#and how drawn they are to each other's brilliance

[frau-kali]

You cannot decide to follow a man like that and then pick and choose when to deny him. (insp)

[cumironi]

MY BOY SUCH A PRETTY CRIER : GOJO SATORU

my boyfriend has the prettiest eyes,” . . . you love your boyfriend— gojo satoru's eyes, you always have, until you see him crying for the first time, and you can't help but need to see those eyes, glisten with tears, every chance you get.

warning. obsessive! gojo satoru, established relationship, mentioned of suicide, blood mention, obsessive reader, slight dark, toxic! reader.

wc. 6,6k ( art belong to the artist, devider belong to cafekitsune )

it's glisten...

gojo satoru's blue, azure irises glisten under the moonlight like little twinkling stars, silking with his tears. you were mesmerized and for a moment your erotic movement stammered, slower, slower, slower . . . and stopped. it hurt your chest, your lung, like the air just got reap by fingers with pointed nails, or razor-sharped teeth, you named it.

you gasp for air, holding them down inside your reaped lungs. it's suffocating, how his eyes make you feel. and suddenly, you can feel everything, your senses sharpen— the way his heart is beating like thunder underneath your palms, cocoon by his ribcage, the way his girth, his throbbing girth twitching inside you.

“baby...” he breathlessly calls you.

gojo's nail digging is dullest to your chubby rear, silently begging you to move and get back to work, but no.. you stay silent for a moment, drowning in his blue eyes you never realize as blue as the ocean, as deep as one before. you always knew it was pretty, but never as this pretty, it's breathtaking, it's soul-sucking, it's. . . gut wrenching, pain, because you will never have eyes like his, you will never, ever, find eyes like his with other men, other person.

“beautiful..” you whisper.

your trembling hand gently makes its way to kiss his cheek, thumb dancing across the skin to push away the tears selfishly. only you, it's only you who can get this close to his eyes, it is you.

“you are so beautiful,” soft, breathless whisper kissing your lips before you lean closer, skin to skin with his forehead. it was crystal clear, his eyes. . . so celar you can read his mind through it, see his soul laid bare, feel his blood and his heart beating faster each second- looking straight at you like its ready to burst his ribcage open nad run to you with all the blood, the flesh, even the bone.

one blink, two blink, and three blink it takes gojo to clear the glisten effect on his eyes, letting the last tears fall freely down to his cheeks. a small frown makes its way to your forehead, so you found your hips moving slowly, your glisten clit grinding against gojo's skin, his cock twitching and soft moan leaving his pink, swollen lips.

soft mean tear from your throat, past your lips the moment tears flooded in gojo's eyes. “don't close your eyes, baby,” you whisper, like a witch chanted a mantra. gojo nod eagerly, bewitched by you. it was sinister, your smile, drowning in love and something more. the look on your beautiful face, the one where gojo never saw. he was mesmerize with the way you look at him. how your eyes practically sparkling, your cheeks blushing madly, your eyes glue to him like he is the center of your world, and gojo was doomed.

after that unforgettable night, you find yourself completely immersed in the depth of gojo’s eyes, as if drawn into a boundless ocean of their beauty. every nuance of their color becomes an intricate tapestry that you cannot help but unravel. imagine, if you will, the way his eyes might transform under the tender embrace of a sunset, their natural brilliance kissed by hues of molten gold and soft amber, weaving a breathtaking symphony of warmth and light.

“hey, baby,” his voice drifts softly, like a breeze stirring you from the quiet of your thoughts, his words threading through the haze that clouds your mind.

you blink once, then twice, and a third time, as if awakening from a dream spun of shadows and whispers, until your gaze finds his—those eyes, blue as a restless sea, now roiling with a tempest of fury. it’s a sight that steals the breath from your lungs, a depthless anger that crashes like waves against the shores of his calm, threatening to sweep you away. his stare is fierce, wild. . . cannibalism lookalike even, and you feel something shift within you, a fullness that blooms in your chest, heavy and warm. his palm, cold against your flushed skin, cradles your cheek, and you lean into his touch, drawn like a moth to flame, craving the chill that soothes the heat of your racing heart.

his knuckles, adorned in the brutal artistry of bruises, are stained with the blood of those who dared to lay hands upon you, each mark a testament to the violence he’s wrought in your name. once again, his knuckles, oh, they are a map of violence—a testament to the ruin he hath wrought upon those foolish enough to lay a hand upon what he cherishes most: you, oh you. . . the love of his life.. bruises bloom like dark violets upon his skin, and the crimson of blood lingers, a stark reminder of his ferocity, his unrelenting need to protect, to possess, to guard you as fiercely as the lion doth its pride.

they bear the story of his wrath, of a love so vehement it spills over into rage, uncontained and ferocious. he stands as a fortress, unyielding and unbreakable, a sentinel who guards not with words but with fists and fury, and in his eyes, you see a promise—a vow that none shall harm you and live to see the sun again. his touch, a chilled caress upon your cheek, pulls you closer still, and you lean into it, seeking solace in the coolness of his palm, a balm against the heat of his wrath.

“baby, are you alright?” he asks, his voice a deep, soft rumble that vibrates through your very bones, soothing and stirring all at once. it washes over you, a tide that pulls you under, and suddenly your legs betray you, trembling beneath the weight of it all, the sheer intensity of his presence. you feel yourself melt, your knees weak, the world spinning as if gravity has turned traitor, and you begin to sink. but he is there, always there, swift and sure, catching you in the safety of his embrace, his strong arms wrapping around your trembling form, pulling you flush against the solid heat of his chest.

“please, hold me,” you whisper, voice barely a breath, still lost in the storm that rages within his gaze. there’s a desperation in your plea, a need to be held, to be anchored amidst the chaos that threatens to drown you both. his hold tightens, as if he could fuse you to him, make you one with his own flesh and bone, and you feel the world steady under the weight of his arms. his scent, warm and familiar, envelops you, a heady mix of comfort and danger that sends a shiver racing down your spine.

there is an obsession in the way he looks at you now, an all-consuming need that borders on madness, a love that knows no bounds, no reason, no restraint. for in that gaze, you are not merely seen—you are worshipped, adored, the very center of his universe, hell, you are a god to gojo satoru. his eyes, burning with the light of a thousand suns, speak not of mere affection but of a devotion so profound that it eclipses all else. every breath you take, every beat of your heart, is caught up in the maelstrom of his love, swirling endlessly in the vortex of his gaze.

he holds you so close, close enough that you can feel the rhythm of his heartbeat, a fierce, steady drum that matches the frantic cadence of your own. your hands find their way around his neck, fingers threading through the silken strands of his hair, pulling him closer, closer, until there is no space left between you. your lips meet his in a fervent kiss, a clash of need and hunger, tongues dancing in a tangled, breathless frenzy. it is a kiss that speaks of survival, of gratitude, of a love that is both a sanctuary and a storm.

he tastes like fury and devotion, a bitter-sweetness that lingers on your tongue, and you drink him in, greedy for more. his grip on you is unrelenting, as if letting go would mean losing you to the abyss of his own making, and you cling to him with equal fervor, your bodies a tangled mess of limbs and longing. in that moment, there is no past, no future—only the now, the heady rush of his breath mingling with yours, the feel of his hands on your skin, the unspoken promises that pass between you with every stolen breath.

he holds you as if you are the very air he breathes- well, indeed you are, as if he could will you into his soul and keep you there, keeping warm and alive unthe the flesh of his ribcage, close to his heart, safe and cherished, forevermore. his eyes, still brimming with that furious fire, soften at the edges as he kisses you back with a reverence that makes your heart ache. it’s a kiss that binds, that claims, that seals you to him in a way that words never could, and as you pull away, breathless and dazed, you know that this is where you belong—wrapped in his arms, lost in the depths of his gaze, loved with a passion that burns brighter than the stars.

when he pulls away, a thin, glistening thread of desire still lingers, stretching between your parted lips over the tongue—a tether that binds you in this shared breath, this dangerous dance. his gaze meets yours, those blue eyes still ablaze with a furious tempest, but within their storm, there flickers a flame of love, fierce and unyielding. he looks down at you, a twisted smile curling at his lips, a grin that speaks of chaos and carnage, of a madness that holds the world at bay. “i'm sorry those fools dared to lay hands upon you, but they will trouble you no more, my love,” he murmurs, voice low and threaded with menace, a vow spoken with a lover’s gentleness yet edged in steel. his hands, calloused and sure, cup your cheeks, cradling you as though you are the most precious, fragile thing in all the realms.

together, you both cast your gaze down upon the bodies sprawled upon the cold, unforgiving ground, their forms marred by bruises and the remnants of his wrath. they lie there, wet and lifeless as fallen leaves, scattered by the tempest of his fury, no longer a threat but mere echoes of their own folly. and yet, even amidst the wreckage of his rage, there is a strange beauty in the chaos he has wrought—a dark symphony of love and violence, a tribute to his devotion, twisted and true.

“come, let me take you home, my love,” he murmurs once more, the words a soft caress against your skin, as his lips find yours in a kiss that seals the promise of his protection. you are stunned, breathless, and your eyes glisten with a fervor that matches his own—a wild, consuming adoration for the man before you, this maniacal figure who stands between you and the world. to love him is to dance on the edge of a blade, a perilous waltz that thrills and terrifies in equal measure.

you look up at him, smiling so, so, so sweetly, mirror the same menace, at satoru gojo, your beautiful, dangerous obsession, and your heart swells with a love so potent it feels as if it might burst from your chest. it is sick, this mutual madness that binds you, a passion laced with peril and an affection born of fury. he is a storm wrapped in human form, a threat to all that dares to stand in his path, yet to you, he is a haven, a divine madness that sets your soul alight.

his eyes—ah, those orbs of azure fire! they are the boundless seas wherein your soul doth drown a thousand times. in calmer tides you have known them—playful, serene, a gentle mirth that sparkles like sunlight upon the morn’s dew. yet now, behold, they blaze with tempest’s fury, aflame with wrath as the heavens in their ire. 'tis as though the very stars have kindled rage within those depths, a storm that seethes and seizes all that dare to meet its gaze. and in that wild and furious tempest, you, undone, do find your heart ensnared anew, aflutter as a wanton moth to flame.

for every glance he grants, each furious flicker of those eyes, doth pull you deeper still, till all the world is but a distant whisper, and you are lost—utterly, wholly—in the unfathomable blue of his gaze. to see him thus, to feel his ire burn not at you but for you, sets your blood to riotous fervor, and lo, your cheeks do bloom with that sweet crimson of youth’s first fond blush. oh, what madness is this! to love so fiercely, to find in rage a tender, quiet adoration that makes you very breath catch, your heart sing out its foolish tune of love renewed.

his eyes are not mere mirrors of his soul; they are the very tempest that doth rage within his breast, a tumult of love and wrath entwined. 'tis a sight both fearsome and fair, for in his fury lies the pledge of his protection, a devotion that doth border upon the divine. how can i resist? his gaze is your sun, your moon, your guiding star, and you, poor wretch, are but a humble worshipper at the altar of his gaze. to see him thus, to know his anger burns for you, not against you, is to be wrapped in the warm embrace of his fiercest love.

aye, 'tis true—each time those eyes, so fierce, so wild, do meet your own, your heart doth flutter as a captive bird newly freed. in those depths, you see not just the fury of the storm, but the quiet promise of a love that will not fade, that will not falter. it is obsession, a fire that consumes and yet does not destroy, but rather, sanctifies. and so you fall, endlessly, hopelessly, into that blue abyss, where anger and love are but two sides of the same coin, where you are his, and he is yours, and the world may be damned, so long as his eyes remain your haven, your undoing, your everlasting delight.

in his arms, you are both prisoner and queen, worshipped in the sanctuary of his embrace, held aloft by the sheer force of his adoration. it is a love that defies reason, a devotion that flirts with destruction, and yet, it is the most beautiful thing you have ever known. for in his fury, you find a devotion unbroken, and in his danger, a divinity that shines brighter than the stars. it is wild, it is reckless, it is divine—and you would have it no other way.

you open the door, and there he stands, drenched from head to toe, rain pouring down like a curtain of sorrow, clinging to him as if the heavens themselves weep for his misfortune. gojo satoru, usually so untouchable, now a figure cut from despair, shivers in the chill of the storm, his white hair plastered to his forehead, rivulets of water tracing the sharp lines of his face. his eyes, usually alight with mischief and boundless confidence, are now dimmed, clouded with a sadness so deep it seems to swallow the very light that once defined him.

“go home, satoru,” you say, your voice firm, though your heart clenches at the sight of him.

he doesn’t move, just stands there on your doorstep, trembling from the cold, every shiver of his body a silent plea for your warmth, your forgiveness, oh, your love. his gaze locks onto yours, and in those azure depths, you see a man unraveled, a soul laid bare. he looks so lost, as if every ounce of the bravado that once shielded him has been stripped away, leaving only raw, aching need. he is like a stray pup, kicked and abandoned in the dead of night, caught in a relentless downpour with nowhere to turn but to you.

“please,” his eyes seem to say, though his lips do not move, as if the very act of speaking would shatter what little remains of his pride. the sadness in his gaze is a weight, heavy and suffocating, pressing down on your chest until it hurts to breathe. he stands there, drenched and desperate, the rain mingling with what you can’t tell are tears or the relentless downpour, and you can’t help but feel your resolve waver.

he’s begging you without words, a silent supplication for the love he once held so carelessly, now desperate to grasp it again as if it were the last tether to his fading light. and in that moment, you see him not as the invincible person, not as the man who commands respect and fear, but as someone who is utterly, devastatingly human—broken and yearning, with eyes that plead for a mercy only you can grant.

his body trembles, not just from the cold, but from the unbearable burden of your absence, his breath hitching in the back of his throat as he stands before you, stripped of all bravado. his eyes, usually so filled with boundless confidence, are now heavy with the weight of his own despair, looking up at you with a sadness so profound it seems to echo through the storm. he caught in the relentless fury of the night, shivering and soaked, eyes pleading for the warmth and solace of your embrace—a creature lost in the dark, cast adrift without the guiding light of your love.

“just go home, i don't want to be with you,” you say, voice cutting through the rain like a cruel, deliberate blade.

and just like that, the dam breaks. the tears well up in his eyes, those brilliant blue pools now shimmering with unshed sorrow, glistening in the dim light like shards of broken glass. it’s a sight you’ve longed to see, a vulnerability that he so rarely shows, and for a fleeting moment, you feel a sick satisfaction bloom within you. his pain, raw and unfiltered, stirs something deep, something dark, as you watch the strongest sorcerer reduced to nothing more than a man undone by the weight of his own emotions.

his eyes, usually so full of power and certainty, now shimmer with a desperate plea, tears spilling over as he chokes back a sob. you've never seen anything more beautiful, and in this twisted, fevered moment, you’ve never felt more alive, never fallen harder for him than right now, with his pride in ruins at your feet.

“please, baby,” he whispers, voice cracking under the strain, “i’ll be less annoying, i'll lest of anything that driving you away from me, i’ll do whatever you want—just, please.” the words tumble out, desperate and frantic, as he promises to change, to bend, to be whatever version of himself you demand. he stands before you, a king stripped of his crown, reduced to nothing but a man begging at your mercy, and the sight of it sends a shiver of dark delight down your spine.

it’s sick, the way you revel in this power over him, the way his tears make your heart race and your lips curl into the faintest of smiles. you are obsessed with this dance, this twisted game where his suffering is your satisfaction, where his pleading eyes are the sweetest of victories. he is yours, wholly and completely, and you know that he would break a thousand times over just to keep you from walking away. you will be the death of him, and once, you whisper and spitting on his grave, everyone will watch him crawling back from the death, and once again, he will be lying on your feet for your mercy, for you to love him, all bones and flesh.

and yet, you find yourself pushing further, testing the limits of his devotion, just to see how far he will go. it is a cruel, intoxicating power, to have someone like satoru gojo reduced to tears, and you drink it in like a forbidden elixir, sweet and heady. he is beautiful in his despair, and as he stands there, drenched and pleading, you can’t help but fall for him all over again, tangled in the twisted love that binds you both in this endless, obsessive dance.

gojo falls to his knees, the mighty sorcerer brought low, his arms winding around your legs with a grip that trembles like a leaf caught in a tempest. his body shakes with the cold and the weight of his despair, his once towering presence now reduced to a man clinging to the last threads of hope. he presses his forehead against your knees, rain-soaked and broken, as if your touch alone could redeem him, could stitch together the fragments of his shattered pride.

he looks up at you, eyes glistening with unshed tears, a kaleidoscope of heartbreak and desperation painted across his face—a portrait of a man undone. there is something so exquisitely pathetic in his gaze, a rawness that strips away the veneer of invincibility, leaving only the bare, trembling truth of his need for you. his eyes, those brilliant blue oceans, are now brimming with tears that spill over, tracing a path down his cheeks like the first rains of spring breaking the drought, each drop glistening like a jewel in the pale light.

and you, standing above him, feel a dark, intoxicating thrill twist within you. it is the beauty of his suffering that ensnares your heart, the way his tears catch the light like shattered stars, casting shadows of sorrow and longing. you are captivated by the sight of him, the strongest man you know brought to his knees, eyes pleading, voice breaking as he begs for the one thing he cannot command—your love.

“please,” he murmurs, the word a fragile whisper, his breath warm against your skin, “love me again.” his voice cracks, a jagged sound that splinters the air, and his tears fall faster, the dam of his restraint collapsing in the face of his need. he is beautiful in his anguish, a vision of tragic grace, and you cannot help but fall in love all over again, lost in the raw, unguarded emotion that spills from him like a river bursting its banks.

to see him like this, vulnerable and pleading, is to witness the unraveling of a myth—a god brought to earth, stripped of all but his humanity. and in this moment, he is more magnificent than ever, his sorrow a canvas on which your love paints itself anew. his tears are a symphony of the heart, each drop a note that sings to your darkest desires, pulling you deeper into the depths of this obsessive, all-consuming devotion.

his eyes, those eyes that have seen worlds beyond, now reflect only you, and in their tear-streaked depths, you find a love so fierce, so fervent, that it threatens to consume you whole. it is a love that does not ask, but demands; a love that kneels at your feet and begs for mercy, not for itself, but for the man who weeps before you. and as you look down at him, his tear-stained face so achingly beautiful, you know that you are lost to him—lost to this love that is as twisted and fragile as the threads of his tears, a love that binds you both in a dance of pain and passion that neither of you can bear to end.

as he stumbles forward, falling to his knees with a shudder that ripples through his entire body, the rain pouring down on him like the heavens themselves are weeping for his plight. his hands grasp at your legs, fingers clinging to you with a desperate strength, as though you are the only thing keeping him tethered to this world. his head bows low, forehead pressing against your knees, and his breath comes in ragged, frantic gasps, each one a struggle against the sobs that threaten to tear him apart.

“please,” he begs, voice fractured and raw, as if the words themselves are tearing through him, leaving him gasping for air. “please don’t turn me away. i can’t—i can’t do this without you. i’m dying, i swear, i’m dying without you,” his voice breaks on the last word, shattering into a desperate wail that pierces through the rain, his body convulsing with the force of his sobs.

“i’ll be anything, anyone you need me to be,” he continues, his eyes wild with a terror that’s almost primal, like a man staring into the abyss. “i’ll change, i’ll never be too much again, just… just don’t leave me here, not like this. i can’t breathe, i can’t even think without you. please, i’m begging you—don’t let go of me.” his words come out in a rush, frantic and broken, his voice thick with tears that he no longer bothers to hide.

the world seeming to tilt on its axis, his pride scattered like the raindrops that pool around him. his fingers find your hand, clutching with a desperation that makes your heart stutter, his grip fierce as though you are the last tether to a life he can no longer navigate without you. his head bows low, forehead pressing against your knees, and the sound of his breath is a ragged, broken thing, a symphony of despair that rises with the rhythm of the rain.

“i'm sorry,” he rasps, his voice a mere whisper against the howl of the storm, but there is a rawness in it that slices through the night, a vulnerability that lays him bare. “please, don’t do this. i am undone without you. every breath is agony, every beat of my heart a hollow echo. i am nothing—nothing without your love to guide me.” his words are a litany of longing, each syllable soaked in the salt of unshed tears, his gaze lifting to meet yours with the fragile hope of a man on the brink of ruin.

he looks up at you, eyes wide and shining with tears, the blue of them dull and hollow without the spark of your love. they are the eyes of a man on the brink, staring down the barrel of a life without the only thing that has ever truly mattered. his breath stutters, each exhale a choked, desperate plea, and his fingers dig into the fabric of your clothes, clinging to you as if the very act of holding on is the only thing keeping his heart beating.

his eyes, those brilliant blue depths that once held the light of a thousand stars, now brim with the bleakness of a sky stripped bare, his tears mingling with the rain that slides down his cheeks. he is a man unmade, all bravado stripped away, leaving only the raw ache of his need, the sheer, unrelenting force of his devotion that coils around your heart like ivy.

“please,” he whispers again, his voice so faint it’s almost lost to the sound of the rain. “i need you. more than air, more than anything. without you, there’s nothing. there’s no me, no us, no world i want to live in. i’m dying here, right in front of you, and the only thing that can save me is you. i fucking swear to god, baby, i will kill you and then kill myself if you don't love me again.”

his head drops, forehead pressing into the cold, wet ground as his body shakes with the force of his sobs, each one wrenching through him like a violent storm. he clutches at you with a desperation that borders on madness, his entire being consumed by the need to feel your arms around him, to hear you say that everything will be okay. he is a man unraveling, a soul laid bare in the rain, and all he has left is this—this pitiful, desperate plea for the one thing that could mend his shattered heart.

“i love you,” he chokes out, his voice breaking, his hands trembling against your legs. “i love you so much it hurts. please… i can’t—i can’t do this without you. i’d rather die right here, right now, than spend another second without you in my arms.” and as he kneels there, drenched and broken, begging for a mercy only you can grant, you see the truth etched in every tear-streaked line of his face: without you, he is nothing but a man lost to the storm, drowning in a sea of his own despair.

he bows his head lower, his sobs blending with the symphony of the rain, each drop a soft requiem for the love he fears he has lost. he clings to you as if you are his salvation, his lifeline, the only thing standing between him and the abyss. and in the depth of his gaze, you see it—the unspoken truth that without you, satoru gojo is not the invincible, untouchable force the world sees, but a man who is willing to lay down everything, even his pride, for just one more chance to be held in the light of your love.

your fingers weave through the silver strands of his hair, gripping tightly as if tethering yourself to the very essence of him. the tension draws a soft, desperate whine from his lips, a sound so sweet it echoes through your veins, setting your blood aflame. your bodies, bared to the night's whisper, tangle together in a dance of unspoken need, your breath hitching in rhythm with his as you find solace in the storm of each other's presence.

perched upon his lap, you feel the solid strength of him beneath you, his muscles taut and trembling, his arms wrapped around your waist with a fervor that speaks of a desperate, consuming devotion. you lean closer, your breaths mingling in the scant space between, and capture his lips in a fervent kiss, tongues entwining like vines that have waited lifetimes to grow together. it’s a collision of hunger and longing, a silent plea wrapped in the taste of him that floods your senses and drowns you in the depths of his presence.

“oh, baby— fuck, ’miss you,” he grunt, his cock twitching inside you— losing his mind how divine your gummy walls hugging him.

his grip tightens as though the very essence of his existence hinges on holding you close, as if the mere thought of losing you again would shatter him beyond repair. his eyes, half-lidded and hazy with longing, mirror the fervor that burns in your own, each glance a shared promise that defies the world's attempts to pull you apart. your breaths mingle in the space between, warm and uneven, and the quiet sounds of pleasure that escape your lips mingle with his, a symphony of yearning that drowns out the rain still drumming against the windowpanes.

his hair, still wet from the downpour, clings to his forehead in unruly strands, a testament to the chaos of moments past and your fingers trace the delicate line of his jaw, committing every inch of him to memory as if to carve him into the very fabric of your soul. yet even in the wild disarray, there is a beauty to him that makes your heart stutter—a raw, vulnerable magnificence that only you are privy to in these stolen moments.

his lips part, tremble against yours, a soft gasp escaping as your bodies move in tandem, meet, a slow and deliberate rhythm that leaves no room for anything but the two of you, a slow and deliberate mingling of desire and desperation, each motion a silent plea that neither of you will ever let go. you feel his pulse beneath your fingertips, wild and unsteady, beating in time with the pounding of your own heart—a symphony of obsession that neither of you could ever hope to silence.

“s— ‘toru,” you whimper in his lips, leaving his breath hitches, and you feel the tremor of it against your skin, a shiver that ripples through the both of you, binding you even tighter together. his eyes, glistening and fervent, drink you in as if you are the only thing that can quench his unending thirst. and your own gaze, locked onto his, speaks volumes of the quiet, relentless obsession that ties your souls in knots too intricate to ever untangle.

every sigh, every gasp is a testament to the fervent reunion of souls that cannot be torn asunder, no matter how the world may try. your cheeks are flushed, mirroring the heat in his own, and there’s a delirious pleasure in knowing that he is yours again, has always been yours, will always be yours. in this moment, tangled and breathless, you both become a living prayer, a hymn to the unbreakable, unyielding force of a love that borders on madness.

his hands, desperate and sure, press into the small of your back, fingers splayed as though marking you, branding you as his own. and in the low, heady hum of your shared breaths, the world outside ceases to exist. here, there is only the two of you—obsessed, entwined, and utterly consumed by the fire that refuses to burn out. you are his sanctuary, his obsession, and as he holds you close, he knows with a fierce, undeniable certainty that he is yours in every possible way, now and always.

your fingers thread through his silver locks, tugging them with a possessive fervor that draws a breathless whine from his lips, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. you lean closer, your breath mingling with his, and capture his mouth in a searing kiss once again, tongues tangling in a desperate dance of need and familiarity. the taste of him is intoxicating, like the first sip of a forbidden wine, and you drink him in as though he were the very air you need to survive.

your other hand traces down, fingers curling into the tender flesh of his thigh, nails digging crescents into his skin with a fervor that borders on reverence and possession. each mark you leave is a silent declaration—he is yours to hold, yours to break, yours to ruin, yours to love in this raw, unfettered way. his breath stutters— his body responding to the sting of your touch, every nerve alight with the electric thrill of your shared desire, a sharp intake that lingers in the air, mingling with the rhythm of your heartbeats that drum like a battle cry in the quiet room. his eyes, a storm of love and desperation, gaze up at you as if you are the moon and the sun, his salvation and his undoing. his arms tighten around your waist, holding you as if you are the center of his universe, the axis upon which his world spins.

you rock your hips slowly, a deliberate and torturous rhythm that pulls soft gasps from his parted lips, each sound a sweet symphony that fills the space between your bodies— a slow, deliberate rocking that pulls soft moans from the both of you, the sound mingling like a hymn of devotion sung only for the night to hear. his eyes, half-lidded and burning with a mix of love and lust, meet yours, and in that gaze, you see the depths of his devotion laid bare. he is yours—utterly, entirely, irrevocably—and there is a heady power in knowing that he would lay the world at your feet if you only asked.

his hands grip your waist, fingers pressing into your skin with the intensity of a man holding on to his last breath, as if releasing you would be akin to the world losing its light. the way his body arches into yours, meeting each movement with a silent vow, speaks of a love that teeters on the edge of madness—a need so profound it eclipses reason.

“i love you,” you whisper against his lips, the words a soft, fervent prayer, slipping free like a sacred vow, a quiet affirmation of the bond that binds you both, unbreakable and infinite. his breath shudders as he pulls you even closer, his response a muffled moan as your movements grow more insistent, the heat between you building like a slow-burning flame that refuses to be quenched.

his eyes flutter shut at your confession, as if savoring the weight of it, letting it sink into his bones. he trembles beneath your touch, his body singing with the quiet, desperate need for more—more of your touch, your love, your presence that he clings to like a drowning man reaching for the surface. every breath you share feels like a stolen promise, each kiss a sacred bond that reaffirms the feverish connection that neither of you can ever escape.

your hands, one still tangled in his hair, the other gripping his thigh, hold him to you as if to anchor him in place, to remind him that this, here and now, is all that matters. his lips curve into a breathless smile against yours, his body arching into every touch, every caress, his own whispered confessions of love mingling with the soft, reverent sounds of your shared longing.

in this moment, every touch, every kiss, every whispered word is a testament to the fierce, unrelenting need that pulls you back to him time and time again. you are tangled in each other’s orbit, bound by an obsession that runs deeper than blood, stronger than any force that might try to tear you apart. and as you lose yourselves in the slow, deliberate rhythm of your of your bodies.

and as his hands tighten around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer, you realize that this—this wild, chaotic, all-consuming love—is the very marrow of your existence. in his embrace, you find the echoes of every past longing, every unspoken promise, and the undeniable truth that he is yours, irrevocably and eternally. and as you move together, lost in the poetry of each other’s touch, you know that no force in this world or the next could be sever the bond that holds you— two souls bound by the beautiful relentless obsession of love.

as you move slowly on his lap, the friction and intensity make gojo’s breath hitch. a guttural, involuntary grunt escapes him, the sound a raw, visceral expression of the pleasure and need surging through him. his grip tightens around your waist, each movement of yours driving him further into a state of blissful surrender.

his eyes, clouded with a potent mix of passion and adoration, lock onto yours. “fuck,” he groans, the word slipping from his lips in a low, reverent murmur. the sound is both a plea and a confession, his body trembling with the weight of his overwhelming emotions.

he stutters, his voice faltering as he tries to articulate the depth of his feelings amidst the relentless pleasure. “i… i love you too,” he finally breathes out, the words trembling on his lips, laden with both desperation and devotion. his gaze is unwavering, filled with an intense, unspoken promise. “you are everything to me… every touch, every whisper… it’s all I’ve ever wanted, all I’ll ever need.”

his breath comes in ragged bursts, each one a testament to the consuming nature of his love and desire. he pulls you closer, his entire being attuned to the rhythm of your movements, the declaration of his love etched into every shudder, every gasp, as he loses himself in the exquisite intensity of the moment.

[gojonanami]

[ last updated: 10/25/2024 ]

‧ ˚. PROFESSOR GETO SERIES ↳ Professor Suguru Geto is a renown ethics professor, and you're a straight A student whose GPA he's trying to ruin. You're more intent on making him see your brilliance -- but you get more than you bargained for, when the two of you learn about what you owe to each other.

‧ ˚. PROFESSOR GOJO SERIES↳ Professor Satoru Gojo had never failed at anything -- until his latest research project. That's why he had found himself at a weeklong conference, where he discovers the perfect distraction -- you. And he can't help but be drawn to you - even after he finds out that you're the one person he's trying to avoid most

‧ ˚. SATORU GOJO

seeing you tonight, its a bad idea right? | smut, fluff ↳ seeing your ex is always a bad idea, except when its satoru gojo.

bigger than the whole sky | angst, fluff, manga spoilers ↳ before his fight, you and satoru have an honest conversation about the future.

dessert before dinner | smut, fluff ↳ satoru can't wait to have you until you get back from the sister school event, so he plies you with sweet words until you agree to have dessert before dinner.

all's fair (in love and mergers) | long fic, smut, fluff, bffs to enemies to lovers ↳ you're not sure what's worse -- being an arranged marriage or being an arranged marriage with the person who used to be your best friend.

three's a crowd (ft. suguru geto) | long fic, au, smut, fluff ↳ professors satoru gojo and suguru geto rarely wanted the same thing at the same time -- that was until you.

bloodsucker | smut, dark ↳ you had avoided your ex for so long, only to run into him at a halloween party, and he's the same as ever but has his teeth always been that sharp?

got you | smut, dark ↳ satoru finally found you -- and he's not going to let you go this time.

is it over now | angst, fluff, smut ↳ suguru thinks the only way you'll leave him is if he lies to you about cheating on him - and it is. but turns out, you're not so easy to leave - for him and his best friend (ft. satoru gojo). "if you want, i can come inside?" | fluff, crack, domestic ↳ nobara spots gojo with a sorcerer she's never seen before and of course hijinks ensue (aka hearing gojo's english va (kaiji tang) say the above line in apothecary diaries and i lost my mind).

i wanna show you off | sugar daddy au, smut, fluff, slight angst ↳ when you accompany your friends to a bar rich men and women frequent, you catch the eye of a certain white-haired rich man, who is more than willing to spoil you

tastes sweeter on your lips | fluff ↳ on a rare day off, you decide to take care of the strongest sorcerer - with something very sweet.

the doctor is in | smut, fluff, au ↳ when you go to your annual check-up, you didn't think you'd be crushing on your doctor - or that he's conduct such an in-depth examination.

twenty-nine | fluff, angst, crack ↳ it's gojo's birthday, and he can't help but reflect on what birthdays have meant to him over the years, especially the year you decide you don't really want to do anything for his birthday (but it turns out you do).

sit in my lap | fluff, crack, domesticity ↳ you and satoru take your daughter to see santa at the mall, and satoru proves that he's just as much of a match for his daughter, as he is for you.

just a little longer | fluff, angst ↳ after geto defects, you find yourself on a roof of a building wondering where things went wrong - and you're not the only one.

sweet nothing | fluff, angst ↳ satoru always comes running home to your sweet nothings -- except this time.

lower your guard | fluff, smut, au, longfic ↳ after the gojo family receives threats to their lives, you're hired to protect the heir to the company, satoru gojo - you just didn't realize how charming the rich heir would be - and just how hard it would be to resist his advances. don't want any other shade of blue but you | fluff, smut, fake dating, longfic ↳ you can't help but say yes when your longtime crush asks you to be his fake girlfriend for a year to get the gojo clan to stop arranging marriage proposals for him. but little did you know, he would be doing both of you a favor. love means to say goodbye | multi-lives au, fluff, smut, angst, jjk manga spoilers ↳ "would we love each other in every life?" it's the question you asked satoru the night before his battle, and he replied that, of course you would. but did that promise create a curse -- or were you both always cursed to begin with when it came to love? yakuza fiance (ft. suguru geto) | smut, yakuza au, fluff, threesome ↳ you had no patience for the yakuza lifestyle your grandfather had -- you wanted to live a normal life, but when it leaks that your grandfather is in talks to have you engaged to one of two yakuza heirs -- you realize you're in deeper than you thought -- especially when they both fall in love with you.

a house is not a home | canon au, fluff, suggestive ↳ you come home after a long day of work unable to find the person you call home anywhere — until you reach the bedroom (househusband gojo).

just wanna fuck with you, just to make up with you! | smut, modern au, fluff ↳ satoru gojo is the man everyone wants, except you - he pushed you away after you had your daughter, you divorced him. so what happens when he comes to pick up your daughter for his weekend, and he finds you ready for a date?

rumor has it that my best friend loves you (and i do too!) | smut, actor au, fluff ↳ rumors swirl about a love triangle between you and your two heart throb co-stars on the set of jujutsu kaisen. except in this case, you and your two co-stars are happily dating. but what happens when you get casted in a movie where they want you to have a PR relationship with your co-star? especially when your bfs find out who it is

break my soul in two (but you're right here) | angst, manga spoilers ↳ satoru showed no concern for himself -- so you had to, even if no one else would.

beat the heat | smut, fluff ↳ it’s a heatwave in tokyo and who better to spend it with than satoru, who has an interesting idea of how to pass the time — fucking the heat away.

feral for you | fluff, smut, angst ↳ satoru gojo rarely loses his cool. except when it comes to you. so when you get taken, he takes matters into his own hands to find out who did it and make them pay.

yours to keep | childhood friends au, fluff, eventual smut, angst ↳ satoru gojo fell in love with you from the moment he met you at eight years old. and when he sees you again, he knows — he has to make you his.

the honored one | smut, manga spoilers, canon-divergent au ↳ it's your duty as the wife of the clan head to help your husband get dressed -- even for battle. but that didn't mean he couldn't spend some time undressing you.

‧ ˚. SUGURU GETO

meant to be | smut, dark ↳ when Suguru defects, he asks you to come with him -- but he's not going to take no for an answer.

three's a crowd (ft. satoru gojo) | long fic, au, smut, fluff ↳ professors satoru gojo and suguru geto rarely wanted the same thing at the same time -- that was until you.

is it over now (ft. satoru gojo) | angst, fluff, smut ↳ suguru thinks the only way you'll leave him is if he lies to you about cheating on him - and it is. but turns out, you're not so easy to leave -- for him and his best friend

might hurt | fluff, crack ↳ suguru's popularity is truly a curse, especially when he gets hit on right in front of you. luckily, you both know how to handle those situations.

i just want to fuck all night | smut, fluff, sex pollen ↳ after swallowing a curse, geto finds his body in an uncontrollable state of arousal, and who better help him cure it than you?

would it be enough if i could never give you peace? | fluff, angst, smut ↳ suguru's birthday spent with you is like a dream -- the perfect day spent in bliss, but what happens when the dream has to come to an end?

yakuza fiance (ft. satoru gojo) | smut, yakuza au, fluff, threesome ↳ you had no patience for the yakuza lifestyle your grandfather had -- you wanted to live a normal life, but when it leaks that your grandfather is in talks to have you engaged to one of two yakuza heirs -- you realize you're in deeper than you thought -- especially when they both fall in love with you.

‧ ˚. KENTO NANAMI

no regrets | hurt/comfort, fluff, angst ↳ when nanami is injured from his fight with mahito, you're sent to pick him up. and both of your careful avoidance of your feelings for each other comes crumbling down.

armed and dangerous | smut ↳ nanami's arms were always so nice around your throat, but you never tried having his arm between your legs before, until.

good girls get backshots | smut ↳ nanami has always been a gentleman, but he finally decides to play rough and mark you up -- at your request.

five times nanami wanted to propose but didn't | angst, fluff, smut ↳ nanami wanted to propose to you so many times - but it was never the right time, and then, there was no time left.

best part of my day | fluff, domesticity ↳ on a bad day, you give nanami just what he needs, and remind him why you are truly the best part of his day.

all the time in the world | fluff, hurt/comfort ↳ after shibuya, nanami lets you tend to his burns and have an honest discussion about what happened there and what it means for your future. but i'm a fire (and i'll keep your brittle heart warm) | fluff, hurt/comfort, smut, au ↳ throughout your years of jujutsu tech, you take care of kento, whether its a wound from a curse or a simple cut his finger -- and when he returns he finds you still ready to take care of him -- even after shibuya.

‧ ˚. YUTA OKKOTSU

↳ coming soon :)

‧ ˚. CHOSO KAMO

it's a need | hurt/comfort, smut, fluff ↳ after you take an attack meant for him, choso can't seem to understand why -- so you show him just how important he is to you.

hey emo boy! | fluff, smut, au ↳ saw this boy at the mall last week. got the kind of look to make me freak. wanna fuck in the back of the hot topic?

best friend's brother is the one for me! | fluff, au, smut, bedsharing ↳ you've been asked whether you and yuji are together a million times - but the truth is his brother is more your type -- so what happens when you end up sharing a bed one night?

just one more bite! | fluff, modern au, smut, vampire au ↳ choso kamo is your coworker who seems to hate your guts - even though you're both always stuck working together, but the only reason he does is because he wants nothing more than to eat you up -- blood and all.

‧ ˚. RYOMEN SUKUNA

paint the town red | smut, dark, au ↳ you've always been a goody two shoes -- or so your friends say -- so what happens when you decide to do the first bad thing you've ever attempted and try summoning a demon -- and it actually works?

the girl next door | smut, age gap, modern au ↳ you had grown up next door to the itadoris, but you never had met their uncle. and for good reason, he had spent the majority of his life in and out of jail. but now he was finally out, and he only had one goal in mind -- getting you in his bed.

‧ ˚. YUJI ITADORI

don't want you like a best friend! | best friends to lovers, fluff, fwb, smut, au ↳ yuji itadori has been your best friend since you were kids, and when he offers you to teach you how to fuck, you don't expect him to be able to find his way into your heart too.

jealousy, jealousy | smut

which of the men whimper | smut

spooning the dilfs | fluff

jjk men and if they're good at singing | crack

all tied up | smut

househusband suguru

househusband nanami househusband gojo (1) (2) (3)

mindreader nanami

geto swallowing a aphrodisiac curse

gojo - maybe in another life

guitarist! suguru x opera singer! reader (1) (2) (3)

frat boy! suguru x nerd! reader (1) (2) (3)

curse! suguru (1) (2) (3) bringing suguru back to life

[slytherinslut0]

MATTHEO RIDDLE- Beg For Me

Chapter Four- Info: You and Mattheo have been butting heads for months, since you were assigned as his tutor, and one day during a session full of tense bickering, he has enough.

(This will essentially be a toxic book where we are Thèos fucktoy. No love here, very minimal fluff.)

Tags: 18+, Sub!Reader, Dom!Mattheo, Dirty Talk, Toxic Behaviour, Blackmail, Praise Kink, Degradation Kink, Jealousy, TomRiddle, weaponizing!Tom (slightly?), Possessive Behaviours, Manipulation

****FIND THE REST OF THE CHAPTERS HERE.

"Outstanding, naturally," you said, your voice laced with confidence and your grin so wide it seemed to stretch beyond the boundaries of your face. "Must you even ask?"

The morning sunlight filtered through the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall, casting a warm glow over the room as you and your friends gathered for breakfast. Emily, your blonde-haired friend that you've known since your very first day here, couldn't help but to snicker at your bluntness, her eyes twinkling with amusement as she shoved a forkful of eggs into her mouth.

It’d been almost two weeks since you’d last met with Mattheo, since there was no tutor session last week due to your exam in Advanced Magical Studies. Admittedly, you were thankful for the break.

"Is there any subject where you don't get perfect  grades?" Your other friend Michael said, widened eyes glancing at your marked exam in your hands. "You're a natural born Ravenclaw prodigy...I don't know how you do it, I simply can't wrap my head around it."

Emily, in between bites, nodded vigorously, her admiration evident. "It's true, you seem to effortlessly ace every bloody class. Meanwhile, I'm literally up to my neck in notes, struggling away in hopes of achieving a Meets Expectations."

"Come on, Emily," you said, sitting up a bit taller in your seat. "You earned an Outstanding on the exam too. Your intelligence and dedication are remarkable. You give yourself far too little credit."

She shrugged, taking a moment to chew her food thoughtfully. "Maybe," she conceded, her eyes briefly meeting yours. "But your brilliance seems innate, effortless. It's both inspiring and, I must admit, a tad infuriating."

The corners of her lips twitched into a half-smile, acknowledging the mix of admiration and friendly jealousy in her words. You couldn't help but to blush at her compliments, feeling proud of just how much your intense studies over the years have paid off. Your friends know just how much of your life you've dedicated to your education, and that by this point--after grinding away for years and years, the knowledge was just seamless to you. It just came naturally.

"Good morning, my dear students," came a gentle yet resonant voice from directly behind you, shattering the comfortable silence. "And how might you find yourselves on this delightful, sun-filled morning?"

As you turned, you were met with the twinkling eyes of Professor Dumbledore, his warm presence enveloping the room with ease.

You rose from your seat, your hands clasped together in front of you. "Good morning, Professor; it's always a pleasure to see you. I'm wonderful, how about yourself?"

Your friends gave similar responses, each earning an attentive nod.

"Very good, very good," Dumbledore's voice resonated warmly, his eyes crinkling with a kind smile. "Thank you all."

His gaze shifted to you, a mix of gentleness and concern in his eyes. "I would be grateful for a moment of your time in my office, if you could spare it. It concerns your peer tutoring sessions. Would you be able to join me before the day's lessons commence?”

A sickening twist gripped your stomach, causing your once radiant smile to shatter into fragments. You battled to shield your fear, but it threatened to consume you--every horrifying possibility flooding your mind in a torrent.

Your eyes were drawn involuntarily across the room, zeroing in on the Slytherin table, only to find the devil himself, Mattheo Riddle, the harbinger of your academic ruin--was already fucking staring, smug arrogance practically radiating off of him as he relished your clear discomfort. His calculating gaze felt like a vulture circling its prey, keenly observing every nuance of your nervous demeanour--and you were certain you were about to collapse to the floor. 

Snapping yourself from your trance, you returned your eyes to your Professor, mustering up the best fake smile you possibly could. "Absolutely, Professor--it's no trouble at all."

"Wonderful," he smiled, nodding. "Shall we?"

With a subtle nod, he gracefully guided you out of the Great Hall, your fingers tightly clutching the strap of your bag after bidding your friends goodbye. Your heart raced in your chest, the anticipation of the impending conversation tightening its grip on your every nerve. You trailed closely behind Dumbledore, the echo of your footsteps blending with the murmur of distant conversations.

As you approached the Hall's exit, Dumbledore's movements came to an abrupt halt. He spun around with a swift grace, his piercing eyes sweeping across the tables like a lighthouse beam cutting through the fog, searching for someone specific amidst the bustling sea of students.

And when his searching gaze finally landed on the person he sought, he outstretched his arm, a subtle wave beckoning them to follow. Your eyes widened in complete horror as Riddle stood up, tossing his bag over his shoulder with an air of arrogant nonchalance. Slowly, he began making his way toward you, his every step seemingly echoing off the walls of your mind.

The lot of you moved briskly, following Dumbledore to his office, Mattheo not deigning to acknowledge your existence except for the few brief, unsettling glances he kept throwing your way, a knowing smirk plastered across his face, practically casting a shadow of impending doom over your academic future.

As you entered Dumbledore's office, your heart continued to race with fear, the heavy weight of impending disaster hanging over you like a storm cloud. Dumbledore gestured for you and Riddle to sit down, the creaking of the chairs adding to the palpable tension in the room. You could hardly bear to look at Riddle, certain that his presence here meant he had failed the exam. Your post-graduate career seemed destined to crumble before it even began.

Your mind spun with catastrophic thoughts, the urge to throw up from nerves clawing at your throat. Just as you prepared yourself for the devastating news, Dumbledore's voice cut through the suffocating silence like a lifeline.

"Well, I must be frank, and I hope you won't take offense, Mister Riddle," his tone was incisive, his words carrying a weight of honesty. "I didn't harbor high hopes for substantial improvement in your academic pursuits when you commenced this new tutoring arrangement. Considering your history and the difficulty you faced in finding a suitable mentor, my expectations were rather restrained."

Your breath caught in your throat, your head spinning, nerves screaming in fear as Dumbledore spoke. His gaze was penetrating, his words hanging heavily in the air. He straightened in his chair, clasping his hands together in front of him.

"However, it is entirely safe to say that I was beyond pleased when I found out that you had achieved an 'Exceeds Expectations,' on your recent exam--which, if I may point out, is your highest grade thus far."

Your mind reeled, struggling to grasp the reality of the situation. Dumbledore's words echoed in your ears, and your jaw dropped in utter shock.

"Exceeds expectations," you repeated, your eyes wider than the sun and just as blaring. "Exceeds expectations! Mattheo, that's amazing!"

When you glanced at Mattheo, his eyes practically glimmered with a peculiar mix of pride and smug arrogance. His confident smirk persisted, etched on his features as he reclined casually in the chair beside you, choosing to remain silent; but you both knew exactly what the other was thinking.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with approval as he continued. "Your efforts in guiding Mister Riddle have not only benefited him but also showcased your exceptional skills as a tutor. It's a rare talent to break through someone's barriers, especially someone as formidable as he...I encourage both of you to continue this fruitful collaboration, nurturing each other's potential to the fullest."

You were gleaming. Screaming. On the verge of tears. This felt like a miracle, like music to your ears. The surge of emotions threatened to overwhelm you; you wanted to run until your legs gave out, to kiss Mattheo's stupidly infuriating face until it was raw. This was all you had ever wanted, more than anything else in the world.

"Thank you so much Professor," you beamed, your voice filled with excitement. "Your encouragement means more to me than you could ever begin to imagine."

"No, thank you, dear," Dumbledore said, a benevolent smile gracing his features. "Oh, and since I have you here, I was actually wondering if you'd be interested in joining the Hogwarts Mentorship Guild. Currently, it's coincidentally being overseen by Mister Riddle's brother, Tom...I do believe it would be an immensely beneficial experience for you. It's quite selective, but with my personal recommendation, your entry would be assured. You'd have weekly meetings with Tom and the other members-"

Every word that fell from Dumbledore's lips ignited an exhilarating flutter in your chest, a surge of excitement threatening to crack your ribcage open and pierce through your heart. The prospect of joining the prestigious club had been a cherished dream for years, and now, the reality of it was overwhelming. You basked in the euphoria, savoring the moment, until Mattheo's voice abruptly shattered the joy that had filled your soul.

"Professor, if I may," Mattheo spoke up, his tone surprisingly earnest as he straightened in his chair; his jaw tensed and his eyes dark. "I was actually wondering if she could tutor me in Potions as well...I could definitely use the help...it's been rough, to say the least."

His request hung in the air, creating a pause charged with unexpected tension. The elation that had filled you moments ago now mingled with apprehension as Dumbledores gaze darted between the two of you, his demeanour shifting as he leaned back in his chair.

"That would be up to her, Mister Riddle...I would imagine you'd struggle with doing all three, my dear witch...how about you think on it, and get back to me in a weeks time with what you'd prefer to do, yes?"

With anger simmering beneath your skin, you nodded and mustered a fake smile as you stood up. You extended your hand, shaking Dumbledore's firmly, concealing the turmoil within you. After exchanging polite goodbyes, assuring him of your prompt response, you spun on your heels with a sense of urgency that left Mattheo in your dust. Ignoring his calls that faded into the distance, you marched toward your dorm room, determined to shut out the world and the infuriating presence of Mattheo Riddle.

Right now, you wanted absolutely nothing to do with him--nothing at all. But of course, he wasn't having that.

The heavy, urgent pounding on your door reverberated through the room, rattling your bones and intensifying your annoyance. Mattheo's relentless assault on the door seemed never-ending, refusing to halt for even a moment. Fearing the spectacle he might create in the hallway and the questions it would spark among your peers, you reluctantly decided to put an end to the commotion.

With a surge of anger-fueled determination, you swung the door open, gripping a fistful of his tie between your infuriated fingers as you pulled him inside. The door slammed shut behind him, the noise echoing your frustration, and you kept your grasp on his tie, shoving his back up against the wood of your door.

"Potions?" you hissed, your voice laced with seething anger as you pressed against him. "In the name of the four fucking founders, Riddle, potions?"

He blinked, clearly startled by the intensity of your rage. "What-"

"You're about to shatter one of my lifelong dreams just because you can't handle a cauldron and some bloody ingredients?" you spat through gritted teeth, eyes burning with fury. "Are you genuinely that hopelessly inept?"

Your response was met with a suffocating silence, his lips parting as if searching for words that never materialized. His jaw clenched, his eyes darting away briefly, a clear sign of his inner turmoil. The weight of his silence only fueled the blaze of your anger.

"Haven't you taken enough from me?" you hissed, the emotion in your tone nearly tangible. "Haven't you wreaked sufficient havoc on my life?"

Mattheo's eyes darkened, his irises smoldering with unspoken fury as he silently wrestled with his words. His fists clenched at his sides, the intensity of his emotions evident, yet the silence persisted. You could practically feel the weight of his suppressed anger hanging heavily in the air.

"You really have nothing to fucking say, do you?" you spat, your voice sharp with disappointment. "The arrogant Slytherin prince, always ready with a cutting remark, suddenly struck dumb when he's called out...how utterly predictable."

You scoffed, your frustration mounting as his inability to respond only fueled the fire of your own indignation.

"You're unbelievable." You said, finally releasing his tie and spinning away from him, moving across the room with deliberate pace before you spun back around, meeting his dark eyes from against the opposite wall. "I'm happy that your grades are improving under my guidance but I think you'll have to find someone else to tutor you in potions...I'm sorry, Mattheo."

Riddle blinked, stepping forward. "I don't need help in potions."

You paused. You weren't sure if you'd even heard him correctly. "What?"

"I don't need help in potions." He repeated, taking another step.

"You don't-" your brows pinched, your words falling short as Mattheo veered closer. "But you-"

"My grades are bad, yeah," he said, voice low and hoarse. "But I'm not failing. And I certainly don't need a tutor."

Your chest constricted. You weren't following him. "Then why? Why'd you say that to Dumbledore?"

He inhaled sharply through his nose, his jaw locking with tension. Swallowing hard, his throat worked as he landed himself roughly an arms length away from you, his eyes darker than the midnight sky and twice as intense.

"Because," he said, taking a singular step closer. "I don't want you anywhere near him."

His words slammed your chest so hard you almost fell over. "Excuse me?"

"My brother," he said, his tone flat and unwavering. "I don't want you anywhere fucking near my brother."

Your jaw dropped, the air catching in your lungs. A whirlwind of conflicting emotions engulfed you, each one sparking a fire in your core that you desperately wished to ignore. Your head spun, torn between the lingering anger and the new surge of shock and disbelief at his words.

"You're not serious..." you spat, peering up at him as he loomed over you, hastily taking a step back to create some distance between you. "Riddle, please tell me you're fucking joking."

"Do I look like I'm joking?" he replied, his expression carved from stone, taking another step closer and erasing the space you had just tried to create. "Huh, Raven? Do I?"

Anger swelled inside you, clouding your vision. "You've lost your fucking mind," you said, your voice dropping so low you weren't even sure if he'd heard you. "You're being controlling, Mattheo. That's...you can't just..."

Mattheo tilted his head, backing you up against the wall, a predatory glint in his eyes that made your stomach flip. "I can't, what?"

Your throat went dry, his hands pressing against the wood on either side of your head. "You can't just-"

Your words were cut short as Mattheo leaned in, his lips brushing against yours. "Can't what, Raven?" he murmured, his voice a dangerous whisper. "Go on, spit it out."

Gods, curse him. Curse him to bloody hell.

"You can't just control my life like you own it, Mattheo," you whispered against his lips, ignoring the fiery desire that flared within you, something you fought fiercely to suppress. "Outside of that classroom, you don't hold any power over me."

Mattheo's lips curled into a sly, taunting smile, his eyes glinting with challenge. "Oh, Raven," he murmured, his voice a dangerous whisper, "you have no idea how wrong you are...inside that classroom or out, you're mine to control...I believe I've proven that today--you'd have never gotten the offer to join that fucking club if it wasn't for my improved grades."

You scowled, your back pressing firmly against the wall as his lips trailed down to your jawline. Frustration mingled with desire, a dangerous combination that sent your senses reeling.

You cursed yourself inwardly, loathing the way your resolve seemed to crumble under his touch. Why did a boy this bad have to look so fucking sweet? Why did a boy this bad for you have to taste so fucking good?

"No...you're wrong, Mattheo..." you whispered, your voice trembling, trying to inject conviction into your words despite the turmoil inside you. "You're so fucking wrong."

"Am I, Raven?" He teased, his voice smug, one hand shifting to cup the side of your face, thumb brushing over your cheek. "So you're saying, that if I told you to get on your knees for me, right now in the middle of your dorm room like my good little whore, you wouldn't do it?" His lips grazed your ear, your lids fluttering involuntarily. "Or...if I told you to take off your shirt so I could cum all over those beautiful fucking tits of yours, you'd say no...hm?"

Your breath caught in your throat, his touch and words igniting a fierce battle within you. As much as you knew the next words form your lips were an entire fucking lie, you simply couldn't help yourself. Merlin knows your body and mind were betraying you, all you had left was your mouth--which was never known to go down without a fight.

"That's right, Riddle..." you whispered, your voice barely audible, betraying the tremor in your resolve. "I'd say no...one million times over I'd say no..."

Mattheo groaned, the noise reverberating down your spine as he breathed it directly into your eardrum. Your thighs screamed in need at the sound--your stomach flipping as his hand slid into your hair, cradling the back of your neck.

"And if I asked you to kiss me?" He murmured, his intense gaze locking onto yours. "Would you still say no then?"

Your heart was beating so hard you were certain he could hear it. "I...I would..."

"Yeah?" He said, his voice a sultry whisper, wetting his lips as he glimpsed yours. "You sure about that, Raven?"

Your lungs sputtered, trying your best to keep your composure as you nodded, glimpsing his lips now. "I'm sure, Mattheo..."

His nails dug into your neck, every inch of your body ablaze as your gaze darted between his dark, intoxicated eyes and his plush, inviting lips. You cursed yourself, the internal struggle fierce and unrelenting. You cursed yourself so intensely, you could almost taste the bitterness of your own self-reproach.

"Mm." He hummed, grazing his lips over yours with feather like precision, before he pulled back. "And what would I have to do to change your mind, huh? Do you want me to fucking beg, princess?"

A low, desperate sound escaped your lips, a primal mewl reverberating in your chest. "That might help..." you breathed. "Maybe if you got on your knees while you did, it'd be far more effective..."

"Fuck...I've created a monster, haven't I..." he huffed, smirk teasing his perfect fucking lips, both hands falling to your hips as he slowly dropped to his knees in front of you. "A beautiful, slutty little monster..."

You were speechless, body blazed with desire, torn between the intense pull in his eyes and the irresistible temptation of his lips. Holy fucking hell you wanted to kiss him so unbelievably bad, you weren't sure how much longer you could continue playing this little game; the desire only strengthening as he ran his hands along your curves, rough palms smoothing down your thighs as he peered up at you--chocolate curls sitting messy over his forehead, his dark eyes burning wounds into your flesh.

"Kiss me, Raven..." he whispered, holding your sight, voice strained weigh desire so intense it was palpable. "Please, fucking kiss me."

That did it. That absolutely did it.

Without a second thought, you bent at the waist, seizing his tie and directing his mouth to yours, your lips crashing onto his in a feverish, desperate kiss. At the passionate connection, a low moan slid past your teeth, your fingers entwining in his hair, deepening the kiss. His tongue sought entrance, and you willingly granted it, eliciting a low, primal growl from him. His hands tightened around the backs of your thighs, anchoring you in place, not daring to move an inch higher.

Mattheo nipped your bottom lip, smirking as he tugged on it gently before releasing it, blinking as he met your eyes. "I love the way you moan for me, Raven..." he purred, hands slowly moving up, slipping under your skirt. "You have no idea what I could fucking do to you."

You whimpered as his hands slid higher, gripping your ass under your skirt, his face dangerously close to your sex. Your fingers curled tightly into his hair, gripping the strands within your palms as your entire body quivered. His lips left a trail of hot, fervent kisses along your outer thigh, igniting a path of tingling sensations in their wake.

"Gods..." you moaned, unable to form any other coherent word as his hands explored and caressed places on your body that no one else had ever touched before. "Mattheo..."

"Fucking hell..." he groaned, his grip tightening. "If you do that again I might not be able to stop myself Raven...I might have to rip this fucking skirt off and make you moan my name over and over until it's the only word you remember..."

Your breath caught in your throat, your head spinning in a whirlpool of desire at his words. Every fiber of your being trembled, quivering under his touch. Mattheo pulled himself up to his feet, his hands still firmly gripping your ass as he pressed himself against you, the strength of his grip pulling your crotch against his. Even through the fabric of his trousers, you could feel his aggressive erection pressing against you.

Involuntarily, you moaned again.

"Mhm, that’s right...” Mattheo hummed, wet lips grazing your ear. "…and you say I don't have control over you..." he purred, licking a slow line up the side of your throat. "You're fucking melting for me and I've barely touched you, Raven..."

His mention of control snapped you back to your senses, not wanting your earlier anger to be neutered so easily, despite the lake pooling between your thighs for this cunning enigma of a man.

"I'm still mad at you, Mattheo..." you managed to croak out, head falling back as he pressed his lips to your neck. "You can't keep doing this...you can't keep sweet-talking me out of my anger for you.”

"Is that what you think I'm doing here?" He huffed, one hand leaving your ass and gripping your hip with enough force to shatter your bones. "Maybe I just can't keep my fucking hands off of you...maybe I like knowing I'm the only one who's ever touched you like this, the only one who's ever fucked your throat and seen those perfect tits of yours...maybe I don't like sharing...maybe I don't like the thought of my brother getting you alone and trying to take what's mine..."

You whimpered, chest constricting. "And you told me not to get attached?" You said, ignoring the burning, screaming flames that ignited at his admission. "You're utterly delusional...I'm not your fucking toy-"

“Yes you are.” He huffed, a deviant grin crawling over his lips. "And believe me, I'm not attached, princess..." he said. "I'm possessive, and there's a fucking difference. I know my brother...I know exactly how he operates."

"If it's anything like how you do, then I can understand your concern." You scoffed, not even attempting to hide your smirk. "But I'm not a child, I don't need protection. And believe me when I tell you, one irritating Riddle man in my life is more than enough."

His jaw tensed at your words, and he loosened his grip, almost fully releasing you, but not quite. "You can do all three."

You paused, lips parting, but he cut you off, sensing your incoming confusion. "Tutoring me in advanced magical studies and potions…plus the stupid club. You can do all three."

"What?" You were dumbfounded, nearly speechless. "I-I can't, Riddle...Dumbledore said-"

"He's only saying that because he thinks you'd actually have to tutor me in potions...we can just make him think you are...imagine how impressed he'll be when you tell him-"

"Oh, Mattheo! That's brilliant!" You beamed, excitement filling your eyes, all of your earlier anger and concern and disappointment seemingly flowing from your flesh, dissipating into the charged air. You gripped his face, giving him a kiss on the cheek, smirking as you pulled back. "You really changed your mind rather quickly."

"I see how much it upset you." He shrugged, stepping back and shoving his hands into his pockets. "I don't want to interfere with your goals, Raven. I just want you to know that even though he's my brother, I won't refrain from kicking his fucking ass if he tries anything."

Your jaw fell open like you wanted to reply, but words would fail you, and he smirked. “Tell Dumbledore you’ll do it. And I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

Without giving you the chance to respond, he spun around, briskly making his way out of your dorm without another bloody word--leaving you entirely at a loss, unable to comprehend what the hell just happened.

————

CHAPTER FIVE->

[lostfracturess]

symptoms and causes | ch. 06

ღ pairing professor gojo x med student reader

ღ 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.

ღ wc 7.4 k

ღ warnings [18+] this story contains substance abuse/addiction, (rough) smut, mature themes, self-destructive behavior, (heavy) angst, mentions of death / illness / blood / abuse, graphic medical procedures. reader discretion is advised.

ღ author's note dive in and let me know what you think—i love hearing your thoughts! & pls like or repost if you enjoyed, it means the world ♡

series masterlist + playlist + ao3 + wattpad

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You woke up in Satoru's bed, the soft sheets still carrying his scent. Sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting dappled patterns of shadows on the floor. As you stirred, your head pounded with a heavy, throbbing ache. Fragments of last night's events swam hazily in your mind.

The clock on the bedside table read noon.

You sat up and looked over your shoulder. The sheets on the other side were crumpled. Satoru must had slept beside you. But now, his side was empty, the room silent except for the distant sounds of the city life outside the windows.

You swung your legs over the edge of the bed and paused briefly, hoping the throbbing in your head would ease. You could barely remember anything from last night. But you sure remembered one thing — the marks on your thighs unmistakable remnants of Satoru.

You threw on one of Satoru's loose white shirts and made your way out of the bedroom. The living space was neat, the remnants of last night's chaos nowhere in sight. Your eyes were drawn to the kitchen where Satoru stood, his back to you.

He was busy at the counter, seemingly preparing something. The morning light streaming through the window illuminated his figure, highlighting the numerous red scratches scattered across his bare back — unmistakable remnants of you.

You paused, watching him for a moment.

"I didn't know you were a calvin klein man," you remarked, eyeing the hem of his boxer shorts peeking out from his low-hanging sweatpants.

Satoru turned, his eyes met yours, a sly grin forming on his lips. "Where are you staring at?"

You walked closer. "Where your pants at?" 

As you reached the table, you let yourself sink into a chair. A glass of water and an array of pills were neatly arranged in front of you.

"How are you feeling?"

"Like I've been hit by a truck," you said, rubbing your temples.

"Take these," he gestured toward the pills. "They'll help. And I'll make you some coffee. Caffeine should do some good."

You eyed the pills, suppressing a sudden feeling of nausea. You reached for the glass of water and downed the pills.

Satoru moved around the kitchen preparing the coffee. You watched, momentarily lost in the captivating display of his back muscles, shifting and flexing with each movement. His hair was slightly tousled, his forearms flexed, revealing defined muscles and veins.

He turned to you with two steaming mugs of coffee, the rich aroma filling the kitchen. "Here," he said, handing you a mug. "This should help clear your head."

You accepted it with a faint smile, the warmth of the mug seeping into your hands. Satoru fumbled in his sweatpants pocket and pulled out a small flashlight. "Let me just check something real quick."

He turned on the light and flickered it in front of your eyes. You blinked, startled by the sudden brightness. "Satoru, I'm okay."

He ignored your protest, carefully checking your pupils before turning off the light. He gently cupped your chin, turning your head first to one side, then to the other, observing your eyes closely. "Any dizziness when I do this?"

"No."

He then placed his hand against your forehead. "You don't have a fever, do you?"

"No," you said as his hand already moved from your forehead to under your jaw, his fingers checking your lymph nodes.

"You want a saline drip?"

"What? No."

Satoru met your gaze, his fingers still working gently around your neck. "Works wonders sometimes."

"Why would you even have that at home?" 

His lips formed a thin line.

Yeah. You shouldn't wonder why a man constantly carrying a scalpel with him has a saline drip at home. It was just Satoru being Satoru — always a doctor.

"I'm fine, Satoru, really." You tried to push his hand away, but he already grasped your wrist, extending your arm to feel your pulse. His touch was tender as he cradled your wrist with one hand while he glanced at his watch, timing the beats.

After a moment, he released your wrist. "Good," he said, sounding relieved.

"Did I pass your check-up?"

Satoru smiled as he pulled back. "You did." 

He leaned against the counter opposite you. You took a sip of the coffee, the bitterness sharp against your tongue. "You've got some scratches on your back."

"Yeah, I thought so. Got quite a few stares during my run earlier."

You nearly choked on your coffee. "You went out running like that?"

"Looks like they are a bit more obvious than I thought." Satoru glanced over his shoulder at the scratches. "They definitely caught some attention."

"Why didn't you wear a shirt?"

"It's hot outside."

"Oh my god," you muttered, rubbing your temple.

Satoru chuckled. "Next time, maybe go a little easier on me."

Next time?

"So," he started, "how much do you remember about last night?"

You pondered for a moment, the events of the evening coming back in fragments. "Bits and pieces. But it's all a quite blurry. I don't remember much from the club. But I remember everything clearly after we got here, if that's what you're asking for."

He didn't repost to that. He only watched you. "I got the results from your blood test this morning."

He crossed his arms in front of his chest, his jaw tensing. "That guy at the club, he tried to drug you with tramadol. Thankfully, it wasn't a high dose. But whoever he is, he's likely from the medical faculty. It's not something someone could easily get their hands on. I've already reported it to the university."

"Tramadol?" you murmured, trying to process the information. "An opioid? That's an odd choice."

He raised an eyebrow. "That's what you find intriguing?"

"No, that came out wrong." You shook your head. "I can't believe someone from our faculty would do something like that."

"I'm just relieved that you're safe. The mere thought of you being in danger..." He trailed off, his hands clenching into fists.

Suddenly, his body shook. He turned away, gripping the counter tightly, his knuckles whitening with the strain. "If I ever get my hands on that guy—"

The room fell silent.

Maybe it wasn't the best time, but you couldn't hold it in any longer.

"Satoru," you began cautiously, "about what I said yesterday...I meant it. You have to get clean."

He paused. "We can talk about that some other time. You've been through enough already."

"But Satoru—"

"Not now," he cut you off.

He pushed off the counter and started to move around the kitchen, busying himself with cleaning up. He was obviously avoiding the conversation.

"We can't just keep avoiding this."

He continued his task, his back to you. "I know," he said quietly, "but now's not the time. Let's focus on getting you back on your feet first."

"God, Satoru, you're so selfish!" 

At this, Satoru turned around. "Selfish? You're the one who's always running away. You left me last night, after I told you what I feel for you." 

His tone grew sharper, his words laced with pain. "I had no idea what you were doing, where you were, whether you were safe and it killed me. Every damn second I didn't know what was going on killed me."

His accusation struck a nerve. "What was I supposed to do? Just ignore everything you've done and act as if everything is fine?"

"Did seem to me like that last night, as you begged me to fuck you so hard, that you would forget everything," he shot back, "but I did, even though it felt wrong, because you said you needed it. So don't tell me I'm selfish, when I'd do anything for you."

"Don't go there, Satoru," you warned, feeling a surge of anger. "You have no right to judge how I handle my feelings."

"Like getting drunk and flirting with the first guy who looks your way?"

"That's not fair."

"I've told you how much I want you, how much I crave being with you. Still you go around, like what I said meant nothing."

"Because it means nothing, Satoru!" you shot back, your voice rising. "You say you want me, but your actions tell a different story! If you really meant what you said, you would have told me about your addiction. You would be fighting it. Otherwise, your words mean nothing."

Your blood began to boil. You stood up, pushing the chair back with a loud scrape. Your heart pounded in your chest. "Sweet words aren't enough, Satoru. You have to show me that I mean something to you. Show me that you want me!"

"And I thought I had already shown how bad I want you," he replied.

"Not by fucking me, damn it. Show me by fighting your addiction."

"My addiction has nothing to do with my feelings for you."

"But with mine, Satoru! Your addiction is affecting my feelings. And you're hurting me!"

He paused. "What do you want me to say?"

"I want the truth," you gasped, breathing heavily. "Stop lying to me."

There was a long silence. 

He said nothing.

You turned away, frustration boiling over.

You left the kitchen and stormed through the living room. That's when your eyes landed on a chessboard set up on a small table. For a moment, you stood there, staring at it, an idea forming in your mind.

You grabbed the chessboard and returned to the kitchen. Satoru watched, a puzzled expression on his face, as you set the board on the table between you.

"Let's settle this," you declared. "Sixteen pieces. Sixteen questions. We tell the truth every time we lose a piece."

Satoru raised an eyebrow. "You're going to play by the same rules?"

"Yes."

He pondered for a moment, watching you. "Just so you know, I'm pretty good at chess."

You met his gaze squarely. "Then the game should be interesting."

You sat down at the table and arranged the chess pieces on the board. Once done, you moved it to the center of the table and looked up at him. "Begin."

Satoru pushed off the counter and sat down opposite you. His shirtless chest now on full display as he rested his arm on the back of the chair next to him. He pondered for a moment and then made his move.

You recognized the strategy immediately. "Hm, the King's Pawn opening," you commented. "Planning to take control of the center early, I see."

Satoru met your gaze. "You know I never hold back."

"I've noticed." You countered with your pawn to c5, setting up the Sicilian Defense.

He gave a playful smirk. "Playing defensively. I expected a more direct attack from you."

"Just wait," you warned. "You'll see what's coming."

Satoru developed his knight to f3, and you solidified your position with d6. 

The stage was set for a strategic play.

Satoru thought for a moment. Then he moved his pawn to d4, challenging your setup.

[Piece captured: Satoru's pawn captures your pawn on d4.]

"Your first question," you prompted, looking up at him.

He watched you for a moment before he spoke. "Do you regret sleeping with me last night?"

Huh?

That's what he wants to know?

You bit your lower lip, considering. His piercing blue eyes awaited your response. "No," you said, then moved on the board, capturing his pawn on d4 with your d6 pawn. 

Too easy, he was smarter than that — he gave you that.

[Piece captured: You capture Satoru's d4 pawn with your d6 pawn.]

Satoru shifted slightly in his chair, absorbing your move. "Now, your first question."

You watched him for a moment before speaking. "Do you even want to get clean?"

He hesitated. 

"No lies," you remained him.

He clenched his teeth. "I could. If that's what you want."

"That not my question. I asked if you want to."

You could see the muscles in his every being tense as you waited for him to answer. After a long pause, he finally answered, "No."

Your heart sank as you looked into his blue eyes — suddenly so unfamiliar.

At least now, both of you knew where you stood.

The board was set for the next phase of the game.

You developed your knight to f6, targeting his e4 pawn. In response, Satoru's knight moved to c3, supporting his pawn structure. Satoru's bishop then moved to e3, and you responded by advancing your bishop to g7.

Satoru then positioned his bishop on e3. You responded strategically, moving your bishop to g7, placing it on the long diagonal.

Satoru leaned forward, rubbing his lower lip with his hand as he considered his next move. Playing f3, Satoru hinted at a kingside attack. You castled to safeguard your king. Satoru moved his queen to d2, setting the stage for a potential offensive.

You huffed. You moved your other knight to c6, increasing the pressure on the board.

[Piece captured: You capture Satoru's d4 knight with your c6 knight.]

With the knight taken, you looked up at him. "When did it start, your addiction?"

"I'm sure Suguru must have told you."

"I want to hear it from you."

Running a hand through his hair, he leaned back in his chair. 

"It started during my undergrad years. Methylphenidate was the first. It helped me focus, gave me that extra edge for exams. It was harmless."

"Then, at a party, someone offered me sedatives. It was different. It helped me calm down in a way cannabis could not. It made me forget the stress for a while. But it wasn't just sedatives. There were nights with ecstasy. Cocaine too."

He paused, as if reliving those moments. "You know, I was always at the top of my class. Always pushing myself as expected from me. But somewhere down that line, I became dependent on tranquilizers just to cope with university stress, to keep my mind sane."

He didn't break eye contact for a second. His piercing blue eyes absorbed every slight change in your expression.

"During my master's program I moved on to stronger stuff. Codeine at first, then oxycodone. By the time I was working on my dissertation I was given my own lab, leading my own research, publishing papers and taking daily morphine just to function. On really bad days, hydromorphone."

You took a shaky inhale, feeling a heavy weight on your chest. You dropped your head into your hands, your fingers tightly gripping your hair. "God, Satoru. Was there anything you didn't try?" 

"I'm not experimenting anymore. I've found my routine. I have it under control. At least until you came into my life."

You raised your head to meet his gaze. "What—What routine?"

You shook your head. My God, he was speaking about his drug use as if it was as normal as taking a daily vitamin.

"You talk about it like it's nothing. Satoru, you're really deep into your addiction. You have a real problem."

"Does that scare you?" he asked.

If his addiction scares you? What a stupid question.

It didn't scare you. 

It made you furious.

"Not your turn for questions," you retorted sharply.

Satoru's expression hardened. He leaned forward, making a swift move on the board, capturing your knight with his pawn.

[Piece captured: Satoru takes your c6 knight with his b7 pawn.]

"Does my addiction scare you?"he repeated his question.

"No," you replied sharply. "But is that all you worry about? Whether I'm scared of your addiction? Are you afraid that I see you as a bad person? Is that why you lied to me all the time?"

"It's not your turn for questions," he reminded you.

You frustration boiled over. You moved your queen to a5, putting pressure on key pieces in his defense.

"Getting aggressive, aren't we?" Satoru commented, observing your play.

You didn't respond.

Satoru moved his rook to d3. You doubled your rooks on the b-file, intensifying the pressure on Satoru's queenside. Undeterred, Satoru advanced his pawn to g5, aiming to disrupt your kingside pawn structure. 

The move was bold. He wasn't going to back down easily.

What a bitch.

You maneuvered your knight to h5, targeting the advanced pawn and readying for an attack. Satoru's queen moved to h4, aligning with your king and adding tension to the board.

You shifted your rook to b4, setting up a potential attack on Satoru's queen. Satoru responded by placing his rook on b1, defending against your aggressive rooks.

Moving your queen to c5, you aimed at the weakened pawn structure around Satoru's king. Satoru repositioned his rook to b3, attempting to neutralize your threats.

You lined up both rooks on the b-file, preparing for a decisive strike. Satoru retreated his rook to d1, bracing for your impending attack.

Stupid mistake.

[Piece captured: You capture Satoru's f3 knight with your g7 bishop.]

"What is it that you're so afraid of that you've been lying to me all this time? That I will spill your secret?"

He paused before replying, "Losing you."

"Liar," you retorted.

"There are no lies in this game," Satoru countered, capturing your bishop on g7 with his queen. "You set the rules yourself."

[Piece captured: Satoru takes your g7 bishop with his queen.]

"How do you really feel about me?" 

The question took you aback. You paused, raising a hand to your mouth and biting on your fingernails. Satoru watched you, waiting for your response.

"I don't know."

"That's not an answer," he prodded.

"What do you want me to say? That I want you? Yes, Satoru, I want you. But I also hate you. I hate you for lying to me. And I hate you for what you've put me through."

"That's why you flirted with that guy last night? To get back at me?"

"Not your turn for questions."

You advanced your queen deep into his territory, directly challenging his king. Satoru moved his queen to c4, a defensive play against your aggressive approach. Your knight leaped to f4, adding pressure and threatening a checkmate pattern.

In response, Satoru maneuvered his rook to c1, attempting to fortify his defenses against your aggressive moves. Seizing the opportunity, you captured Satoru's pawn on e2 with your queen, threatening his king directly.

[Piece captured: You capture Satoru's e2 pawn with your queen.]

"What substance are you currently on?" you asked, your gaze fixed on the board.

"I'm on a regular dose of hydromorphone, sometimes alprazolam."

"How much?" you pressed.

"Just one question—"

"How much, Satoru?"

"Hydromorphone, six milligrams every few hours. Alprazolam, two milligrams but that's only—"

You met his gaze. "Only what? If the sun doesn't shine?"

"Only when I'm around you."

Your grip on the chess piece grew tighter. "What's that supposed to mean? You need tranquilizers just to be around me?"

He didn't respond, his silence speaking volumes.

You felt like you're about to throw up.

You looked away and moved your knight to f4, escalating the attack and setting up a potential checkmate. "How can you even function like that? That dosage would hospitalize most people."

Satoru's response was prompt, his queen moved to f2, attempting to trade pieces and reduce the pressure. "I've developed a high tolerance."

Without a second thought, you captured his queen with your rook.

[Piece captured: You capture Satoru's queen with your f2 rook.]

With Satoru's queen removed from the board, you pressed on. "Who else knows about your addiction? Besides me and Geto?"

"No one. Just the two of you."

Satoru then recaptured your rook on f2 with his rook on d1.

[Piece captured: Satoru's d1 rook captures your f2 rook.]

"Why did you flirt with that guy last night?" Satoru asked.

"I didn't flirt with him. He just happened to be there. That's all."

You then realigned your remaining rook to b8, positioning it on the open file directly opposing Satoru's king. 

Satoru hesitated, his hand hovering over the board. "Did you think of me, while you were with him?" He suddenly asked. His voice softer now.

Huh?

You paused and looked up from the chessboard to meet his gaze. His usually sharp, piercing eyes now held a hollowness, as if they were clouded. His brows drawn together as if in pain.

Your response was soft, almost inaudible. "Yes."

Satoru held your gaze you for a moment, before moving his other rook to f1, trying to fortify his king's position. You advanced your rook to c8, putting it directly opposite Satoru's king, signaling your preparation for the final attack.

He moved his king to b1, seeking a safer position, but the options were dwindling. You maneuvered your rook to c4 in preparation for an attack. Satoru's rook moved to f3 to create a potential counterplay.

You moved your rook to a4, pinning one of Satoru's rooks and setting up a lethal threat. Satoru's rook moved to b3, trying to defend against your imminent attack.

Your knight leaped to e2 cutting off the escape routes for Satoru's king. Satoru's rook moved to b2, the last line of defense, trying to hold off your attack.

You played your knight to c3, putting Satoru's king in check.

[Check]

Satoru's king retreated to a1, the only available square. Your rook slid to a3, cutting off the king's escape and setting up the final play.

Satoru leaned forward, his fingers rubbing over his lower lip as as he took a moment to assess the board. "Well played," he said as he made his last move.

You moved your rook to a2, delivering a checkmate. Satoru's king was trapped, with no squares left for escape.

[Checkmate]

Satoru looked up from the chessboard, his eyes searching yours. "What's your final question?"

"Will you try to get clean if I asked you to? I mean really try."

A moment of silence passed as he contemplated your question. 

"Yes."

You bit down on your lower lip, still boiling inside.

You stood up. Leaning forward, you placed your hands firmly on the table, fixing Satoru with a steely gaze. 

"Here's how this is going to work from now on," you began. "You'll reduce your hydromorphone dose gradually, only five milligrams every four hours from now on. Then, you'll cut it down to four milligrams for the next two weeks until you're completely off."

Satoru absorbed your words, his jaw clenching.

"You'll stop the alprazolam immediately. No more strong tranquilizers."

"Wait—" Satoru began, but you cut him off.

"Don't you dare say anything now, Satoru. Shut it."

Satoru pressed his lips together.

"You'll take clonidine to help with the withdrawal symptoms. But only low doses. Got me?"

Satoru inhaled sharply. "That's a tough plan you're laying out. I'll be in heavy withdrawal. You know that, right?"

"I don't care," you snapped. "You'll fight through it. And if you feel like you can't take it anymore you'll call me, if you feel like you need to take a pill you talk to me, if you feel like dying you'll come to me, got me?"

"Seems like we'll be spending a lot of time together then."

"I want you clean by the end of the summer break, Satoru. If not, I'll report you to the director."

He leaned back in his chair. "Didn't know you could be so fierce, first-year."

"Save your breath. I'm dead serious about this."

"So am I."

"Then we're clear?"

His lips curled into a boyish smile. "I'll do anything you asked of me, sweetheart. I'm all yours."

You felt a slight release of tension, your shoulders easing down a bit.

"But I want something from you in return," he added.

"That I don't break your neck should be enough."

Ignoring your remark, Satoru stood up and leaned across the small table towards you. His posture was imposing, his broad shoulders now more pronounced as he closed the gap between you. His face only mere inches from yours.

"I need you to help me in the OR over the summer."

"I'll not do that surgery again," you said.

"Not the implanting of the transplant, I'll do that. I want you to assist me. On every single surgery, the whole summer. We'll work on perfecting the procedure until it's ready for publication."

You frowned slightly. "Satoru, I need to study. Did you forget I'm still a student? I can't spend every waking moment in the OR with you."

He inched even closer, his breath warm against your lips. "Then I'll help you with your studies," he offered, his eyes locked onto yours. "You're a first-year; the material is not that hard."

Ouch.

"Do we have a deal?"

After a moment of consideration, you nodded. "Deal."

As Satoru's gaze lingered on your lips, you added softly, "Oh, and Satoru?"

"Hm?" He leaned in closer, expecting something.

"No sex until you're clean."

"What?" His eyes widened slightly as he pulled back, searching your face for signs of jest.

"You really think you get rewarded for this?"

Satoru gave a half-smirk, half-grimace. "You know, I tend to function better when I'm... satisfied."

"Well then, I'm sure your right hand will have a busy summer," you said, pushing yourself away from the table.

─── ·✧· ───

A week has passed since that day.

Satoru was deep in thought, staring at research data on his notebook, when the door to his office flew open. Geto stormed in, a newspaper clenched in his hand, and slammed it down on Satoru's desk with a force that made the pens rattle.

The headline screamed "charming surgeon couple sets new medical standard", accompanied by a picture of Satoru and you in surgical gear.

Geto's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Have you lost your mind, Satoru?" he asked, his tone deceptively calm.

Satoru looked up. "What are you talking about?"

"This!" Geto clenched the newspaper in his hand, his forced smile fading. "This article. It's basically a public statement that you're having an affair. You're on dangerous ground."

Satoru stood up, casually walking over to his bookshelf as if the conversation were of no importance. He pulled out a book, flipping through it. "It's just an article, Suguru. They needed a story, we gave them one. It's good publicity for the hospital."

Geto's hands balled into fists at his sides. "It's not just an article, it's a spotlight on something that shouldn't even be happening. You're her mentor, for god's sake."

Satoru, still perusing the book, shrugged. "You're overreacting. She's done groundbreaking work, she deserves recognition. The article doesn't imply anything else."

"Don't play dumb with me. I know you better than that," Geto retorted, his voice rising. "You're a ticking time bomb, Satoru. And when you fall, she'll be dragged down with you, you know that."

Satoru closed the book and finally faced Geto. "My personal issues are under control."

"Under control?" Geto sighed, running a hand through his hair. "You think popping pills and then playing the charming surgeon in the OR is under control? You're risking not only your career, but hers as well!"

Satoru's expression hardened. "I'm handling it, Geto. She's not in any danger from me."

Geto stepped closer, his frustration palpable. "You're not thinking straight. She's just starting her career. What happens when she gets caught in the crossfire of your mess? Have you even thought for a second about the consequences?"

He replaced the book on the shelf and faced Geto squarely. "Your concern is noted. But I assure you, she's safe with me."

"And that at the conference? What about that?"

"It was a mistake, I know."

"Mistake? God, Satoru, you should be grateful that everyone was so drunk that night that they barely noticed that you were locked in with a student for a few minutes and came back with your pants still open. What were you thinking?"

Satoru's composure faltered, a hint of frustration seeping into his voice. "I know! But—but she was hurt, Suguru—hurt about what happened at the club and—and she was confused, and then said, 'use me'," Satoru waved his hands helplessly to make his point somehow clear, "—that's when I lost it."

Geto's eyes narrowed. "Wait, what? After what happened at the club? You fucked her twice?"

Ouh.

Before Satoru could respond, Geto lunged forward, grabbing him by the collar and pushing him back against the bookshelf. Books tumbled down as Satoru hit the shelf, the sound echoing in the room.

"You're not just playing with fire, Satoru. You're diving headfirst into it!" Geto hissed, his face inches from Satoru's. "And you're dragging her down with you. She's a student, Satoru. A student under your guidance!"

Satoru grasped Geto's wrists, trying to pry them off. "I know, Suguru, I know. But I know what she means to me. And I swear, I won't let my problems affect her."

"You better be right. Because if things go south, it's not just you who'll pay the price." Geto exclaimed, his grip tightening on Satoru's shirt.

"I know, but—," Satoru gasped under the strain. "I'm trying to get clean. I've promised her."

Geto released him, stepping back. "Get clean? Satoru, you've been addicted for over a decade."

Straightening up, Satoru rubbed his neck where the fabric had constricted, his breath uneven. "Wow, you have so much hope for me. I'm flattered."

Geto's gaze bore into Satoru, skepticism etched in every line of his face. "It's not like you haven't tried before."

Satoru let himself slide down along the bookshelf, slumping against it on the ground. He glanced at the disarray around him, running a hand through his hair. "I know. But this time, it's different. I'm doing it for her."

"I have a plan," Satoru added. "Reducing dosages, substituting meds, the whole thing. She's got a whole schedule. A tough one, I may add."

Geto crossed his arms. "What schedule?"

"I'm down to only five milligrams hydromorphone every four hours now, and then it'll be even less over the next two weeks. She's also completely taken me off tranquillizers."

Geto visibly winced. "That's tough."

Satoru nodded, rubbing the back of his head. "Yeah, it is."

"But weren't you on ten milligrams lately?" Geto asked.

Satoru looked up, offering a weak, somewhat strained smile. "Yeah, but let's keep that between us, Suguru."

"You're stupid. You've halved your dosage practically overnight. You can't go through with that. How can you even function at all right now?"

"Barely, but I'm trying."

"And you think that's going to work? Just because she's involved?"

"It has to. I don't want to lose her."

Geto raised an eyebrow. "What did she do to you?"

Satoru paused for a moment, his gaze distant. "I don't know... maybe she's the one."

Geto sighed. He held out his hand to Satoru. "How about we grab something to eat?"

─── ·✧· ───

The warm sunlight greeted Geto and Satoru as they stepped outside. The air was alive with the chirping of birds and the distant hum of students enjoying their last week before summer break. 

The lush greenery surrounding the cafeteria's outdoor seating area swayed gently in the mild breeze. It was a popular spot, especially on such a beautiful day. Professors and students mingled, their conversations punctuated by occasional laughter.

Geto and Satoru joined the line at the cafeteria, grabbed something to eat and then scanned the crowd for a place to sit. It was then that Satoru's gaze inadvertently fell upon a familiar group. There you were, sitting among your friends at one of the sun-drenched tables. Your laughter reached his ears, bringing a smile to his face.

"Looks like we've found our spot," Geto remarked, following Satoru's gaze. Without waiting for a response, he led the way towards your table.

As they approached, the conversation at your table paused. All eyes turned towards the new arrivals. "Mind if we join you?" Geto asked with his usual charm.

Maki looked up. "Of course, professors, but only if you promise not to spring any surprise tests on us."

Geto chuckled. "No surprises today, I assure you."

Everyone shuffled to make room. Satoru settled down across from you, his eyes fixed on you with an intensity that was hard to ignore. You met his gaze, lifting your eyebrows slightly to remind him that you were not alone at this table.

"So, what's everyone's plan for the summer break?" Satoru asked the group.

Maki leaned back in her chair. "I'm hitting the trails. Hiking. It's high time I actually enjoyed a summer."

Yuta chimed in, "I'm searching for internships for next summer. Never too early to start, right? Still figuring out what field to dive into, though."

Maki groaned. "Oh, internships... just thinking about applying gives me a headache."

"You'll land something good, I'm sure," you reassured her.

Maki shot you a playful smirk. "Easy for you to say, miss one-half of the 'charming surgeon couple.' Seems like you won't be needing an internship after all."

Yuta laughed. "Yeah, thanks to her, we've been the center of attention all day."

Geto brushed off the concern. "Don't worry too much about it. The media's always onto the next thing. This will be old news before summer."

Yet Maki pressed on, her grin mischievous. "Speaking of summer, must be nice, having such an interesting summer break lined up with Dr. Gojo," she remarked. "Surgery after surgery, all season long."

You shot Maki a warning look, on the verge of answering, but Satoru was quicker.

"Well," Satoru began, "working closely with such a skilled partner certainly promises a summer of... intense teamwork." His gaze lingered on you just a moment longer than necessary, the ambiguous implication of his words clear to all present.

Under the table, your foot found its target—Satoru's shin—eliciting a sharp, yet subtle, reaction from him. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Geto rubbing his temple. He must have a headache by now.

"But Zenin has a point," Satoru recovered smoothly, "there's no substitute for hands-on experience. You should all consider internships."

Yuta then turned his attention to Geto and Satoru. "Are you two planning to come to the summer gathering?"

Satoru, caught slightly off guard, tilted his head. "Summer gathering? What's that?"

"It's just a small thing we're putting together to mark the start of the summer break. The whole practical class will be there, along with Dr. Kento and a few other professors from the department. It's casual, just a way to celebrate together," Yuta elaborated.

At this, Satoru's gaze shifted to you, an eyebrow arching in silent question. "How come I'm just hearing about this now?"

You gave a somewhat embarrassed smile, caught out for not mentioning it. "I assumed you'd be too busy."

"For something like this, I can always make time." His eyebrows raising even more.

"We'll be there and looking forward to it," Geto declared, casting a glance towards Satoru. "Right?"

Satoru, however, seemed momentarily distracted, his gaze still fixed on you. "Of course, I wouldn't miss it." It was clear he was irked by being kept in the dark. You felt a sudden shiver run down your spine.

You stood up abruptly. "I think I'll grab some dessert."

Satoru was quick on his feet, almost too eager to accompany you. "I think I'll get something too," he said, his voice betraying none of the annoyance his eyes had communicated moments before.

In the bustling line of the cafeteria, with the hum of conversations and the clink of dishes in the background, Satoru leaned closer to you. 

"Why didn't you tell me about the gathering sooner?" he asked, his eyes searching yours. "After what happened at the last party, I don't think it's a good idea for you to be there without... well, without someone looking out for you."

"It's just a casual thing, Satoru. No alcohol, and plenty of faculty around. It's completely different and perfectly safe."

Satoru frowned slightly. "Still don't like the idea. I should go with you, just to make sure everything's okay."

"As what? My boyfriend?" The words slipped out before you could stop them.

He smirked. "If that's what you like."

You glared at him. "That's not what I meant." Deciding to change the subject, you asked, "How are you holding up? With the withdrawal, I mean?"

"I'm not done talking about this," Satoru said, his tone sharpening. "You have to tell me such things."

"Since when?"

"Since—certain things happened."

"Oh, you want to further elaborate that?"

"You know what I mean."

"I can handle myself, Satoru."

"Yeah, I've seen that." he said, his voice laced with irony. "But be sure, I'll be keeping a close eye on you during the gathering." Without another word, he stepped out of the line, leaving you to process his abrupt departure.

"Wait, aren't you getting dessert?" you called after him.

"The only dessert I want right now is off-limits," he said, his voice fading as he walked away.

─── ·✧· ───

"Seems like Dr. Handsome can't take his eyes off you," Maki whispered, leaning in closer.

You turned your head slightly to see Satoru, indeed, staring at you.

Wow. He's not even trying to be subtle about it.

It was a warm summer evening, the kind that felt like a gentle pause in the rush of academic life. The summer gathering unfolded under the soft glow of twilight. A bonfire crackled at the center, casting a warm, flickering light over everyone there.

Satoru found himself on the periphery of the gathering, engaged in conversation with Geto but with his attention drawn to you. Despite the distance, you could feel the weight of his gaze, an invisible tether connecting the two of you across the space.

You tried to focus on the chat with Maki, Yuta, and Toge about their upcoming internships, but the sensation of being watched was hard to ignore.

"Oh, you know how it is," you said to Maki. "He's probably just making sure I don't accidentally set the bonfire ablaze."

Maki smirked. "Hmh, sure."

You reached for your phone.

[7:28 PM] You: Ever considered letting your gaze wander elsewhere?

[7:28 PM] Satoru: And miss out on the best view here? Not a chance.

[7:28 PM] You: Compliments will get you nowhere, professor. Maybe you should socialize a bit. Lots of interesting people here.

[7:29 PM] Satoru: Perhaps, but none of them are you. Let's strike a deal. I'll divert my attention if you spare me some time later tonight.

[7:29 PM] You: Quite a broad request. What did you have in mind?

[7:30 PM] Satoru: Nothing untoward, I assure you. Just the pleasure of your company, away from the crowd. A quiet walk, perhaps?

[7:31 PM] You: Just the two of us?

[7:31 PM] Satoru: Just the two of us. Unless you're afraid you might enjoy my company too much?

[7:32 PM] You: You're too sure of yourself. Alright, a walk it is. But keep your hands to yourself.

[7:33 PM] Satoru: You have my word.

[7:33 PM] You: We'll see about that. Meanwhile, try not to stare too hard.

[7:34 PM] Satoru: Anything you want, first-year.

You slid your phone back into your pocket, turning your attention back to the conversation with Maki, Yuta, and Toge. Some time later that evening you were gathered around the bonfire, its flames casting a warm glow against the darkening sky. 

Geto and Satoru eventually joined, effortlessly blending into the casual flow of conversation. After a lighthearted debate about the most challenging surgeries they had witnessed, Satoru found an opportune moment when the others were momentarily distracted by attempting to roast marshmallows over the bonfire. 

He leaned closer to you, his voice low enough that only you could hear. "You know," Satoru began, his breath warm against your ear, "I can't wait to have you all to myself."

"Needy, are we?"

"Can you blame me?"

You tilted your head slightly, checking your surroundings to ensure no prying eyes were on you. "Looks like someone needs to work on their patience."

Satoru inched even closer. "I'm in withdrawal. My patience is wearing quite thin these days."

"Too bad for you, professor. But we had an agreement, remember?"

His hand reached out to gently cradle your chin, urging you to meet his gaze. "I was hoping we could bend the rules a bit?"

You pushed his hand away. "You really have no shame, do you? In front of everyone? And with Geto just over there?" Your eyes darted briefly to Geto, making sure his attention was elsewhere.

Satoru grinned. "I like living on the edge. It's more fun that way."

"You're giving me a headache."

Yuta, reaching to feed another log to the fire, suddenly froze, his attention caught by a figure on the opposite side of the flames. "Hold on, isn't that the guy?"

You tried to follow his gaze, squinting into the darkness. "What guy?"

"From that party," Yuta clarified. "The one who drugged you."

At this, Satoru's demeanor shifted, his face hardening as he locked eyes with the student Yuta pointed out. The memories from that night were hazy, but something about the guy seemed familiar. "It might be him. I don't know really."

"It's definitely him," Maki was more certain. "We need to do something, report him or—"

"Zenin, are you sure it was him?" Satoru interjected.

Maki nodded. "Yes."

As if sensing what was about to happen Geto turned to Satoru. "Satoru, don't." But it was too late. Satoru was already in motion. Geto hurried after him, but Satoru was already closing the distance.

Before anyone could react, Satoru had the student by the collar, the first punch landing with a sickening thud that silenced the surrounding chatter. He stumbled, crashing to the ground. 

Satoru hovered over him as the next punch followed—and the next—and the next, until Satoru's hand was smeared with blood.

The area around the bonfire erupted into chaos, the festive atmosphere shattered. Geto moved through the crowd, his voice booming over the noise. "Satoru! Enough!" He reached Satoru, pulling him back with a firm grip.

The crowd around them had backed away, forming a wide circle. Silence fell over the scene, broken only by the muffled moans of the injured student on the ground and the distant crackle of the bonfire.

You pushed your way through the crowd, your heart racing as you reached Satoru, who was still being restrained by Geto. His usual crisp button-down shirt now stained crimson. 

The student lay curled up on the ground, groaning, his face bloodied. You didn't take a closer look at him, the sight of blood on the ground enough to paint a vivid picture of Satoru's force.

You turned to Satoru and took his hand in yours. His skin was ripped and blood flowed freely from his knuckles. Geto met your eyes, his expression grave. "Get him out of here. I'll handle this."

You nodded. The crowd parted silently as you led Satoru away, their eyes following every step, whispers beginning to bubble up.

"Are you okay?"

"Never been better," Satoru said, his breathing heavy and uneven.

"God, Satoru, what were you thinking?"

He winced slightly. "Not much, I guess."

You guided Satoru through the maze of university corridors, his pace mechanically in sync with yours. The few staff and students you passed gave curious glances, but you paid them no mind. Reaching his office, you quickly ushered him inside and locked the door behind you.

"Sit down," you instructed. He complied, his movements sluggish.

You hurried to his medical supplies. Thankfully, he was always well-stocked. Returning to his side, you pushed another chair beside him and took his hand. The knuckles were raw, skin broken in places where his blows had connected with the student's face.

"Didn't I tell you to stop making me patch you up?" you said as you began to clean the wounds. Satoru flinched slightly but didn't pull away.

"You're going to be an expert in emergency care long before your graduation at this rate." He let out a short, strained laugh. "But it was worth it. God, I hope I broke his jaw, aimed right where it hurts the most. That's for sure a slow heal."

"You what?" 

"I took my shot."

You shock your head. "I can't believe you sometimes."

You observed him closely. Satoru's hand in you care was shaking more than could be attributed to the adrenaline of the fight. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his breathing was too fast, too shallow.

"Satoru, you're shaking."

"I'm fine. Just a bit rattled from everything."

"Don't lie to me."

He slumped further into the chair, legs apart, head thrown back. His face was a mask of strain, brows drawn together, lips parting slightly with each labored breath. "It's nothing I can't handle. Just... not used to being without my... usual dosage."

"How much clonidine did you take today?"

"None."

"None? Satoru, you really should—"

"No, clonidine doesn't work. It just conceals it."

"You're going through withdrawal. You need something to take the edge off."

He sighed. "I know what I'm doing. I've been through this before," he said, though his voice lacked conviction. "If I can't get my high, then at least let me feel the pain from the withdrawal."

"You make yourself suffer more than you have to."

"It's fine," he said. "I've promised you that I'd get clean. Just trust me on this."

"Hard to when you go around punching people in the face," you remarked, securing the last of the bandages around his hand. "Director Yaga will have your head for this, you know right?"

"Yaga will do nothing. He can't afford to lose me. He knows that. He's too dependent on me and Suguru."

As you finished with the bandage, you looked into his eyes. "But he won't stand by and watch you act out like that all the time."

Satoru adjusted his posture slightly. "I know."

"And that guy? I doubt his nose was the only thing you broke." You gently moved the fingers of his injured hand. "Can you move them well?"

"They're good. You always do an excellent job," he said with a weary smile. "And the boy is nothing money can't take care of."

Your gaze hardened. "Satoru, that's not the point. What if you seriously injured him? What if he takes this to court?"

"Then I'll deal with it."

"Still, this is not okay."

"That he drugged you is not okay."

You sighed, shaking your head. "You're unbelievable."

He cracked a small smile. "I know you love me, though."

Huh?

Satoru relaxed back in his chair. "Just do me a favor and steer clear of parties for a bit, okay?"

You removed your gloves, giving him a long look.

Noticing your prolonged silence, Satoru cracked open an eye. "What is it?"

"Satoru, they will talk."

"Who?"

"Everyone. I mean, I just dragged you out of there, in full view. They all saw us leave together."

"So? A student was worried for their professor. That's all they saw."

"Yeah. That's sure what they'll say."

Satoru leaned in closer. He took your hand in his, pressing a soft kiss to it. "Don't stress your pretty head over it. I'm here, and I won't let anything get to you." He then stood, and placed a tender kiss on the crown of your head. "Come on, let's head home. It's been a long day."

<- prev chapter | next chapter ->

author's note: if this is not the perfect stage for trouble to unfold haha. thank you for the wait, dears! I hope you enjoyed the chapter. As always feel free to leave your thoughts! :)

🏷️ @sad-darksoul @aerithsthingss @mylovelessnightmare @bbyxxm @musababy @neuviloved @ykehqqy @hexrts-anatomy @fvsm4x @tw0fvced @heijihattorisgf @sadmonke @thatsopanu @sirencholia (pls comment on the series masterlist to get tagged in the future!)

[dolcettamagica]

𐙚˙⋆.˚ 𝐋𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 ch.6

rick x reader x prime

tags: masturbation, lewd language, rick being kind of possessive/obsessed, pet names (baby, slut, sweetheart, baby girl), flashbacks of pussyjob, imagining face-fucking + degrading sex notes: kisses go out to those ten rickfuckers who read my shit on here wc: 1.7k

Rick Sanchez sat amidst the chaotic clutter of his garage, surrounded by an array of bizarre gadgets, half-finished experiments, and stacks of crumpled blueprints. His eyes, concealed behind thick-lensed spectacles, stared into the void as if peering through the fabric of reality itself. In this moment, the genius scientist is lost in the labyrinth of his own mind, where the boundaries between brilliance and madness blur with each passing thought. The faint hum of a nearby portal generator served as the only reminder of the extraordinary adventures that await beyond the confines of his makeshift laboratory.

With each exhale, Rick's mind drifted further into the abyss of contemplation. He lost control over himself in his family’s presence all over some girl he tried to fuck. Rick didn’t understand why you held so much power over him. Why he felt so drawn to you, desperate to claim you. Yet, he wanted to fingerfuck your small cunt at the dining table even though his family was present. He told you to be quiet and not make a sound but when he saw your flushed face, teary eyes and trembling legs he pulled his head back and acted as if he was pranking you. Yes, Rick was a dirty motherfucker, he loved sex and loved having sex – with men, women, aliens, planets. Why did he want you that badly?

As the hours slip away unnoticed, Rick remained ensconced in his sanctuary of solitude, oblivious to the passage of time. The faint glow of fluorescent lights cast elongated shadows across the cluttered space, adding to the surreal ambiance of introspection. He turned in his chair, facing your bed. The bed where you were squirming under him yesterday. His cock rubbing between your slit. He remembered how wet you were, your sweet moans, the way “sir” fell from your lips. You were so wet, needy, desperate for his cock.

“Fuck–fucking hell…”, Rick lowered his head, his eyes meeting a growing bulge in his pants. Just the memory of playing with your slutty pussy drove him crazy. Hungry. He had to do something now or he would devour you the next time his cock goes hard. Sighing he pulled his cock out, which sprung up, rock solid hard. He spread his legs wider, imagining you between his legs – tongue out, big eyes staring into his – as he wrapped his hand around his tip and started to jerk off.

His calloused hand felt rough against his length. He asked himself how soft yours would feel, how you would suck his cock in general. Would you jerk him off while putting his balls inside your mouth? Would you just cutely wrap your lips around his tip and bob your head a little? Or do you like it rough and want him to cockslap your face before he fucks your face like you’re his personal fucktoy? Drool dripping down your chin while tears stream down your face?

His hand moved faster. Fuck, he wanted you. At least once. Rick jerked his hips up, starting to thrust into his hand, wishing it was your cute mouth instead. He was close – so close. Drunk on excitement and pure lust. Rick wanted to bend you, chain you, tame you and fuck you in different ways, he wanted to make you cry. Rick wanted to see tears trickle down that beautiful, beautifully crafted face of yours.

Rick hips moved against his tightly closed fist, enveloped in immense pleasure. What was playing in his head was beyond degenerate. There are no rules in one's fantasy after all. Sneaking into your room late at night, licking your pussy to wake you up before using his fingers to stretch you out. Flipping you over on your stomach, ramming his cock inside your soaking cunt and fingering your ass to prep your other hole to be stuffed with his cock. You would beg for him to go slower and tell him how much you love his big cock at the same time. He would pull your hair, wrap his belt around your throat and pull on that too, he wanted to destroy you, ruin you, make you his little slut.

Rick lifted his backside up off of the chair, hand jerking rigidly as he spilt out onto the floor. He gave his cock a squeeze, imagining that it was your walls squeezing around him.

“Oh shit,” Rick hitched, eyes squeezing closed as all the images of you raced through his head.

“Good night, guys”, he could hear your voice. 

“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit”, Rick grabbed the next best thing on his desk – which happened to be a map of some sort – to cover his cum on the floor and stuffed his cock back into his pants before zipping them back up.

“…Can you please leave?”

You never quite understood why Rick had always found amusement in teasing and taunting you. His snide remarks and mocking gestures had become an unwelcome backdrop to your life. Your guard was up, your skepticism palpable as you prepared yourself for yet another round of ridicule. However, to your utter surprise… 

“Nah, I want to make it up to you.”

Caught off guard by his unexpected sincerity, you felt a whirlwind of conflicting emotions swirling within you. You couldn't quite comprehend why Rick, the very person who had made your stay miserable, was now extending an olive branch.

“How?”, you found yourself grappling with a myriad of emotions ranging from disbelief to cautious optimism.

Ignoring your incredulous stare, Rick started a conversation with practiced ease, his confidence unwavering as he took a seat on the bed without invitation. Your irritation grew as you watched him, his presumptuousness grating on your nerves. His dominant posture seemed to dare you to challenge him, his smug expression daring you to defy him. Despite your growing frustration, you couldn't help but feel a begrudging fascination with his brazenness.

“Ever heard of interdimensional cable?”, he grinned and a beamer started since there was no tv in the garage.

As Rick continued to speak, your initial anger began to give way to a reluctant curiosity. There was something undeniably captivating about his commanding presence, a magnetic allure that you couldn't quite shake. Despite yourself, you found your attention drawn to him, his confident demeanor holding you captive.

“Interdimensional cable? Like tv?”, you slowly made your way over to Rick and sat down next to him, leaving a little bit of space between you two.

Rick's eyes were glued to your face. Those innocent eyes full of curiosity that looked up at him. How would your gaze change when he rammed his cock into your mouth? If you knew what he had done here just seconds before? What he was imagining while he fucked his hand. Would you be disgusted or would you surrender to him?

“Interdimensional cable, y/n, it's like regular cable, but with an infinite number of channels from an infinite number of dimensions. You see, every conceivable possibility, every bizarre scenario, every outrageous show you can imagine exists out there in the vast multiverse”, Rick began his rant, “It's a cosmic smorgasbord of entertainment, where the laws of physics take a backseat to pure, unadulterated creativity. Want to watch a sitcom where intelligent hamsters rule the world? Done. How about a cooking show hosted by a sentient toaster? Easy. Interdimensional cable offers a window into the infinite possibilities of existence, baby, and let me tell you, it's one wild ride you won't want to miss.”

A soft blush crept across your cheeks as you heard him call you baby but you didn’t interrupt him. It was kind of cute, his rambling about alien cable, how happy he was to explain it to you. He seemed nothing like the Rick who was rubbing his hard cock between your soaked lips. 

“Hm, alright, I’m intrigued.”

“I promise you won't regret it.” 

As you settle in side by side, Rick can't help but notice the subtle shift in your demeanor. Your initial skepticism gives way to genuine interest as you delve into the mind-bending array of shows and channels. With each bizarre program you watch, you find yourselves inching closer, your bodies unconsciously gravitating towards one another. In the dim glow of the beamer, Rick can feel the heat radiating off your skin, a palpable tension hanging in the air between you. As you share laughs and gasps at the absurdity unfolding before you, Rick can't shake the feeling of desire that courses through him.

Sheepishly he reaches out, his arm now resting on your back, his hand on your shoulder, pulling you closer. Silently you rest your head on his chest. Absolute Silence. Neither one of you dared to talk. You were simply enjoying those weird channels and each other's presence. Something in your mind suddenly switched.

“I know this channel…”, it was a mere whisper yet Rick’s eyes grew wide, “I watched this channel before?”

“What–?! Wait– Don’t fall asleep now!”

Before you knew it, exhaustion caught up to you, your eyelids growing heavy as you lean against Rick's chest. In the hazy warmth of the garage, you feel a sense of peace wash over you as you surrender to sleep. Even though you weren’t even a tiny bit sleepy before you realized that you knew the channel which was currently playing. You could hear Rick calling after you faintly.

As your eyelids flutter open, you find yourself engulfed in a sea of blinding white. Confusion clouded your mind as you struggle to make sense of your surroundings. This pristine, sterile space seems to stretch endlessly in every direction, devoid of any discernible features. Panic begins to rise within your chest as you questioned whether you’re trapped within the confines of a dream. Every surface is a blank canvas, reflecting an ethereal glow that seems to emanate from nowhere and everywhere all at once. Your senses reel as you tentatively reached out, your fingertips grazing the smooth, featureless walls that enclosed you. With each passing moment, the disorienting realization sinks in that this is no ordinary dream.

“There you are, sweetheart.”

Warm hands grabbing your shoulders forced you to turn around and there he is, Rick, but not really Rick. He looked younger – way younger – more grayish skin than other version of Rick, as well as more dull-colored hair in a "nondescript" haircut.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“I’m your Rick, baby, and we need to talk.”

[brightestplanets]

I am unhinged thinking about how jayvik has consumed in the wake of season 2. like, yeah, don't cite the texts I was there when they were written I'm a league player and the vibes have always been there don't even come at me I've been knew about these fools however I haven't felt this insane about a couple of fools since middle school when voltron was still at large and klance was a thing and like

oh my god yeah that ending was ridiculous but there's something so raw about Jayce reaching for Viktor. for his face and his neck and his shoulder when he has been so brave jayce has been so so brave confronting all of this, giving up everything to end it with viktor together on their own terms and there has to be something to be said about the fact that they both, in a way, saved each other in this timeline we see.

They meet when Viktor interrupts his attempt and later, Jayce does it to him. There has to be something to that. the fact that neither of them could do it anymore, end it, that it wasn't time yet. they had so much left to do and see and know in life and when it does end, they go out together. Viktor found him in every timeline, to look for salvation in his brilliance, and the ultimate solution was that they never were meant to die alone. they could only ever go out together, and there's something beautiful about the idea of their souls being so inexplicably drawn to each other that when they literally saved each other and everything led to the ultimate act of love and sacrifice that was dying in the cosmos, forever intertwined.

[blanc-ci]

(Inspired* by @wwillywonka ‘s fic excerpt , really good! Go read! Made me want to wax poetic about my own hc for Spock’s relationship with Pike -> Kirk)

A young ensign Spock, not having much experience with interpersonal relationships (Vulcan schooling & Starfleet academy was a pretty straightforward equation, why form relationships beyond the professional contacts necessary to further one’s own career?) and yet, when he meets Captain Pike on his first day assigned to a starship, he becomes absolutely and guiltily infatuated with him.

This is the first person in Spock’s life to seek him out, treat him like a person beyond rank, to try and be his friend- to try and know him. It’s the kind of crush born of awe, glorification, and admiration, where his heart flutters and he can’t help but think, illogically, that he’s witnessing what exactly makes humanity so great wrapped up in a single package.

But that is his Captain and he is at least self aware enough to know infatuation when he’s experiencing it. Spock will never act on his emotions, he’ll stare at Pike’s back and follow closely on his heels. As if he was studying a brilliant, steadfast comet, following the dust left in its trail until, inevitably, it burns itself up. Nothing will come of these emotions. And he doubts he’ll ever meet another person that holds his respect in the same way. Who could possibly open his eyes and change his entire perspective like Pike had? He owed Pike everything.

And then he meets James T Kirk.

This man was new, different- it wasn’t his Captain. Spock falls clumsily into his orbit, they clash occasionally, their steps just out of rhythm with each other. But he finds, eventually, that where he was left staring at his superior’s back, chasing after him, James instead turns to face him, to keep in pace with him.

Knowing Pike felt like a discovery, a breakthrough, knowing Kirk felt like an understanding.

If Pike was a comet then James is a star, his brilliance was blinding, and his pull so great that Spock can’t help but dedicate his whole world to him, constantly drawn towards that warmth. Spock doesn’t realize how deeply he’s fallen in love until he’s completely unable to pull away, and he finds, somehow not that surprisingly, that he has no desire to.

[ginxyy]

Letting Go

I’m burning up a sun, just to say Goodbye

Your heart feels heavy as you sit on the edge of your bed, staring at the soft glow of your phone screen. A cascade of memories flashes through your mind, each moment more bittersweet than the last, reminding you of the warmth of his laughter and the solace of his embrace. Mingyu, the galaxy of stardust you fell hopelessly in love with, stands at the center of your thoughts a vibrant star whose brilliance illuminated your once-ordinary life. But now, the distance widens with every tick of the clock, and you’re reminded too sharply of the space between you that only grows as his fame expands.

Mingyu is a name that echoes through arenas, an entity adored and sought after by countless fans whose devotion knows no bounds. And yet here, in the silence of your room, it feels as though he belongs only to you, wrapped in the intimate warmth of your shared moments. You replay the nights in your mind the hushed whispers in the dark, the gentle caress of his hand in yours, evenings spent entwined in each other’s arms where the world outside felt irrelevant, if only for a fleeting moment. But reality has a way of creeping in during those peaceful hours, casting shadows over the fragile sanctuary you’ve built.

You remember how he held you close, the way his eyes sparkled with joy when you talked about your dreams. He would listen intently, and you couldn’t help but wonder if he could hear the silent hope you held for both of you. But as the days turned into months and the months folded into a whirlwind of album launches and concert tours, the spark in his eyes began to wane, replacing joy with an all-consuming exhaustion. With each passing day, you prayed for the return of the boy who used to steal glances at you, the boy who would plan elaborate surprises just to see you smile. Yet, as his world expanded, so did the chasm that separated you.

It’s a cold evening when you find yourself sitting in a cozy café, the muted hum of laughter surrounding you like a comforting quilt. Your fingers grip the cup tightly, the warmth seeping into your skin. Across the table, Mingyu sits, his handsome face drawn, shadows dancing beneath his eyes signs of sleepless nights spent preparing, rehearsing, and performing for a world that adores him. You can almost hear the faint echo of his heartbeat beneath the surface, a reminder of the connection you still share, yet it feels so tenuous, like a thread threatening to unravel at the slightest tug. As he recounts the glories of his latest performance, your heart sinks under the weight of his words, realizing you have become a spectator in the spectacular show of his life.

You find yourself fighting back tears, envisioning the life he deserves one filled with applause, adoration, and happiness. How could you keep him anchored in a world that demands his every ounce of energy? You replay the thought, a vicious cycle, and as dawn arrives with a heavy heart, you know what you must do. In another world, perhaps this love could shine brighter, but in this reality, his star is meant to soar unhindered.

As you walk home, the city moves around you in a whirl of colors and noise, yet everything feels muted, as if the universe has momentarily detached itself from your reality. You can almost hear the cosmic clock ticking, a reminder that time is not on your side. The streets are alive, bustling with life, but inside, you’re crumbling an aching heart begging for solace in a world that refuses to stop for love.

That night, you craft a message a letter filled with words straight from your heart, each line dripped with sorrow and longing. “I am burning up a sun just to say goodbye,” you write, the phrase spilling into existence like an unbidden prayer. Each word feels like an ember, igniting memories of laughter and warmth, illuminating the darkness creeping into your heart. You express how much he means to you, how watching him flourish was your greatest joy, and yet, you can’t be the anchor weighing him down.

Mingyu deserves the world: the sparkling cities, the cheering fans, and the soothing whispers of love that accompany his rise to glory. The truth is brutal, an unwavering beam of light piercing through the haze of your emotions. You are destined to fade into the background, a fading echo in a symphony that no longer requires your note. This love, while beautiful, isn't enough to tether him to a life that entraps him, choking on commitments that pull him away from the very essence of what makes him happy.

That fateful night, you gather every ounce of courage you have left and send the letter. The weight of it leaves you breathless, a tidal wave of emotions crashing over you. How does one say goodbye to a piece of their heart? Hours feel like lifetimes as you await his response, the anticipation mingling with despair. An insistent flutter in your chest reminds you of the void he’ll leave behind, a chasm far grander and emptier than you imagine.

As dawn breaks, the light filtering softly through your window, you receive a reply. His words are a gentle touch, filled with the love and fondness you both share, yet beneath them, you can sense the sinking weight of understanding. “You were my sunshine, and now I must learn to live without it,” he writes. And in those lines, you see the reflection of his soul, echoing your feelings both utterly lost and exceedingly grateful for the love you once shared.

Time moves ever onward, carriages of yesterday slip into the past, leaving impressions on your heart but insisting that you continue. Your sorrow is real, aching deeply in your chest as you tread forward into a world without him. Yet, you understand the bittersweet nature of love sometimes it means letting go, allowing someone to blaze their path, even if it leaves you in shadows. As you walk through the remnants of what once was, you hold onto his memory, cherished yet painful a beautiful tapestry of love now transformed into a melody of goodbye.

(Sorry i felt Angsty)

“Don’t cry when the sun is gone, because the tears won’t let you see the stars”

[shini--chan]

Bro BRO consider this——- Prussia and England sharing a darling??? The s/o is doomed fr

Yeah you are right. Best hope they get in a cat fight and escape while they are distracted.

Yandere Relationship Sheet - Prussia vs England

Trigger warnings: death, murder, torture, abuse

Candidate A - 1p! England (Arthur Kirland)

Arthur Kirkland being the personification of England as well as a global empire, depending on the time period, would be a handful to deal with on his own. In total, you would be allowed to enjoy the tender mercies of a cantankerous, possessive and self-righteous man. He would be prone to lecturing you, to correcting your behaviours and nitpicking on you. Of course he would be drawn to you and in love with you, but raw diamonds have to be cut and polished to achieve true beauty. He would view you in a similar manner - with innate value and in need of his help to unlock your true potential. 

Your consent or say-so in the matter would be duly noted and completely irrelevant at the end of the day. Arthur knows best, after all. As such, you would do well to heed his every whim and each tiny scrap of advice. Also, with you being such a treasure, he would be most inclined to keep you all for himself. Other people would just mar your brilliance with your grimy paws and idiotic ideas. Besides, you would be best kept with somebody who would see your true worth and appreciate you for it, no?

On the flip side, he would be possessive and wouldn’t bother to hide it most of the time. You would be there to please him, a priceless possession as well as his plaything to use and abuse as he would please. With you, he would be able to shrug off all the restrictive societal expectations and norms and indulge his darker side. Who would be able to stop him. 

Candidate B - 1p! Prussia (Gilbert Beilschmidt)

Gilbert Beilschmidt would be strict and stern, a weathered marine commander to Arthur’s devilish Trade Company governor. Nevertheless, thinking that Gilbert would be easy to deal with would be wrong, completely wrong. He would have his own issues, and his pride and his stubbornness. The former knight would certainly loath to lose to some pretender and would be very willing to commit violence. It could be said that Gilbert would be the more hands-on type of man compared to Arthur. Additionally, while Arthur would be willing to dote on you to an extent, be it out of love, to impress you or for some other reason, Gilbert would force you to adopt the same spartan lifestyle that he would favour. No amount of begging or favours would get you.

While he wouldn’t be as manipulative and condescending and cunning as Arthur, he would be harsh and unforgiving at times. No exceptions to the rules would be made and he would be less inclined to underestimate you, contrary to Arthur. Come to him with the sword, and you would be defeated with the sword. Should you rebel against him, then he wouldn’t always handle you with the kid gloves on. Consequently, some punishments and even overall treatment of you, would be downright brutal. Playing into that, he would be less inclined to ease up on his harsh treatment on you if he’d see you’d suffer

While he would have his buttons, he wouldn’t be the sort to fly off the handle. If he’d want certain results, then he’d maybe exaggerate particular emotions. Yet most of the time he would be in control. A side effect to this would be that you’d be unable to pull at his heart strings. As for his obsession with you - that would be vetted, certified and rationalised, so you wouldn’t be able guilt-trip or shame him into letting you go.      

Realisation - How would they react to each other?

Badly. Even though there would be a lot of parallels between the two of them, and even a handful of similarities, they wouldn’t get along well. The devil really is in the details here. Arthur would be a hopeless romantic, in Gilbert’s eyes, as well as a greedy, dishonest fool. Every word that Arthur would say would be weighed against a wagon-load of salt and every action would be seen as being fueled by ulterior motives. Furthermore, he would find immense distaste in Arthur’s proclivity for luxury. The Englishman would also be far too soft with you from his point of view, and the fact that he would treat you like a porcelain doll would be unforgivable. 

Meanwhile, Arthur would be of the opinion that Gilbert has a stick in his ass. When it would just be the two of you, then he would make an absolute mockery of Gilbert, imitating him in an exaggerated way after dinner and making snarky remarks at every other opportunity. To him, Prussia would have no grasp of actual politics or how the world really works. Furthermore, Arthur would see him as a barbarian for treating you like some toy soldier, when you should be treated with more care. While you might be in need of a hard hand to correct your failures, the manner with which Gilbert would expose you to hardship would be ridiculous to him. 

When put together, the tension would often be so thick that it could be cut with a knife. They would constantly be sniping at each other and bickering. In their tamer moments, they would behave like an old married couple, and in the case that matters would escalate and they would shoot/stab each other. The tricky part here would be that while they would dislike one another, it wouldn't be loathing and they can stand being around each other. If there'd be no better company, then they would huddle together over beer and talk about philosophy and metallurgy. So, they can cooperate, if only with mutual animosity and unspoken rules and snide remarks. 

Battleground - How would they fight each other?

Both of them wouldn't want to confront the other directly - it would just be so messy. Messy both in a physical and an emotional sense - blows and words would be traded and if they'd find themselves immersed in their ire then the fight would go on for hours. It would be as horrible as it would be fascinating to watch. They could be duking it out in a manor, the weapons and the antiques lying around would be used liberally. One could think that they would be re-enacting a battle with how they would conduct themselves … if it weren’t for their willingness to shed each other’s blood. All in all, it would be a fight that authors could only dream of putting into words. 

That being said, they could both be far more subtle. Either you, or some other unfortunate third party would be used as a chess piece against the other. Prussia would do his best to educate you in various forms of combat and tactics, if only so that you could give Arthur a black eye once. Gilbert might even decide to teach you how to wield a sword. While you surely wouldn't win against Arthur in a fair fight, it would make the latter's life a whole lot more difficult. He’d also teach you how to cope with the elements and live off the land, just so that you could make prissy Arthur stumble about a marsh or desert. England would do his best to make you well-read on romantic literature, and try to mold you into being cunning. Through long talks before head, he would do his best to convince you that lying isn’t abhorrent, and that Gilbert deserved to be fooled in every possible way. 

Naturally, there would also be the moments where they would have to interact with one another. Imagine them as a couple going through a divorce, and then you’d have a pretty accurate picture of how they would be with another. Constant arguments over how you should be treated and handled and fed and clothed and how many freedoms you ought to have. They’d try to use you to prove their points and brag about the sort of affection you’d give them. Since they would constantly be fighting to a minor degree, you might be able to play them against each other. 

Treaty - Could they agree on a truce? Would they even team up at any point?

Jep, they would be able to. Some obstacles would be too insurmountable to overcome alone, yet together they would be manageable. If a third person/group were to thwart their carefully laid plans, then they would team up to reach a shared goal. Surprisingly, they would have quite the synergy between the two of them; the bickering would never truly cease and yet the usual animosity would be redirected to the bigger concern. 

Other than that, they would actually find themselves agreeing on the one or other thing when it would come to you like punishments and the rules that you should abide by. Playing them out against each other would only work to a certain degree, since they would actually be on the same page on a handful of topics. You wouldn't be spoiled, or allowed to run completely wild. If you'd be particularly difficult, then those two would hold conference and plot to bring you down a few pegs. 

There would be a surprising third case where they'd be in tune - if you'd fall sick or be injured. Both of them would fuss over you, both scolding you for becoming ill/hurt and mother henning you the next moment. It would be the worst - if you wouldn't submit, then they'd tie you to your bed until you've made a full recovery. 

Victory - How would they proceed to obtain you all for their own?

Arthur and Gilbert, for all that they'd dislike one another, wouldn't be all that opposed to sharing you. Sure, there would be fights and disagreements, yet both would find joy and relief in using the other as emotional punching bags. If circumstances would dictate that they have to be cordial with each other in this relationship, then they'd very well snap somewhere down the road. 

Arthur would likely make a show of skullduggery. Furthermore, he'd be particularly motivated to be cunning by the fact that such dishonesty would piss Gilbert off massively, so much so that he wouldn't be able to act rationally. Backroom deals would be made, and Arthur would break many a promise that he'd made towards Prussia. He could orchestrate matters so that Gilbert would be called away, and then move and spirit you away along with him. Perhaps he would sic Austria onto Gilbert, and then beat Prussia down even further once the fighting had ceased. Or he could wait until the latter is injured or ill and then kill him, or bury him alive. In the case of this being a setting where they are immortal, this would only hinder his adversary temporarily, yet it would be enough. 

Gilbert, in contrast, would be far more thorough. He'd decide to hit two birds with one stone. Having you would likely just be an excuse on a long list of reasons he'd have for marching his army against Britain. Likely to recruit France, Spain or also the Nordic countries to his cause. Should he have to keep it personal, then he'd try to chop Arthur's head off while the latter would be bathing. After all, the Englishman would be most vulnerable in the bathroom, the one room where he wouldn't have any weapons stored

Reparations - Would they demand their opponent pay for their “misdemeanours”? 

With the whip and the sword in most cases. Arthur might even go as far as to poison Gilbert to get his point across. He could unleash some very unsavoury rumours in the world. Sabotage would be enacted, with Arthur even being petty enough to fill sugar in Gilbert's car or motorcycle tank. He also wouldn't be above putting itching powder in a uniform or two. Also, he would be well aware of the other’s distaste for Romantic literature. Guess who would be read mushy Victorian novels for days on end. Additionally, he would place a stuffed animal in Gilbert’s quarters to freak him out. 

Gilbert would challenge his opponent to a duel, or also mix gunpowder in his food. Small explosives would be placed under the bed or some of Arthur's beloved stuffed animals would be missing. On occasion, he would even go as far as to put England through Zersetzung, in order to crush his soul a little bit. That, or he would aid one of the colonies in executing a successful rebellion. Though, he needn't go so far. He could make England's life very difficult in simple moves that would rip away all the modern day luxuries Arthur would cherish. The hot water would be switched off, and the electricity cut.

[gilbertscurls]

The Christmas tree cast a warm glow over the living room, its twinkling lights reflecting off the ornaments you and Matt had carefully hung earlier in the week. The soft hum of holiday music played in the background, mingling with the comforting scent of pine and hot chocolate.

You sat cross-legged on the floor across from Matt, a small, neatly wrapped gift in your lap. His grin was easy and relaxed as he leaned back against the couch, holding a similarly sized package in his hands.

“So,” he said, nodding toward your gift, “who’s going first?”

“You,” you replied immediately, a playful glint in your eye. “I want to see if you can handle the suspense.”

Matt rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, he held the gift out toward you, a mix of excitement and nervousness flickering across his face.

“Alright, open it,” he said, leaning forward slightly.

You carefully tore through the paper, revealing a small, leather-bound notebook. Running your fingers over the smooth cover, you noticed your initials embossed in the corner in tiny, elegant lettering.

“Open it,” Matt urged, his voice softer now.

Flipping it open, you saw that the first page had a note written in his familiar handwriting:

For all your thoughts, stories, and daydreams—because they deserve the best place to live.

Your heart swelled as you turned the pages, noticing that each one had a small doodle or quote in the corner. Some were funny, others sweet, but every single one reminded you of him.

“Matt,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “This is…”

“Thought you could use a special place for all your creative brilliance,” he said, his grin turning shy. “It’s kind of like a co-star to the stories in your head.”

You launched forward, wrapping your arms around him in a hug that made him laugh softly. “I love it. Thank you.”

When you pulled back, you handed him your gift, the small package suddenly feeling inadequate compared to the thoughtfulness of his. But as Matt unwrapped it, his expression lit up in a way that chased away your doubts.

He pulled out a slim photo frame, inside of which was a hand-drawn map of all the places you’d been together over the years—your favorite café, the park where you’d had your first date, the road trip destination where he’d accidentally locked the keys in the car. Tiny hearts marked each spot, and in the corner, you’d written: Everywhere we’ve been, everywhere we’ll go.

Matt stared at it for a moment, his fingers brushing over the glass. “You made this?”

You nodded, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious. “I wanted to make something that showed how much those places—and you—mean to me.”

He looked up at you, his eyes shining with something soft and overwhelming. “This is… perfect,” he said, pulling you into a hug that was just as warm as the one you’d given him. “You always know exactly how to make me feel like the luckiest guy alive.”

You both sat there for a while, your gifts resting beside you, content in the quiet magic of the moment. It wasn’t the size or cost of the presents that mattered—it was how they reflected the little things you knew and loved about each other.

And as the clock ticked closer to Christmas, you realized that this, right here, was the best gift of all.

tag list: @stuwniolo, @sturnobsessedwh0re, @matts-myloverboy, @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut, @lizzymacdonald06, @asherrisrandom, @sturniolowhore69, @faith5drpepper, @emely9274, @psychologyloverfr, @lovetaylorrussellgrr, @conspiracy-ash, @helpimateenagerinlove, @ghostlythinggoingaround, @sturmatt, @chris-hallelujah, @goingtojohnkramershouseee, @wurlibydominicfike, @straw8berry, @shadowthesim

[magicaguajiro]

Caribbean Folk Saints and Mighty Dead: A Precursor

We all have family members who take on an almost Mythic quality after they pass on. They may have been a character in life, or a perhaps a spiritual practitioner. Maybe they were known for their generosity, or lack of it, or their strength or brilliance. Nonetheless, it is someone who, even in death, still makes an impact. In personal practices, we may work with these ancestors for guidance and healing, but what happens when their influence spreads past your family, into the local community or even entire country? This and many other strange circumstances often explain the origin and powers of Folk Saints and Elevated Dead. I will be going into the various Folk Saints and Deified Ancestors of the Caribbean, (including Florida), but before I can do that I need to explain where these spirits come from, and why they are so potent in our everyday lives.

What are Folk Saints and Mighty Dead?

Folk Saints and Mighty Dead are spirits of dead people who were either elevated in life, or became elevated after death. Their elevation often is then connected to their ability to grant various petitions made to them. Some of the Folk Saints I will be talking about were used to disguise other figures who were outlawed by the Colonial government at the time, while others are various figures of marginalized communities who gained sorcerous or otherworldly reputations after death.

Cuba and Florida are Lands of diaspora and syncretism. Many different traditions abound and each tradition has multiple lineages, so the classification of spirits differs depending on the worldview of the person explaining. Some practitioners work within a framework of Catholicism, some use elements and some flat-out reject Catholicism completely for decolonization purposes. For this reason, I have differentiated Folk Saints from the Mighty Dead.

Folk Saints will include those spirits who are worked with in a Catholic context, but are usually not canonized or not at first. On the other hand, the Mighty Dead will include spirits who are venerated amongst Indigenous and African traditions in Cuba as well as the surrounding areas, as to not group them under a title created by Colonizers. If you are Cuban or Caribbean, these Folk Saints and Mighty Dead offer power at a closer degree because they are more proximal to your Spirit Court, and may even already have bonds with them.

It is important to note, spirits like Orisha and Cemí have very specific protocols, manners and taboos when approaching them, so this is best done with the help of a priest, such as Oloricha or Babalawo, or a Taíno Behike. These are not energies you simply feel drawn to and work with. Orisha and Cemi are in some cases Deified Ancestors and others Personified Forces of Nature, among other things. This varies from the Ancestors and Spirits I will be discussing in this series.

Benefits of Working with The Mighty Dead

Folk Saints and Ancestors give us a closer connection to the divine through their proximity to the Divine and their individual virtues and personalities. As with all spirit relationships, you will get out what you put in.

Folk Saints who are related to the Land you live on, such as Uncle Monday or Bessie Graham for us Floridians, can help to deepen your connection with the local community. They can help you to further your relationship with the Earth and introduce you to other Land spirits.

Spirits related to your Ancestry can help to work through generational issues. Some ancestral spirits, like José Martí or Guamá for us Cubans, are related to ideas of War, Rebellion, and overcoming oppression. These spirits can be worked with for the same pursuits of defeating oppressors in the modern day. Each spirit has a story and is multi-faceted, so it really depends on what your connection is to the Spirit and what you are capable of offering them.

How to Work with Deified Dead

Working with these spirits is individual to each spirit, based on what their heritage is, as well as their personal tastes. When starting out, it’s best to keep things simple. Instead of going and creating an entire altar dedicated to a spirit, begin by praying about it at your Bóveda or ancestral altar. Here, you may find that a spirit is not compatible with your current situation, or doesn’t want to work with you ever! Should the omens be good, however, and you may begin establishing a connection to that spirit Research and talking to other devotees can give you great insight into what a relationship with that Spirit can look like.

My formula for reaching out to these spirits is always different, but I follow basic principles. I always begin with a representation of the spirit, a small offering and a candle. The representation can be anything, from a statue to a printed picture or even just their name on some paper. The offering is in most cases water until the spirit makes other wants known to me, but when a spirit doesn’t take water I offer food or tobacco instead. The candle is something I was taught helps to enhance spirit communication, carrying messages between the worlds. It is helpful to research about whoever you are attempting to communicate with, and if possible you should speak to other practitioners who work with the same Spirit. Often times, this is someone-you-know’s father or grandmother. From here, you should sit with whatever entity you are contacting, allowing yourself to experience a personal relationship with them. I will share individual experiences of what each spirit has been like in practice for me, or people I know, but for beginning this is a good basic way to start out.

I look forward to sharing more about these incredible figures who influence my favorite corner of the world to this day.

Paz y Progreso 🕯️

[nephalem-da]

Celestial Bonds AU

Chapter 1: Strength Behind Silence

(Bill Cipher x OC)

Synopsis: Bill and Mae, once inseparable childhood friends, now face the complexities of growing up. When an admirer pushes Mae too far, her hidden strength emerges, leaving Bill both protective and in awe of his best friend.

Masterlist || Previous Chapter || Next Chapter.

Bill and Mae had always been inseparable. Ever since they were children, their bond had been something special. It wasn’t just that they were both different—though that certainly played a part—it was that they understood each other in a way no one else could. They were misfits, rejected by most of the others in their world for reasons they couldn't control. Mae was shy, her solitary eye often the source of ridicule, while Bill's odd nature, his sharp mind, and eccentric behavior alienated him from those who couldn't grasp his brilliance.

From the very beginning, they had formed an unspoken pact. It was them against the world, and nothing would change that. Together, they wandered through their strange dimension, exploring the ever-shifting landscapes, playing games that only they could understand. Bill always made sure to take Mae’s mind off the teasing she endured, and Mae, in turn, was the quiet presence that grounded Bill when his sharp edges threatened to go too far.

On quieter days, when the endless chaos of their world seemed to slow for a brief moment, they’d sit together, staring up at the infinite sky above them, watching the stars twinkle in their mysterious constellations. Mae’s fascination with the stars was contagious, and Bill would often find himself drawn into her quiet wonder, the two of them pointing out patterns in the night sky.

Mae had always been gentle, quiet, and Bill—despite his chaotic nature—found a strange comfort in her softness. She was his opposite in so many ways, and yet they fit together perfectly, like two pieces of a puzzle no one else could see.

His parents had teased him endlessly about it.

“Oh, Bill,” his mother would say, her voice full of playful amusement. “You spend so much time with Mae! You know what that means, don’t you? You two are going to end up together someday. Always sneaking off with her, disappearing for hours… Maybe you’ve already planned a wedding, hmm?”

Bill would flush a deep shade of pink, his soft form glowing with embarrassment. “Wh—what? No! We’re just friends!” he’d stammer, crossing his arms over his body in a defensive gesture. “Mae’s just my… my best friend! Nothing else!”

His parents would just laugh, shaking their heads knowingly. They’d seen the way he looked at Mae, the way he always gravitated toward her. But Bill was too stubborn to admit it. He was a kid. Liking someone that way was gross. They were just friends.

Except, as the years passed, something began to change.

Mae wasn’t that shy little girl anymore, and Bill couldn’t help but notice. She had grown into a graceful young woman, still soft-spoken and reserved, but there was a quiet strength to her now, something that drew the attention of the others. Her single eye, once a source of mockery, was now something unique and striking, and Bill hated the way some of the boys had started to take notice of her.

He hated how they would approach her, all smiles and charm, as if they hadn’t spent their childhoods mocking her for being different. And he hated how they tried to win her over, offering her trinkets and sweet words as if that would make her forget everything.

But what he hated most of all was the thought that one of them might succeed.

More than once, Bill had found himself stepping in when some arrogant fool tried to get too close to Mae. He’d stand between her and whatever idiot was trying to charm her, his voice sharp and biting. “Mae doesn’t need any of you,” he’d say, his tone laced with irritation. “She has me.”

Most of the boys would roll their eyes, dismissing him as overprotective or jealous. Some even found it amusing, especially when Bill’s usual cocky demeanor seemed to falter around her. But Bill didn’t care what they thought. Mae wasn’t interested in them, and they didn’t know her the way he did.

Except one boy, more persistent than the rest, had decided that he wouldn’t take no for an answer.

His name wasn’t important—Bill couldn’t be bothered to remember it. He was just another faceless nobody, another fool who thought he could win Mae over with his smug smile and empty words. But this time, he had pushed too far.

Bill had been away, running an errand in the outer reaches of their dimension, and when he returned, he found Mae cornered in the town square, the boy leaning in far too close for comfort. His voice was smooth and confident, the kind of tone that sent a surge of anger through Bill’s core.

"Come on, Mae," the boy was saying, stepping forward as Mae instinctively stepped back. "You’re way too good to be hanging around Cipher. You deserve better—someone normal. Someone like me.”

Mae’s single eye narrowed, her body tense with discomfort, but she remained quiet. She had always been too polite, too reserved to speak up, and the boy took that as encouragement. He moved closer, reaching out to grab her arm as if he had already decided that she belonged to him.

Bill could feel the fury bubbling up inside him as he watched the scene unfold. He was too far away to intervene immediately, but his mind was already racing with a million ways to make this arrogant fool regret ever laying a hand on Mae.

The boy’s grip tightened on Mae’s arm, his voice turning patronizing. "You don’t have to keep pretending to like Bill, you know. You’ll be so much better off with me. People will actually respect you. You won’t have to be an outcast anymore, always hanging around with a freak like him."

That was it. The final straw.

But just as Bill prepared to charge in, something unexpected happened.

Mae yanked her arm free, her eye blazing with an intensity that Bill hadn’t seen in years. She straightened, her voice sharp and steady in a way that took the boy by surprise. “I said no,” she snapped, taking a step back. “I don’t want you, and I don’t need you. So leave me alone.”

The boy blinked, clearly thrown off by her sudden assertiveness. But he recovered quickly, a sneer wrinkled on his eyelids. "Oh, really? You think people are going to believe that the quiet, sweet little Mae would ever stand up to someone like me? They’ll think you’ve gone crazy."

Mae’s expression shifted, and a small, dangerous squint of her eye—equal to a smile—spread across her face. Her voice dropped, becoming soft and sweet, but there was an edge to it that sent a chill down the boy’s spine. "Oh, no one will believe you," she said softly. "After all, I’ve always been the shy one, right? The quiet girl who never speaks up, never causes trouble. Who would believe you over me?”

The boy’s confidence wavered, his eyes darting around as if suddenly realizing that he was alone in this fight. With a final, frustrated huff, he turned on his heel and stormed off, muttering curses under his breath as he disappeared into the crowd.

Mae let out a long breath, her shoulders sagging in relief. The adrenaline from the confrontation began to wear off, and she glanced around, hoping no one had seen the altercation. That’s when she realized Bill was standing right behind her.

She jumped, her single eye widening in surprise as she spun to face him. “Bill! I didn’t see you there.”

Bill’s smirk returned, though it was softer this time, his usual cockiness tempered by the admiration he felt. "Well, well," he drawled, crossing his arms over his triangular form. "Didn’t know you had that in you, Mae. That was… impressive."

Mae flushed, her usual shyness creeping back in as she fidgeted nervously. "I didn’t mean to… it just… happened."

Bill stepped closer, his sharp gaze fixed on her with an intensity that made her heart race. “That guy had it coming,” he said quietly, his tone far more serious than usual. “You don’t have to explain yourself, Mae. You did great.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke, the weight of the encounter still hanging in the air between them. Mae’s heart pounded in her chest, her mind racing as she tried to process everything that had just happened.

She’d stood up for herself. She’d never done that before—not like this. And Bill… Bill had seen the whole thing. She wasn’t sure whether to feel proud or embarrassed.

Before she could decide, Bill broke the silence, his voice teasing once more. “You definitely scared him off. I think he’ll think twice before messing with you again.”

Mae smiled, feeling the tension in her body begin to melt away. “Thanks, Bill. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Bill’s edges softened, a faint blush appearing on his triangular body as he gave her a lopsided grin. “You’ll never have to find out.”

And as they walked side by side, the bond between them stronger than ever, Bill couldn’t help but wonder just how much longer he could deny the feelings that had been growing inside him for years.

Ya guys really want a part 2 of The Hunt, huh? I guess I'll do it, especially when you guys are spoiling me with the love and support! (o´∀`o)

˙⋆✮ ﾟ｡ •┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ ✮⋆˙

Are you guys enjoying it?? Please tell me down on the comments!

Taglist: @1arlstar1

˙⋆✮ ﾟ｡ •┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ ✮⋆˙

[stationary-cycle-in-motion]

@augusnippets day 29: singing

tw: graphic descriptions of pain

Someone is singing.

Through the heavy fog of agony, Obi-Wan vaguely processes his head pillowed in a lap, a hand in his hair, soothing vibrations against his back. The voice drifting from somewhere above him is soft, swelling in an old Nabooian lullaby.

It's Padmé singing; it could never be anyone else.

He doesn't know how he knows that with such conviction; he's never heard her sing before. He can't remember where he is or why he'd possibly be in her company, but it's nice. Comforting.

With effort, Obi-Wan cracks an eye. Rex is slumped on the opposite side of the fire, knees drawn to his chest, head buried between them. Distant, as always. If Obi-Wan could make his mouth work beyond the cotton stuffed in it, he'd ask him why he never allows himself to get any closer.

But there's blood on his gloves and his armor and matted in his hair, his arms, wrapped around his knees, are trembling, and Obi-Wan thinks he understands, at least this time.

His hands throb in time with his slowed heartbeat, every pulse shooting lightning through his nerves. The pain saps his energy, makes his eyelids droop again.

Quietly, so quietly Obi-Wan almost misses it, a second voice joins the melody. It's lilting and slightly off-key, rough from the stinging cold, but Obi-Wan is sure he’s never heard anything so beautiful in his life.

The hand stroking his hair freezes, and Padmé's voice falters in surprise. Rex’s voice peeters out a second later.

“Sorry,” he whispers.

Padmé's fingers dig deeper into Obi-Wan’s hair, dragging along his scalp. “No, don’t be. You just surprised me, is all.”

The two of them fall into a weighted, anxious, awful silence. Obi-Wan’s hands ache, bone-deep and gutting, and for a moment, he fears they’re going to abandon him to the agony of suffering in silence.

Then, the song begins again, Padmé's voice swelling, filling the cave with its brilliance. Rex’s harmony is smaller, more self-contained, but there’s a confidence lurking underneath that wasn’t there before, the kind that comes from the unspoken agreement to just be. Not be perfect or even particularly good, just to exist in the company of each other.

Their voices sound like they were made just for this purpose; to exist together.

Obi-Wan nestles deeper into Padmé's embrace, lets himself get lost in the harmony. It doesn’t quite take the pain away—nothing can, really—but it’s a welcome comfort, all the same.

[patchwork-crow-writes]

75 - Belonging

I know you'll say you're happy I'm here, and for what it's worth, I think we both really want to believe it. But the truth is, I just happened to be in the path of your whirlwind, picked up by chance just as swiftly and as suddenly as you'll leave me behind again.

That's... just how it has to be... isn't it?

All of you shine so brightly, a galaxy of stars that blaze with life and laughter and love; what can I - the merest, most insignificant speck of dust by comparison - do except be drawn in by your collective gravity, as surely as the moon must dance around the earth? With no light to call my own, I am compelled to reflect your glory and your grandeur back at you, to make you feel like you are special, and that you matter.

And perhaps sometimes, when you're so caught up in each other's brilliance that you talk over my head, and your gaze slides straight off of me like I'm just part of the scenery, maybe there's something there that could be described as hurt... but it's as nothing compared to the compersion I make myself feel at the companionship and camaraderie you share. Indeed, it's hard not to be happy for you all in those moments...

...and yet, when you've all had your fun and gone back home, it's also hard not to feel like just another prop in your lavish lives. Something to pass around and admire for a while, before dropping on the floor to collect dust until the next time. And I have to wonder - would any of you even miss me if I weren't there? Would anyone notice, would anyone care?

There's no need to answer, is there? Because however you might feel now, you and I both know that one day, there's not going to be a next time. That's... just how it has to be.

______________________________

The Dark Menagerie No. 75

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[goodluckclove]

An Interview Series

Stop One: The Patchwork Fields with @mushroommanchanterelle

i've decided to start a new series where i interview my colleagues and other lesser-known writers of tumblr. in each stop of my virtual travels, the writer will pick the location and soundtrack for our conversation. this was a really good conversation with @mushroommanchanterelle, where we discussed a little bit about diversity and representation in the world of the disabled writer. join me below and get some insight about the fledgling brilliance our community has to offer!

Now Playing: Slime Rancher 2 OST

“Steps of clear quartz ascend through inky void, the indigo darkness broken only by speckles of warm, yellow light. The staircase of near invisible steps seems to last an eternity, leading to a land mass afloat in the cold sea of stars. Now visible at the final step is a gate, tall and looming, made seemingly of ice cold cast iron. Through the bars, there are vast and rolling hills, colorful and bright. The gates open, revealing the landscape in full.

Taking steps in, the chill in the air is dulled by the warmth of the ground, radiating through the feet and permeating the soul. In place of grass, the ground is covered in the soft fabric of an enormous quilt, spreading as far as the eye can see. Barren trees dot the landscape, pillows settled at their roots, illuminating the landscape with jars of luminous moss tied to their branches by unknown creatures. Their yellow glow matches that of the stars above, giving off golden radiance only rivaled by the morning rays of fresh sunshine. The air smells of rain and fresh linen.”

It is soft. It is safe.

where are we?

Ash: The Patchwork Fields.

can you explain what that is?

Ash: It's a place I go to in my head whenever I need to center myself. It's not a place in anything I've written, or at least not yet. The Patchwork Fields are supposed to be really calming. Like...being nestled under a blanket fort reading a book with a flashlight on a cold winters night. They're a series of floating islands amidst a night sky, with quartz steps acting as a pathway between them. that sounds nice.

i'm honored to be here with you today. do you think you could start by introducing yourself in whatever way you feel comfortable with? maybe saying any qualifiers or communities you identify with?

Ash: I'm really happy to be here with you today as well. My name is Ash, but my current screen name is mushroommanchanterelle. I'm a self taught artist, a writer, a poet, and am just a few months shy of having a bachelor's in English.

this is legitimately the first time i’m learning your name! what a delight. so we've been talking for some time now about your project Fault Lines. It's how i actually was first drawn to your work as an artist on tumblr. do you think you could talk a little bit about the premise? i know that's a hefty task for a writer.

Ash: Ah yeah. I always draw a blank whenever I'm asked about the premise. I'll do my best! Fault Lines is a fantasy novel that's been manhandled into science fantasy. It revolves around Magnus Experah, Ruth Pothec, Theodorre Ursana, and Advent Natura as they find their way through an energy crisis that's slowly shutting down their society.

i specifically wanted to talk about magnus as a character if you don't mind. i'm very fascinated my them and their development. i actually wanted to interview you first in this new series because you made a comment saying you were particularly attached to them because of wanting to write a depiction of a disability you both share. would you feel comfortable talking about that?

Ash: Right. Shortly after the main plot is announced, Magnus develops a condition known as PNES, or psychogenic non-epileptic seizures. It's a conversion disorder that causes seizures, as the name suggests. They're triggered by stress, and you're completely awake and aware when they happen, but because there isn't anything physically happening in the brain like an epileptic seizure, there isn't any medication that can help. It's managed through therapy and thought exercises. Of course, there's medication that can help things like anxiety that exacerbates the condition, but there isn't anything you can take for the seizures themselves.

i've done a little research into PNES, which i'm sure you have too. i'm sure it's probably as disheartening to read the statistics as it is for me when i research conditions i've been diagnosed with. from what i gathered it seems like a great example of an "invisible illness". i read that upwards of 40% of adult patients considered to have drug-resistent epilepsy actually suffer from it. can you share a little bit about your history with PNES?

Ash: I developed it in 2018 when I was attempting to work full time and go to school full time, but I had been having nervous ticks for years before then. I started having them every minute at first, and after a few months they started calming down to every few minutes, then every hour or so. Lately, they only happen when I'm out in public or doing something stressful at home. Loud noises, crowds, and some smells trigger them, so I have to be careful where I go. Through various treatments and therapy, I've managed to reduce them enough to where I no longer need a wheelchair, but I still can't be in areas with horns, alarms, yelling, etc.

so it's a common experience for artists with some form of born or hereditary neurodivergence to have that unique perspective alter the themes, motifs, and sometimes even color and shape of the work they do in the case of visual artists. there's the near word salad of philip k. dick in the midst of his bouts of psychosis, or the warped cats of louis wain after a head injury triggered schizophrenia. even, on a lesser scale, there is the way neurodivergence affected the works of poets sylvia plath, anne sexton, and even shel silverstein. do you think the same could be said about psychogenic illnesses? how much of your living with PNES can be seen in what you create - and the way you create?

Ash: I've definitely heard that before, and I've seen it in the work of some of my friends. Since I developed PNES I've been making an effort to make more of my characters live successfully with various disabilities, Magnus included. After having been bedridden and in a wheelchair for years, I pay more attention to mobility devices and their functions. I think there are other things going on in my life that affect my creations more than my PNES though.

can you tell me more?

Ash: It's a bit hard to explain. I put a piece of my soul into each character I write. I'm autistic, I have PTSD, and I have borderline personality disorder. As a result, some of my characters struggle with expressing themselves and understanding others, or are blunt and don't understand social cues. Some of them struggle with looking too deeply into patterns. A lot of them have struggles that pertain to black and white thinking, where they struggle to keep friends and loved ones around after big fights. I suppose the old saying that you "write what you know" is true in that extent. Characters are the thing I think I spend the most time on, and little pieces of who I am show in each and every person I write into existence. That isn't to say that I agree with all of their motives, or that all of them are self inserts. I just write from my own experiences and make characters the way I know how to feel and talk and see the world.

do you think as neurodivergent and disabled writers, we have a certain duty or obligation to fit representation into a standard of some kind? do you feel the need to label experiences in terms anyone can look up and understand, like by directly referring to a character as autistic, or would you rather just allow your experiences and perspective to exist through your work in a way that's left for anyone to interpret and relate to?

Ash: I've got a lot of thoughts on this one. I definitely don't think anyone has a single obligation to fit ANYTHING into a standard. Everyone's experience is different. Everyone solves problems a different way. I don't think that you HAVE to label your characters in any capacity if you don't want to. I think representation is important, and characters that are explicitly stated to be neurodivergent, disabled, queer, etc. need to exist in media of all types.

It's good to have labels on some characters for folks to learn about the different aspects of life that aren't heterosexual, cis, neurotypical, or able-bodied, and for the groups being represented to have someone to identify with, but I don't think that every character who displays characteristics of being neurodivergent or disabled or queer or any other group have to have a defined label. That being said, I don't tend to label my characters as anything unless it's going to be a core element of a story. Magnus has a PNES diagnosis in story because I've never seen PNES discussed in fiction, and that's something I want to see change, but other characters of mine aren't outright stated to have autism because that's not the focal point of their story.

has your perspective towards neurodivergence has shifted do to your age? i think we're both in our mid to late 20s – but then again, i didn't know your actual name until just now so i could be wrong. either way, is the sort of optimistic perspective of characters living successfully with disabilities (what you described earlier as your goal in Fault Lines) something you could've wrote in an earlier time in your life?

Ash: I'm in my mid 20s, yeah. My perspective towards neurodivergence has shifted after being diagnosed and treated properly. There was a time in my youth that I only wrote my neurodivergent characters suffering because that's what I was living with. I couldn't write what I'm writing today back then, because I was convinced that being neurodivergent and disabled was being doomed ot a life of misery and bitterness. However, with time and therapy and proper medications, I've experienced that you CAN live successfully with a disability, and that being neurodivergent isn't a sentence to being miserable your entire life. I now write stories about successfully living with disabilities in my mid 20s because I could have benefited from reading those stories when I was young and getting my first diagnosis.

i like that. if you could see that person in your mind, who only saw their conditions as a sort of curse or sin, what would you say to them?

Ash: I'd give them a hug and tell them that it gets better. Once you're in control of your own life and medical choices, it gets better. Once you can get help without being afraid of what you have to say, life opens up and the clouds part and you're HAPPY.

beautiful. so that's all of the questions i have, and i think that's a great bow to kind of tie all of this together. do you think you could take this time to share some of your hopes in joining the community here on tumblr? maybe say how people here can best support you?

Ash: Thank you very much for interviewing me. I think I'm just grateful to have a place where we can collectively share our thoughts on writing. It's like...a really big refrigerator that we can pin our work up proudly for other people to see. There are so many creative stories and styles and characters that are all collected in one tag and I think that's wonderful. I hope to be able to add to that collective wealth of literature one day along side the rest of you.

thank you so much to ash for allowing me to pick their brain! they've been such a kind and fascinating person to interact with since i've known them, and i highly encourage you all to follow them as they develop their current novel. stay tuned as i catch the next internet train out of the patchwork fields and onto my next destination!

next stop