.

The little spots were beating with pain, but your arousal grew. Heat spread from your wounds and worked its way between your legs.

Every time a drip connected, he softly separated it slightly from the rope so the rope wouldn't stick to you when he took it off.

The gold that was now dripping off of you would not. Eragon poured the gold back into the pot like water gently peeled the other bits off his paw and claw, like dried glue, and walked back over to you.

He gently wiped the tears from your face. His scales and paw padding were almost uncomfortably warm as he did.

You leaned into the touch and watched as he grabbed his camera and adjusted the lights with his free hand.

"Beautiful.. look down to your right for me.. make a face that shows absence.. as if you've just lost something greatly important to you."

You followed his instructions, and for about thirty minutes, he began taking you down from your bindings. The gold, by this time, had healed and reflected off your skin in the bright camera lights.

Eragon took you into his arms and slipped a hand to your hip, holding you closely to himself.

"I'd like to be more intimate with you. Honestly, you're one of the most attractive creatures I've ever seen.. and I'd like to taste you."

He looked into your eyes and tilted his head toward you as if offering to let you move in for a kiss, to which you happily obliged.

The two of you kissed softly, then gradually more passionately until he picked you up bridal style and carried you into his room.

Eragon carefully laid you down and began to undress, carefully unbuttoning his shirt and then his pants.

The dragon was hard in his boxers, his length resting along his upper thigh. You crawled over to him on the bed and moved his hands away, happy to help him free himself.

You slipped his underwear down his thighs and his cock hung, tilted towards you. From base to tip, his cock was a gradient of red, then darkened at his tip, which accentuated the small amount of precum that leaked out of his length with anticipation.

You carefully took his cock into your hands and smiled as you leaned down to kiss it, up and down. Eragon groaned softly, resting his giant paw along the back of your head, and with his free hand, steadied himself with the arm of the bed frame.

You pulled away and rested your tongue against the sharp-looking tip of his length. He gasped softly at the sensation and his cock flexed, picking the head up off your tongue slightly then back down with a soft -plap-.

You giggled and took the tip into your mouth and began to suck, moving your head back and forth just enough to suck the whole head into your mouth.

"God, your mouth feels so good…"

The dragon lightly dug his claws into your scalp and began to thrust into your mouth gently. You braced yourself up by placing your hands on his hips.

You pushed your head forward, allowing more of him into your mouth, the arousal between your legs growing, and causing you to squirm slightly as you tried to please Eragon.

He watched you and gently laid you back into the mattress, then slipped his arms under your legs to place them on his shoulders.

Eragon smiled up at you, and his eyes glowed a bright yellow as he pressed his long, split tongue to your entrance. He teased you by using his split tongue around it.

This drove you crazy and caused your hips to jive and squirm desperately.

"Yeah? you're cute.."

He grabbed your thighs, his claws digging into them as he pulled you closer; shoving his tongue deeply into you. Eragon groaned softly, twisting his tongue around to reach the depths of you.

Your legs shook softly, and you tried to wrap them tightly around his head to pull him closer. you looked up and smiled as you remembered his horns, then pulled him by the horns. This forced his tongue deeper into you, causing you to cry out softly.

The dragon gently spread your hole, sat up on his knees, and pushed his tip against it. You pushed your hips down against him. you'd been thinking about it all day, and your hole grabbed him hungrily.

Eragon held onto you and pushed himself slowly halfway in, both of you letting out lewd moans as you felt each other.

"I- I need to go faster -"

He groaned, and he began to quicken the pumps of his hips.

"I'm sorry..."

He panted.

"I can't help it…"

You pushed your face into one of his pillows, trying to hide the pleasure that brought you. He 'couldn't help it'. It drove you crazy to hear.

"It's okay.. you can go faster -"

You muttered this breathily and arched your back for him. You tried to move your hips with his, leaking with pleasure as cum gently dripped down your thighs, and his cock was throbbing against your guts.

You could feel yourself approaching orgasm as you push your hips back into Eragon for encouragement.

His claws dug deeper into your hips as he began ramming himself into you, loud pronouns and moans spilled out of you.

"Fuck yes! Just like that! You feel so good!"

"So do you.."

The dragon muttered as he leaned forward, resting his weight along your back before he grabbed your thighs and plunged his knot deeply into your hole.

Hot cum spilled into your guts, which caused your legs to shake as your orgasm flashed through your whole body. You once again forced your face into the pillow to avoid the lewd noises from erupting from you too loudly.

He milked himself gently, tugging his knot lightly against your hole.

"F-fuck you're so tight."

Eragon chuckled softly and held you still while he yanked himself out of you. Cum spilled down your thighs and he placed his paw over your hole, then tossed you over his shoulder.

The dragon carried you to his bathroom and gently laid you in his large, black, marbled bathtub. It was tremendous in size and comfortable, and his gentility made you smile.

He carefully filled a cup with warm water and asked you to spread your legs, and you did. He rinsed you off and helped you get clean, then ran you a proper bath.

"There we go. You relax and I'm going to take a shower. you can spend the night, or i could drive you home."

"I'd like to stay the night if you dont mind."

Eragon nodded and kissed your head as he walked behind the bath where the shower was. The shower doors and sides were fully see-through glass, which made him very happy. He enjoyed watching you relax.

Once you were both clean and dry, the dragon tossed you a ginormous oversized shirt and a pair of his sweatpants, thankfully with a string and elastic to help hold them up.

Eragon stayed shirtless and slipped on a pair of boxers, walked up to you, and slipped his hands around your waist.

"You're so warm."

You heard a soft churring sound emit from his chest under your head. It sounded like purring but slightly different.

The dragon playfully tossed you over his shoulder, then threw you down onto the bed wrestling style.

"Rahh!"

You giggled and wrapped your arms around him tightly as he kissed all over your face and neck.

"Let's get some rest… I'll drive you home in the morning."

You nodded and slipped under the covers and draped your leg over his midriff, enjoying his cold scales against your warm skin. He continued his rhythmic churring, held you closely, and was soon snoring softly, huffing smoke from his nostrils.

You could've sworn there was a bright flash from the window, and you sat up in bed; trying to focus your eyes on the darkness past the glass. You tried to shake Eragon awake, but he was sleeping too deeply to even act disturbed. You rolled your eyes, slipped out of bed, and walked over to the window slowly.

Your heart sank to your stomach as you tried to look around, pressing your face to the glass.

To be continued...

_________________

There's a male orc character inspo beneath V however- none of the other things save for some reason? no clue fr.

The other is by Gruvu on Tumblr for someone's Oc.

If you enjoy! Feel free to ask for different monsters to see! <3

[hopeless-eccentric]

i dont do a lot of book recs on here (i think ive done one before?) but the Henry Rios books by Michael Nava are so criminally underrated!

They're these mystery novels from the 1980s-1990s about a gay, Latino lawyer (Henry Rios, our protagonist/narrator) solving mysteries--usually while trying to prove his client's innocence. He's a long-suffering idealist written as this kind of hard-boiled detective.

This is actually something the whole series tackles, subverts, and deconstructs in a really interesting way! Instead of being this stoic detective, the archetype gets broken down in a lot of really fascinating and human ways earnestly discussing love, grief, intergenerational trauma, racism, homophobia, illness/disability, toxic masculinity, and substance abuse.

What I love is that these books realize that the hard-boiled detective is stuck in a point of hurt and trauma, and so the Henry Rios series makes a big deal out of fighting tooth and nail to GET BETTER--whatever it takes to improve yourself and your surroundings. While the books maintain a lot of the dark and morose vibe of the original genre (especially given the looming, perpetual grief of AIDS-era queer lit), they always come back to a death match against apathy. It's really moving stuff, especially as the books take this approach to Henry's recovery from alcoholism.

if you're interested in queer history, the books are in touch with queer legal/political history during the HIV/AIDS crisis. The first few books have been rewritten/published as well since Michael Nava's retirement, so I think a comparative reading could be really interesting. For the record, Nava was a civil rights lawyer, so this is all done REALLY well (not to mention the legal drama is engaging, theatrical, petty, gutting, and sometimes hilarious).

if you're interested in detective fiction, they're brilliant deconstructions of the genre. instead of taking the depressed alcoholic white guy with repressed desire for male companionship at face value, the series considers a gay Latino man struggling with machismo, racism and homophobia, intersectional identity, and processing/recovering from grief, childhood trauma, alcoholism, and Catholicism.

Stylistically, the books are smart, poetic, introspective, dark, and witty. There's a lot of suffering, but there are also a lot of intense moments of joy and catharsis that feel really earned.

Also, if you read the rewrites. uh. there's a lot of smut! Happy retirement, Mr. Nava!

[ickyrafe]

cw -> abuse / domestic violence.

the idea of rafe who’s never been an ideal boyfriend for you despite your attempts to fix him— getting him into rehab programs when things are especially bad, making him appointments for anger management & to speak to someone about what’s been going on in his head since he was little.

you’ve heard it all about how he’s gonna change, how you’re going to get a pretty ring and be his princess forever, but then he crosses a line and you realize how dumb you’ve been all along that very second his palm comes down on your already teary face. the wet slap and residual stinging— burning— sends you into a panic but it’s too late for all that when that same hand is already wrapped around your throat so tightly that you have to dig your manicured nails into his wrist for any kind of protection.

“you’re not fucking leavin’ me,” he snarls, whiskey on his breath as his pupils dilate even wider. as if he enjoys this more than any substance he’s ever tried to numb out the pain, “no one will want you— not when they know i’m always gonna be in the picture.”

[harbingrs]

Take away the sensation inside Bittersweet migraine in my head It's like a throbbing toothache of the mind I can't take this feeling anymore

Drain the pressure from the swelling This sensation's overwhelming Give me a long kiss goodnight And everything'll be alright Tell me that I won't feel a thing So give me Novacaine

[welcometogrouchland]

♫ I do what I want/Crying in the bleachers and I said it was fun/I don't need anything from anyone ♫

(ID in Alt) you guys ever think about your own posts and get upset?? Anyway Damian Wayne I love you I'm so sorry your life is like that

[seventeendeer]

this isn't at all meant to be condescending or finger-waggy because 100% we all have blind spots like this, but I'm really, really hoping that the people who never found Gaiman's approach to his own fandom concerning in any way will take this all as a learning moment.

he was an older, hyper-famous author engaging directly and frequently with an online audience of largely vulnerable young marginalized people. he presented himself as cultured and worldly, and made himself approachable as someone to go to for advice, encouragement and "wisdom." his manner of speech was extremely pathos-heavy and clearly intended to be comforting and encouraging in exactly the way his target demographic needed it to be to swallow every word. the way he spoke about stories and creativity was designed to make young creative hopefuls feel special and important, while sweeping real analytical techniques under the rug - in hindsight, likely so no one would think too critically about the disturbing amount of patriarchal abuse played for cheap shock value and voyerism in his own body of works.

Gaiman saw a target demographic that was desperate for an older creative role model to tell them they were worth something, and he exploited that pain to twist a narrative around himself where he was king and any critique leveled at him or his works were the enemy.

to be clear, he could have been innocent. he could totally have been just an out-of-touch old man saying nice things to people because he wanted to be kind and he thought he was a lot smarter than he really was. red flags are warning signs, not a surefire way to tell if someone is actually "secretly shitty."

but if you used to look up to him, PLEASE take this moment to revisit the ideas you absorbed from him. did you take his words to heart because they seemed to have objective merit? or did you take them to heart because it felt good to believe what he said? do you still hold these values? does knowing he was intentionally manipulating his online audience make you less certain? do you need more information from a different source before deciding one way or another?

again, I'm just really, really hoping people on here will take a moment to reevaluate the ideas and opinions he's injected into tumblr fandom culture, because his reach is immense and he has absolutely been manipulating popular perception of relevant topics to gain further influence and control the narrative around both his own and Pratchett's legacy. please, please take this moment to notice what he's been doing - and next time someone tries to pull the same shit, hopefully we'll be able to apply what we've learned from experience.

[loumandivorce]

trans malcolm is so. imagine if the person the most accepting of you was your serial killer dad

[stewykablooey]

lest we forget what kendall is really up to post-finale

[angelstrawbabie420]

in my quest to quell my pain ive only hurt myself worse. damned if i do damned if i dont.

[mariemariemaria]

Does anybody else feel like mental health awareness has done very little to help them in material reality

[softpadawan]

Kanan Jarrus, c. 12 BBY

[byanyan]

byan being extremely defensive of their substance abuse habits. byan being so very familiar with being looked down upon for drinking & doing drugs that they're terrified of those they've let close thinking less of them for for it. they've been kicked out of homes for it. they've been suspended & expelled from schools over it. they've had nasty things said and done to them because of it. it's only natural that they anticipate the worst from even those most important to them, so they tend to take steps to hide it where, around anyone else, they might instead broadcast it.

byan, upon being found out by someone close to them, getting either aggressively defensive or becoming a sobbing, apologizing mess.

[guavagyal]

at some point as an adult, you realize dating isn't worth it because a majority of people need to be on some illicit substance to get through the day and only narcissists get love in this hyper individualistic society

[clancyycat]

hiiii i’m a little drunk

[bridgeportbritt]

A Fresh Start Rehabilitation Center | Cypress, SimDonia

???: Who could be here for me? Mom and Dad would've called first.

Arabella nervous: Hey there...

???: Oh, my Watcher! Arabella??

Arabella: Hey, Alex.

Alex: I can't believe you're- how did you-? Oh, my Watcher.

Arabella: I hope you're not mad.

Alex: Mad? no! I'm confused, but I'm so happy to see you! How'd you find me here?

Arabella: Umm... we're best friends with the Queen.

Alex: Really? Diana sent you here?

Arabella: We've been worried about you, so she had someone do some digging. Once we found you here, we knew we needed to see you in person. Diana wishes she could be here, but..

Alex: I understand. Gosh, I'm just happy to see you. Sorry, I said that already. Let's sit and catch up.

Alex: So, how is Diana? You've seen her recently?

Arabella: Yeah, she's doing good. Busy, of course. Seems like she's been pregnant forever. Won't be long now.

Alex: Aw, and you?

Arabella: Well, we just had little Madeliene not to long ago. I don't think I've seen you since I had Jayme.

Alex: Wow, three little ones? You guys aren't wasting no time. Gosh, I feel like I've missed a lot.

Arabella: Yeah, it was like you fell off the face of the earth there. What happened?

Alex: Right... well, it's kind of a long story, but after the wedding fiasco... I was really struggling.

Alex upset: I tried my best to keep it together for the coronation. It was just... seeing her again. Knowing that because of me... my best friend almost...

Arabella: Alex, no one blames you for that.

Alex: Yeah, I kept trying to tell myself that. But, after the coronation.. I just... kind of went off the deep end.

The rest of this post describes substance abuse, alcohol, and drugs. Please read at your own risk.

Alex: The partying, the drinking, the drugs. I was spiraling out of control hard and fast. I- I didn't even recognize myself anymore.

Arabella: Oh, Alex...

Alex: I was just so torn up with guilt and I hated myself for even dating that guy. I felt so violated and used. And I just let everybody down once again with my stupid choices.

Arabella sobbing: I'm so sorry you were going through that, Alex! We should've paid more attention and been there for you!

Alex: No, don't think that, Arabella, really. You were living your life! I was a mess and isolating myself on purpose. Eventually, my parents caught on and sent me here.

Arabella: I'm so glad for that. I... know life is crazy and we don't see each other as much, but... I don't know what I'd do without you. You're my best friend.

Alex: Thanks, Belle. Even though being here sucked at first, it's working its magic, I guess. I've been sober for 5 months, therapy 3 times a week, group twice, activities up the ass.

Arabella: That's amazing, Alex. I'm so proud of you!

Alex: Thanks. Plus, I kind of met someone..

Arabella: Oh, really?

Alex: Yeah, his brother's a patient here. But, my dad's company works with his. He owns a clothing brand. Or "lifestlye apparel" as he likes to call it. He's cool.

Arabella: He sounds like the most normal guy you've ever dated.

Alex laughs: I know, right? No "salarypersons" from Mt. Komorebi this time around. We're just friends for now. Gotta stay focused on the program. But, I only have 3 months left, so... who knows?

Arabella: Wow, that's a really mature way to go about it. I am so impressed, Alex. You're killing it! You're so much stronger than you realize. I can't wait to see how you flourish after this.

Alex: Thanks, I'm excited to. Feels like - ugh - a fresh start.

Arabella chuckles: Ah, that's why they call this place that... Well, care to show me around? Let me into Alex's world?

Alex: Sure, since it's a little less messy.