#and then he gets a look in his eye and goes quiet

[lostfracturess]

symptoms and causes | ch. 16

pairing — professor gojo x med student reader

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

word count — 11.5 k

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

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

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

series masterlist + playlist + ao3 + wattpad

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Professor Gojo! No way!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's terrifying how thin that line is.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Enough," I bit out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

─── ·✧· ───

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It's faster."

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

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

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

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

"You're angry," she said.

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

"Satoru—"

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

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

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

"I'm doing this for you—"

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

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

"This isn't your problem to fix—"

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

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

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

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

She went still.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Why would you think that?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"On one condition."

"What's that?"

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

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

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

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

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

─── ·✧· ───

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Focus. Fucking focus.

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

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

"Create distraction," she breathed back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You wouldn’t dare," Naoya scoffed.

"Try me," she replied. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Perfect distraction.

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

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

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

Well played.

─── ·✧· ───

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

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

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

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

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

"Are you cold?" 

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

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

“I’m fine, really.”

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

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

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

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

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

"You can leave."

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

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

Some professor I was. Some man I was.

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

─── ·✧· ───

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

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

And I was still letting her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Huh. That's new. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Perfect. Just fucking perfect.

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

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

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

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

"Nobody leaves until we say so."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

─── ·✧· ───

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You okay?"

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

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

I couldn't bring myself to answer.

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

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

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

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

"EEG results?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Seen the future?"

"I should have been better."

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

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

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

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

"I hate this," I whispered.

"I know."

Silence.

"Do you blame yourself?" she asked quietly.

"How can I not?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Does that scare you?"

"I think one gets used to it."

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

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

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

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

I walked ahead.

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

─── ·✧· ───

Too quiet.

He was never this quiet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Suguru."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sounds fun."

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

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

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

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

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

"Monday morning."

He looked up sharply. "What?"

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

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

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

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

"I can manage two more days."

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

"Monday."

"For fuck's sake, Satoru—"

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

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

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

"Deal."

"I mean it, Satoru."

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

"So Yaga has exempted you?"

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

"Everyone would have known that."

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

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

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

Suguru fell silent.

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

"Yaga doesn't know about your condition?"

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

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

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

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

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

"You're impossible."

"That's why you love me."

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

"Kinky."

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

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

"Satoru—"

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

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

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

"This will kill her."

"I know."

Silence.

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

"You already apologized."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

─── ·✧· ───

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You're so calm about it." 

"And what would you have me do?"

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

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

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

"For what?"

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

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

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

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

"Satoru? You sure you're okay?"

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

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

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

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

But then again, what did it matter anyway?

<- prev chapter | next chapter ->

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

tags — @browrm @panteramarron @starlightanyaaa

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

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

@chiyokoemilia @bonequinhagojo @janbannan @mikkmmmii @yeiena

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

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

[steveseddie]

apply directly to the forehead

written for @steddieholidaydrabbles | prompt: alone | rating: t | wc: 997 | tags: hurt comfort, steve has migraines, eddie takes care of him, hand holding, forehead kisses read on ao3

No one notices when Steve slips out the front door. No one but Eddie, who tells Jonathan he’s going out for a smoke and follows him.

There are only woods around the Hopper-Byers cabin, and the only light comes from the Christmas lights hanging from the roof so it takes a moment for Eddie’s eyes to adjust to the near darkness. He sees Steve sitting on the steps with his head between his knees and taking slow, deep breaths. 

“Steve?” Eddie speaks softly, trying not to startle him but Steve still flinches. “You okay?” 

“I’m fine,” Steve mumbles, keeping his head down. 

Eddie sits next to him. “Wanna try again? That wasn’t very convincing.”

Steve groans but it’s not his ‘Eddie is being annoying’ groan, it’s a pained groan. 

“‘S just a headache, ‘m fine,” Steve insists but his voice sounds weak. 

“Look at me.” Eddie squeezes his knee. “Stevie, please, look at me.” 

Steve sighs but lifts his head. Eddie can’t help but wince at how he looks. His face is twisted into a grimace, his skin is paper-white and there are tears in his eyes. 

“Oh, Steve. It’s a migraine, isn’t it? A bad one?” He gently brushes some hair off Steve’s face. Steve gives a tiny nod. “When did it start?” 

“A few hours ago,” Steve says with a shuddery breath. “While shopping with Robin, all the lights, the music and the crowds–”

“Why didn’t you say something?” 

Steve shrugs, then winces. “Didn’t want to worry anyone.” 

“Of course not.” That’s why Steve still showed up to the Hopper-Byers Christmas party, knowing there would be loud music and even louder kids, and then forced himself to smile through his pain. Eddie sighs. “C’mon, I’m taking you home.” 

“No, Eds–” Steve protests weakly. “I can drive myself-”

Eddie huffs. “Steve, you can’t even keep your eyes open right now.”

“But the party–”

“–will carry on without us,” Eddie finishes, rolling his eyes. “Wait here, okay?” 

Steve sighs and nods, and Eddie squeezes his knee again before heading back inside. 

He finds Robin and tells her that Steve isn’t feeling well and he’s taking him home. 

“Do you want me to come?” She asks, worried.

“Nah, I got him,” Eddie says. Steve wouldn’t want someone else to leave the party early because of him. “Just tell Hopper I’ll pick up the van tomorrow, okay?” 

“Okay, thanks, Eddie,” she says with a quick hug. 

Outside, Eddie finds Steve leaning against the railing, looking like he’s about to keel over. 

“Alright, big boy. Let’s get you home,” he says, leading them to the Beemer.

“No van?” 

“Nope. You complain about how fucking loud my van is on a good day. Figured you wouldn’t appreciate it today of all days.”

Steve chuckles weakly. “Admit it, you just want an excuse to drive a cool car for once.” 

Eddie scoffs indignantly. “My van is plenty cool, Harrington.” 

“Uh huh.” 

He sticks his tongue out at Steve and starts the car. The drive to his house is quiet. Eddie turns the radio all the way off, Steve keeps his head against the window and his eyes closed, and Eddie tries his best not to jostle the car too much. 

He has to gently shake Steve’s shoulder once they arrive and then he follows him inside. 

He goes straight to his bedroom and collapses on the bed, taking his shoes off but leaving his jeans and his ugly Christmas sweater on. 

Eddie finds some sleeping clothes and tosses them his way. “Take those jeans off, Harrington.”

Steve huffs. “At least buy me dinner first, Munson,” he says, his hands working on his belt buckle. 

Eddie’s cheeks turn pink but with just the moonlight illuminating the room through the curtains, he doubts Steve can see it. “So that’s what it takes to get into Steve Harrington’s pants?”

“Usually,” Steve says, shoving his jeans off before sliding on sweatpants, keeping his movements slow to not make his headache worse. “But for a guy as hot as you, I can make an exception.”

Eddie chokes on his spit. Leave it to Steve to flirt while his head is waging a war against the rest of him.  

After changing out of his Christmas sweater, Steve falls back into bed, burrowing his face into his pillow with a groan. The mattress dips when Eddie sits next to him, his back against the headboard. Steve blinks one eye open. “You don’t have to stay, I’m–”

“-in no condition to be alone right now,” Eddie finishes, rolling his eyes.

“You should go back to the party. I didn’t mean to ruin your night–”

“Steve Harrington called me hot. Nothing could ruin my night after that,” he jokes even if there’s some truth to it. 

Steve groans– this time it is his ‘Eddie is being annoying’ groan. “I’m gonna regret saying that.” 

“Because you didn’t mean it or–”

“Oh, I meant it,” Steve says, rolling to his side and looking up at Eddie through half-lidded eyes that might not have anything to do with his migraine. “But now you can hold it against me.”

“It would be kind of hypocritical of me since I also find you hot,” Eddie says, playing with a rip in his jeans. 

Steve’s fingers find his, intertwining them. “If my head wasn’t about to explode I would suggest we do something about that.”

Eddie’s widen. “Something like–”

“Like kissing. Though I could be persuaded to do other things.”

“Jesus,” Eddie says laughing shakily. “Now my head feels like it might explode.”

“We can talk in the morning,” Steve says, shifting until he finds a comfortable position. 

“Thought you didn’t want me to stay,” Eddie teases.

“Said you didn’t have to stay, Eds. I always want you here.” 

Eddie’s stomach flutters. “Okay,” he says, sliding down until he’s lying next to Steve, their fingers still intertwined. 

“Thanks for taking care of me,” Steve whispers, half asleep already. 

“Anytime, sweetheart,” Eddie says softly, kissing Steve’s forehead. “Anytime.”

[endstar]

Oleander looks.. just confused. Really fucking confused. He mumbles the name underneath his breath, and seemingly goes to say something before deciding to shut up…

Many seem confused. Some glare at oleander. He’s.. very aware of his eyes and just.. shrinks away.

Menodora hides behind Lilith nervously.. only having her eyes watch… all the aus are.. confused and nervous.

𓆟"…you sure it ain’t her trying to get you to do something? I mean.. she has been very quiet ever since we got here.."𓆟

The multiverse is full of infinite possibilities...

Most worlds tend to connect through similar builds. Through stories, people, themes...

It's no surprise seeing a stranger to the multiverse. What IS surprising, however, was his condition. Covered in deep wounds, limbs twisted and torn, and he appeared to be drowning in his own blood by the time he was found. Holy weapons were embedded in his skin, and the flesh sizzled liked bacon around it.

He had red skin, gray hooves, horns that looked far too round and circular to have normally grown out of his head. His long pointed tail is covered in hand prints, and there are bones exposed out of his back. He lays face first in a pool of his own boiling blood, barely breathing or moving.

@ask-underfazverse

Cry’s come from the mass amounts of strangers, many just back away to cowedly to do anything, but a few step up, and begin to heal him. Mainly the younger, less evil Malak’s, a few Doug’s that are just simply concerned, and only one Bierce.

Dream Malak very hurriedly takes him to his hospital, with the help of the others.

[capquinn]

I think abt decorating the apartment with Quinn and then he tricks you into getting under the mistletoe with him and goes “oh you remember the rules”

blushing and kicking my feet picturing this. what a sweet thought 😭🥹

It happens when you least expect it.

One moment, you’re carefully arranging stockings along the mantle — because Quinn’s first attempt had them completely uneven and absolutely not aesthetically pleasing — and the next, he’s suddenly loitering in the doorway to the kitchen with that look on his face. The one that says he’s up to something.

“Hey, can you come here for a sec?” he calls, his tone so casual it immediately puts you on edge.

You glance over your shoulder, already suspicious. “If you’ve tangled the lights again…”

He laughs, shaking his head, hands tucked behind his back like he’s hiding something. “Nope. Lights are good. Just come here.”

You hesitate, narrowing your eyes at him. “Why do I feel like you’re up to something?”

“I’m not up to anything,” he insists, but his grin is too big, too playful to be convincing.

Against your better judgment, you leave the stockings and make your way toward him. The closer you get, the more obvious it becomes that he’s hiding something.

“Alright,” you say, stopping just shy of the doorway. “What is it?”

He tilts his head ever so slightly, feigning innocence as his gaze flicks upward.

That’s when you see it: the small sprig of mistletoe dangling right above where he’s standing.

Your jaw drops as you look back at him, and he’s already grinning, the picture of shameless mischief.

“Oh, would you look at that,” he says, glancing up toward the mistletoe like it’s just magically appeared, his voice dripping with mock surprise.

“You actually put up mistletoe,” you say, crossing your arms but stepping closer anyway.

He nods, completely unfazed. “It’s festive. Classic. Very on theme,” he says, his tone so casual it’s almost believable. Almost.

“All this just to sneak a kiss?” you tease, shaking your head, though you can’t stop the grin that creeps in.

He shrugs, the picture of feigned nonchalance, but there’s a warmth in his gaze that gives him away. As you come to a stop in front of him, his hands slide to your waist, his touch light but firm enough to pull you closer.

“You know the rules,” he murmurs, his lips quirking up in that boyish grin that always gets to you.

You roll your eyes but don’t pull away, letting his thumbs brush against your sides as his nose dips, brushing against yours.

“Feels a little desperate, Quinn,” you tease softly, your hands slipping up to rest on his chest. “You could’ve just asked.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” he murmurs, dipping his head slightly to press a quick kiss to your hair. His breath is warm, the soft affection in the gesture making your stomach flip in that familiar way only he can manage.

“Very smooth,” you say, tipping your head back to meet his gaze, eyes sparkling. “Did you rehearse this?”

He hums thoughtfully, his forehead dropping to rest lightly against yours. “You think I need to rehearse to get a kiss from you?”

“Maybe,” you tease back, your lips twitching. “Depends on how much you want it.”

His laugh is quiet, his nose brushing against yours again before his lips find your cheek. “More than you’d think,” he says softly, his voice dropping just enough to send a warmth blooming in your chest.

You lean into him now, your hands curling into the fabric of his sweater. “So what now, Hughes? Are we just gonna stand here, or are you gonna—”

Before you can finish, his lips are on yours, soft and deliberate, stealing the rest of your words in a kiss that’s as playful as it is tender. His hands tighten at your waist, pulling you closer with a quiet ease, his thumb brushing lazy circles against your side. The kiss deepens naturally, unhurried and warm, his nose brushing against yours in a way that feels achingly intimate. There’s no rush, just the quiet certainty of his touch, his lips lingering on yours like he’s savouring the moment, like he doesn’t want it to end. When he finally pulls back, his breath mingles with yours, and the faintest smile curves his lips — soft, teasing, a little smug.

“Still think it’s desperate?” he murmurs, his voice low, warm, and entirely too pleased with himself.

“Maybe,” you reply, breathless but grinning, rising onto your toes. You press a soft, fleeting kiss to his lips, just enough to leave him leaning in for more. “But it’s working for you.”

[fellow-fandom-fruitifier]

Imagine if ghosts reverted to their death state on the anniversary of their deaths, but I'm making it worse for Edwin in particular.

So I feel like Charles would struggle with it, obviously, but he also met Edwin when he was actively dying so, after a handful of years, he doesn't mind if Edwin -- only Edwin -- sees. They just sit down for the day and read till he can slip into his orb form in a facsimile of rest.

But then we got Edwin. This man will yap and yap about capital H Hell but God Forbid he actually TALK about his trauma. 'Charles mustn't be exposed to that!' is his fav excuse but c'mon. Be. So. Fr. He just doesn't want Charles to think of him differently.

There are days where Edwin hops off to the library or something and gets lost in books for days, it's not new. Ghosts have shit perception of time. So when Edwin disappears to the "library", Charles thinks nothing of it. He just goes to do some of his own shit -- concert, ghost cricket, idk -- and very impatiently waits for Edwin to be done. (They have a deal that he can come drag Edwin away after the 48 hour mark if he's not home by then.)

Another thing is, Edwin hasn't explicitly stated what day he died, so Charles has no idea. It doesn't occur to him that he's never seen Edwin's death anniversary till he's telling Crystal they'll be closed in a week for his, and she asks when Edwin's is.

And he just. Doesn't know.

So Crystal ushers him through her vanity because god forbid these boys have self initiated confrontation. And now Edwin is being cornered and he reluctantly reveals what he's been doing. Aka lying and spending his most vulnerable days in an abandoned garden or something. Charles is fucking Gobsmacked™️ and they talk, etc.

Anyways, Edwin's death anniversary is a month or two away from Charles' so they wait, both anxious as hell but Charles is being Charles and coping by helping Edwin instead.💀💀 (Edwin confronts him because PUT THEM BOTH ON BLAST‼️‼️🗣️🗣️)

On the day, Edwin's form changes little by little. Rubbed in rashes around his wrists and the corners of his lips, paler, sunken eyes, and bursted blood vessels looking like freckles. Charles spends the whole night reassuring Edwin and layering him in love and I'm such a sucker for love confessions so you KNOW they gotta have a moment like:

"I'm proper gone on you, aren't I?" Charles whispers into Edwin's hairline, sounding utterly smitten.

"Even like this?" Edwin asks. Equally quiet and wholly insecure, something Charles will spend the rest of his afterlife rectifying the same way Edwin has for him.

"Especially like this."

[luveline]

this request may be a bit of a long shot, but would you be willing to write a drabble for mouth of september? maybe she gives the boys a scare either by going out and then not coming home at the time she said she would or maybe she faints from not having eaten enough? totally okay if you don’t want to or if you want to use this as a prompt for something else, mos has just been one of your fic series that i think about pretty consistently even two-ish years later.

anyway have a great day and hope you’re doing well jadey <3 love u

I love you! me writing this actually did feel like a longshot but not cos I didn’t love it and not cos I don’t love u, I hope you enjoy it!! been so long since I wrote this !!🩵 fem! 4k words

cw suicidal thoughts/suicidal ideation

It’s cold tonight. 

You blow on your fingers, feeling them warm, stiffness lanced for precious few seconds. You didn’t mean to walk so far from the house, not while the wind is racing like this. The corner shop just seemed to move around while you weren’t looking. You should’ve asked Sirius to go with you, he has a better sense of direction, even if he would’ve complained the whole time about the shit weather. 

Remus would’ve come and not complained, but he was sleeping at the time and waking him felt cruel. James would’ve come, racing around in Lily’s car, but then he would’ve followed you back into the house insisting on making you some supper or a cuppa or something, and what you’d wanted was to be alone. A bar of chocolate wouldn’t hurt either. 

Stupid travelling corner shop, you think to yourself. Stupid me for fucking losing it. Should’ve just stayed home. Can’t even walk to the shop. 

You take a deep breath. You give the streets a wretched, embarrassed glare and flop down onto the nearest bench. Fuck’s sake. Lost and freezing to death. 

If Sirius were here, if he heard what you were thinking, he’d frown at you with that dark pinch to his eyes and tell you to Stop it, now. 

He’s maybe half of the reason you’re out of the house tonight. Maybe all of it. It’s all complicated and horrible and everyone thinks it’s a bad idea but the thing is that Sirius himself isn’t complicated, he isn’t horrible. He’s kind to you in funny ways, and when you’re together Sirius makes you feel like you’re someone worth being kind too, which doesn’t happen often. 

Your self annoyance fades to something more familiar soon enough. Everything goes quiet, leaving you there with your heart, quick and slow beating, can’t seem to choose, and your cold feet. Your socks feel too tight. 

Your teeth start to chatter. You can’t sit here forever. 

(But wouldn’t it be better? If you stayed? Caught cold?) 

If you get poorly from the cold, you’ll feel miserable from the moment you wake up. You’ll be ill at work, which will make work worse. You’ll have to stay in your room so you don’t get one of the boys sick, and that really would ruin your week. Nothing means anything if you don’t get to see your best friends. 

You gather yourself up and turn toward the street you’d just walked down, determined to retrace your steps. 

In the distance, a familiar shape is jogging toward you. 

“Y/N?” James shouts, sounding as though all the breath in the world has been sucked from his lungs. He doesn’t stop jogging until he gets a few feet from you, where he bends to catch his breath. “Fucking hell!” His head snaps up. “Fuck, shortcake, are you alright?” 

You close the distance. “I’m fine.” 

“Are you?” He forces himself to stand, breathing hard as he grabs you by the wrist. “Are you okay? You scared me so badly.” 

You grab his arm back. “I’m really fine, I’m fine, what’s wrong?” 

“You’re what’s wrong, you aren’t home!” James swallows a lump. “You left a note, you’d be home by seven. It’s nearly ten. Remus rang me in a fit ‘cos he didn’t know where you’d gone, we thought–” James gives you an imploring look, though it’s so so sorry at the same time, you feel your stomach twist into a hard knot. “We thought you were having a bad night.” 

“James.” Embarrassment makes you soft-toned. “I’m really sorry I scared you, but I got lost, that’s all.” You don’t really like to lie, only James seems to need to hear it. “I’m glad you found me. I was worried I wouldn’t get home.” 

James gives a breathy laugh. “Oh, good.” 

You’re pulled into a hug. 

“Sorry,” you say. 

“No, it’s okay.” He rubs your back with force. It feels more for him than you, though you don’t exactly mind it. You can pretend as much as you want that you don’t like it when the boys give you affection, but they know it’s not true, and they know it’s alright to give it to you most days. “It’s fine. Everything’s fine as long as you’re fine.” 

“Fine,” you say. 

He pulls away. “Oh, god. Alright, let’s go back to the house. It’s freezing, you’re not wearing a proper coat?” 

“I didn’t plan on being out long.” 

“No?” 

He takes you by the shoulder to encourage you back the way you came. “Just wanted some chocolate,” you say. 

“I’ll get you some.” 

You both know it doesn’t add up. James doesn’t make you say much else, relieved you’re alright, and you fester in the guilt of worrying him so harshly. 

“Where are your glasses?” you ask. 

“I forgot them in the car.” 

“Where is the car?” 

“Remus thought you might’ve gone to the library, you were supposed to take that Sky-Fi back.” 

“Sci-fi.” 

“Right, the space books. He took it to see if you were walking home, I said I’d come this way, and Sirius…” James grimaces. “Not sure where he went. He was already out by the time I got to the house.” 

“How are we gonna find him?” 

“He’ll come back eventually.” 

You stick close to James’ side, dodging crisped up leaves and following him down the dropped kerb and finally onto a familiar road. “Guess I’ve lived here so long, I should’ve known the way,” you say. 

“It’s alright.” 

You bite your cheek for a second. “I’m really sorry, James, I– I didn’t– is it really ten?” 

“…Aren’t you cold?” he asks softly. 

“I didn’t think about it.” 

“I wish you would.” He pokes his tongue against his cheek. “I want to know if you’re having a bad night. It’s alright if you were. If you need more time, more help, it’s okay.” 

“It’s not like that… not all of it. I was walking to the shops, I swear. Just feel so,” —your voice slips into a colour of shame you despise— “weird sometimes. I’m sorry I made you worry. I don’t know why I keep doing this.” 

“Is this a common occurrence?” 

“Not the walk, just. Just this. Making you worry. I didn’t mean to make everybody worry.” 

“Well, I am worried. When you disappear for a couple more hours than you say you will, it’s scary.” James gives you a shrug. “I love you, I’m gonna wonder where you are.” 

“But–”

“I worry about Sirius when he goes to the pub until who knows when, worry about Lils when she does too many hours at work. I worry about Remus every day, his eyes are worse than mine ‘cos all he does is read,” he says with a laugh. “It’s fine.” 

“I worry about you too,” you say. 

“About what?” he asks, stricken. 

“Remus told me you can pop your knee out from your kneecap when you weight lift. I know you think it’s fun and stuff, but that’s scary.” 

“I’m getting fit!” He rolls his eyes. “Lily likes my abs.” 

“Well I liked you when you were soft.” 

James cackles at your poor fake-flirting. “I’ve never been soft, take that back! You know being captain made me solid as a rock.” 

“James?” a voice calls. 

You look up at the same time. Sirius is sitting on the wall in front of the house smoking; he takes a harsh, quick drag and stabs it out so hard that ash sullies his fingers as he stands. 

“Oh,” he says, blowing the smoke from his mouth quickly, his breath a ragged thing as he bounds across the road to hug you. “Sorry.”

You don’t get what he’s sorry for. “It’s okay.” 

He smells so strongly of smoke it’s like he’s blowing it under your nose, but he’s not so sharp to the touch. You falter at being touched kindly, feeling tension in his back as you curl an arm around him. 

Sirius digs his face into your neck. 

“Hey?” you ask quietly. 

He steps back suddenly, an accusing fist held between your two abdomens. “Where have you been?” he asks, and there’s the sharpness to match his smell, scowl turning his grey-blue eyes to pitch, lashes in a furious tangle. “You can’t do that. You can’t just disappear for hours.” 

“I’m sorry–”

“It’s not okay.”

“She said she’s sorry,” James interjects, “maybe let’s leave it?” 

“Being sorry doesn’t erase the last two hours of us panicking, though, does it?” 

“She got lost–”

“James, it’s okay, it’s–” You shake your head. “Maybe you should go inside to warm up? You’re not wearing a coat either.” 

“I was in a rush.” James gives Sirius a warning look. “I’ll make you a cup of tea. Five minutes and I’m coming back out.” 

James trudges up the garden path to the house. You twist your hands together, staring into Sirius’ face, wanting to see every bit of his anger, keeping tabs on all of it so as not to be surprised. You should’ve known he’d run out of patience with you eventually. He’s had to deal with your awful moods more than anyone else. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Do you realise how scary it is to worry you’ve hurt yourself?” Sirius asks starkly. 

You flinch. “It doesn’t exactly feel great for me, either.” 

“That’s not what I’m saying.” Still, he softens. You feel like you’ve cheated. “I don’t understand. You got lost? How far away from the house were you?” 

“I don’t know, I was trying to go to Del’s.” 

“You’re not being honest with me, or any of us. It’s not fair. My heart is like a fucking racehorse,” he says, pressing his hand to his chest, fingertips smudgy with ash, “’cos all I’ve thought tonight is that you’d gone off and jumped off of a bridge or something. I know you wouldn’t.” He lets his hand fall. He quietens. It is almost apologetic, how he slows. “I know you wouldn’t. I knew you’d come home. But please don’t make me think about it.”

He’s gone pale in the cold, his hair in twists and tucked haphazard behind his ears. In his thick bomber jacket and his jeans, he could’ve just hopped of the bike, windswept as he is, but it’s the mark of worried hands having pushed his hair back repetitively rather than the weather, though the longer you stand there in the wind, the more tangled it becomes. “I dont get why you’re so determined to be alone,” he says. 

You don’t want to talk about it. When do you ever? More than ever, you’d like to stalk past him and slam your bedroom door, let him know you’re fine by yourself and seething, let him stay ignorant to you as you squirm in a bed you’ve come to hate. How often do you lay there wishing you could be alone forever? It’s not fair to anyone. It doesn’t make sense. They all love you and you feel sorry for them, ‘cos you tricked them, ‘cos you’re nothing worth thinking about for long. 

Sirius won’t stop frowning at you. It makes the drowning feeling worse. 

“I’m sorry,” you say again, hoping this time it’ll stick. “I don’t know what happened, I just wasn’t thinking. I don’t feel very well.” 

“I know.” He scoffs to himself. You relax at the hint of self-deprecation. “It’s not your fault. I’m fucking furious with you but I know you can’t help it.” 

“Sorry.” 

He shakes his head. “I’m sorry. For saying you’d jumped off a bridge, that’s horrible, but you really fucking worry me sometimes and I’m so relieved that you’re okay that it’s making me horrible.” 

“You’re not horrible.” 

“I’m mean.” 

“You’re not.”

“No, I am. You’re the only person who doesn’t see it. Or at least doesn’t say it.” Sirius rubs his face, scraping a stray hair from his nose. “Sorry for shouting. Here,” —he holds out his arm— “let’s have a proper one.” 

He hugs you nicely, no force to it, less lingering smoke. The scratch of his cheek catches yours, his hand at the bottom of your back, your jacket and shirt rising with every sweep of his touch. You press your closed eye to his hair. 

“Why didn’t you come and sit with me or– we could’ve talked. Could’ve just led in bed, doesn’t matter, I would’ve gone to the shop with you.” He squeezes you, pressing his nose to your shoulder. “I can be morbid. We can be two miserable layabouts together.” 

“I didn’t…” You cringe. “Sirius, it’s not on purpose, I swear. I didn’t do it to make you worry.” 

“I know that, Jesus.”

“Sorry.” 

“It’s fine. I’m just glad you’re home.” 

You pull apart as a car turns onto the street. That’ll be Remus. Another for your troupe of worry. 

“What do you think, is he mad at me too?” you ask. 

“Remus?” Sirius gives you another half hug. “‘Course not.” 

And true to form, Remus climbs out of the car with a fond smile. “Hey, where have you been?” His hair ruffles in the wind, scars turned palest purple in the cold. “You need to learn how to tell time.” 

You let him hug you. “Sorry.” 

“That’s alright, let’s go inside though. Have some tea. Did you eat much today?” 

You ignore the question. “Tea,” you say. 

“Yeah.” 

Remus ushers you down the path to the house, Sirius on your other side like bodyguards. 

“Thanks for, uh, looking for me.” 

Remus takes you by the forearm. “We’ll always look for you. But next time, wake me up first.” 

You nod gratefully. “Uh, okay. Thank you.” 

“Stop saying thanks. It’s alright, Y/N. It’s fine.” 

That’s what you’ve all said, but it doesn’t make it true. 

—

James goes home, though he doesn’t want to. “I can stay,” he says over the rim of his mug, half-pleading, wanting you to ask him to. “We can have a sleepover.” 

You insist that you’re really fine, he has work tomorrow, it’s late. When he doesn’t move, you say, “I feel bad enough that you were out looking for me in the cold.” 

Your voice is pathetic and scratchy and he can tell you’re going to cry, they all can, so he doesn’t push it anymore than that. He goes home, and you go to bed, and Remus follows you up a little bit later with a glass of juice and some thick, buttered slices of teacake. 

“You okay?” he asks, climbing into bed next to you where you’re laying down. 

“Fine.” 

“Didn’t eat much today?” 

“No.” 

“Have the juice, at least.” 

You take the glass. 

Between your sorry sips, Remus picks at one of the slices of cake, steals looks at you, though he doesn’t try to hide what he’s doing. 

“Sorry about today. Didn’t mean to worry you.” 

“You can stop saying sorry.” Remus lets his head tip from one side to another. “I can hear it in your voice that you don’t want to say it. Not that I don’t believe that you’re really, actually sorry. But you keep repeating it because you’re worried I want you to do that, and I don’t.” 

“It’s what I should say.” 

“Well, you’ve said it.” Remus turns to you, all bookish and rakish at once, lovely but tired, and he must be giving you a similar appraisal. “I wanted to be your friend the second I first talked to you. It wasn’t guilt.” He shakes his head. Wasn’t ’cos they’d played that prank on you with the shoe-eating goo, spied on you crying in a school hallway, overwhelmed. “I just liked you, and that was without any sort of knowledge of what you’re like. Now that I know you, I couldn’t be rid of you. Truly. I love you, you know that?” He smiles gently. “Even when you need time and you disappear. Please… don’t really go anywhere though, will you?” 

“I won’t.” You decided a long time ago that ending your life wasn’t in the cards. There are terrifying moments, numb ones, blink-and-it’s over ones, where you feel like it’s the only option you have. But it ends eventually, or it sinks into a background to be forgotten until the next time it aches. 

“Are you eating properly?” he asks. 

“Remus–” You shake your head as he brings a hand to your forehead, like he might stroke your hair. “You don’t have to do this.” 

“You don’t like answering, that’s all.” 

“No, I don’t.” 

“I’ve made you talk much more than you would’ve liked to, tonight.”

“I like talking to you. To all of you.” You rest your head on his thigh. “You really are my favourite people in the world, Remus. I wouldn’t… wouldn't give you up.” 

“Good,” he says, stroking your forehead just a few times. “‘Cos we can’t be without you.” 

Sirius finds you collapsing in on one another a little later and rounds the bed to lay on your other side. He doesn’t bother sitting as Remus did, pulling the blankets up and slipping in beside you without worrying about what parts of you are touching parts of him, nor the slip of your back where your shirt’s riding up, nor how warm it is under the quilt. He grabs the end of your t-shirt and pulls it flat over your stomach, before his hand spreads out there, and you realise half-heartedly that he’s hugging you from behind. The room is barely seeable. Remus is nearly sleeping. Your tea cake went uneaten, left stodgy and dark on the nightstand. 

“This okay?” Sirius asks. 

“Yeah.” 

He burrows nearer, rubbing his nose against the back of your neck, then taking a long breath of you. 

“Are you mad?” you ask. 

“Not anymore.” 

You can’t believe that any of them could love you so much as to look for you. That James would want to stay the night, and that he’d let you turn him away. If you had any energy left in you tonight you would’ve done the same to Remus, and then Sirius. James won’t be happy when he finds out they’d slept in the bed with you and left him out, but he’ll forgive it eventually. None of them should care so much about you, what’s special about you? What’s even really good? What’s worth it? 

Sirius breathes behind you. He doesn’t seem scared to touch you, not worried to lay as close to you as your bodies will allow. His heat sinks into you. 

“Know any poems?” he asks, letting you shift into his back as he pushes an arm beneath you, curling, really holding you to him, a spoon of a hug. 

“What kind did you want to hear?” 

Sirius doesn’t answer. You hold still as his hand begins looping over your stomach. 

“I can’t remember anything right.” 

“Can you guess at one for me?” he asks. 

You stare at Remus’ falling chest. You’re lucky to have good friends. 

“I read one a few days ago, a couple of times, it was only a few lines.” You wait. Sirius doesn’t say anything, so you start to relay the poem slowly, stringing the words together as they come. “The world was a… nautilus shell... And the world was a grain of sand.” Your voice is odd, but the lines come to you regardless. “The world was a honeycomb… And the world was a strip of tender bark.” 

Sirius lets his lips warm your neck, asking softly, more touch than sound, “That was the whole poem?” 

You take his hand where it’s against you. “That’s it.” 

He nods. 

The world was a nautilus shell. And the world was a grain of sand. The world was a honeycomb. And the world was a strip of tender bark. You run through the poem again, three times, tripping over strip and tender and bark as Sirius’ breath warms your nape. 

“Please don’t do that again,” he says. 

“I didn’t mean to–” You force yourself to stay still. “I would never do something like that to scare you.” 

“Nobody in this room or out of it believes that you went on your walk tonight to scare them.” His nose tips down your neck. His hand spreads wider over your stomach. It feels so weird, so warm and rigid. It’s the best touch you’ve ever been given, and it doesn’t matter because you’re so ashamed of yourself —you went on your stupid little walk with at least some bad intent, and your friends noticed because they love you when they shouldn’t bother. This is a stain now, something you’ll remember. “But I can’t take it. Do you get that? I can’t take it. James found you two hours ago and I still feel like I don’t know where you are.” 

“Didn’t mean to.” 

“I know, love.” He actually does kiss your neck then, quiet smack of a real kiss. “I know. I know.” His forehead presses to your shoulder as he settles in. “You’re okay. I’m not mad.” 

“Me neither,” Remus croaks. 

You let yourself relax enough to feel tired. Warmth from either side of you threatens to bowl you over. 

“How are you feeling now?” Sirius asks. 

“Fine.” Always fine. They deserve better honesty. “I didn’t want to hurt myself. Jus’… I needed to move, like, go, and I hate this part. I don’t think it should matter that I’m not– that I don’t feel well.” 

“Don’t get upset,” Sirius says quietly. 

“I’m not.” You sound tight. “When I want to be somewhere, it doesn’t make sense that it matters. In the moment, I don’t remember that you…” 

“Love you?” Sirius asks. 

“I know why you were worried, I promise. I don’t live in a bubble. I know I’m selfish.” 

“Not selfish.” 

“It was, though.” 

“You’re thinking about it like we have a problem with what you did, and it’s my fault because I got so mad, but it’s not really that you did it.” His hand curls shy of your breastbone. “I was mad, but– darling,” —you squeeze your eyes shut— “you’re not on trial. You don’t have to prove your way out of this, all we need to know is if you’re alright now.” 

“Not really.” 

Remus gives a half-sleeping mumble. 

Sirius sits up in bed to look at both of you. “We love you. We,” —he gestures between you and Remus emphatically— “aren’t going to stop. No matter how many walks you go on, how many scares you give me.” He frowns at you sympathetically. “We’re not getting any further, are we?” 

“Sorry.” 

“I’m sorry.” He grimaces, dark around the eyes. “I’m a right prick and I’ve made a right mess of everything.” 

“It’s okay,” you whisper, chancing a touch, terrified you’ll be reprimanded for it but knowing, as you know he loves you, that you’re allowed. The tips of your fingers touch his collarbone. Sharp thing. 

He pulls a jib, lips all up and thinned like a smirk gone wrong. “Love you.” 

You must’ve petrified him. He’s never so open with his feelings, even when it’s half-joking like this. 

“I love you, too.” 

He makes another face. Good enough, it says. 

“Make me hot chocolate?” you whisper. 

“Mm, come on.” He pulls you from the bed by your wrists. “Don’t complain when it’s gritty. I’m not skilled as Remus.” 

“Quite right,” Remus mumbles. 

You hug him quickly before you leave. 

[jxwl4k]

Hi! It's me again with one more Bakugo request, and I'll leave you alone after this. So, it's another childhood friends scenario, but they've stood close the whole time. Somewhere down the line, they began flirting and kinda acting like a couple, which makes it clear to everyone that they like each other. However, the truth reveals that they're already together when they get caught having a really cute moment together, like baking or him tickling her and kissing. Also, thank you for writing my other request - I loved it!

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ already yours .𖥔 ݁ ˖

☘︎ . . . genre. fluff

☘︎ . . . pairings. bakugou x reader

☘︎ . . . request? yes by @rocketblasterr

childhood best friend to lovers.

Growing up next door to Bakugou Katsuki meant a life of chaotic adventures, loud bickering, and unspoken understanding. From the moment you both could walk, your moms swore you were a package deal. “Wherever YN goes, Katsuki’s not far behind.” They weren’t wrong.

You were the quiet shadow to Katsuki’s blazing presence. While he demanded attention, you held your ground right beside him, undeterred by his explosive personality. He dragged you into his games, made you his partner in crime, and over time, you became the one person who could hold your own against him.

By high school, things were different but still the same. The constant teasing from your friends—“Just date already!”—was shrugged off without a thought. “We’re just friends,” you’d say. Katsuki would grumble something similar, though his scowl was always a little darker when people brought it up.

But they weren’t wrong, not entirely. The shift between you two happened so naturally that neither of you could pinpoint the exact moment you became more than friends. Maybe it was that time you pulled him into a hug after he beat Todoroki at the Sports Festival. Or the late nights you spent studying at his place when he’d fall asleep sitting next to you, head lolling onto your shoulder. Or maybe it was the day he realized he didn’t just want to see you smiling—he wanted to be the reason you smiled.

Either way, it happened, and months ago, Katsuki finally admitted it. “Oi. I like you, dumbass. Don’t make me say it twice.” You hadn’t made him, not when your response was a breathless “Me too.”

The two of you didn’t make a big deal out of it. You were already so comfortable with each other that dating felt like a natural extension of what you had. There was no awkward phase, no dramatic confessions—just you and Katsuki, the same as always. Only now he held your hand sometimes, kissed you when no one was looking, and let his rough exterior soften just for you.

But you hadn’t told anyone. Why would you? It felt like yours, a quiet truth you didn’t need to announce. Besides, you were both sure people would overreact—because, of course, they would.

That’s how you found yourselves on a lazy Sunday afternoon, baking cookies in Katsuki’s kitchen. Well, you were baking, while Katsuki stood beside you, arms crossed and scowling like he was judging you on “Worst Cooks in Japan.”

“Your batter looks like shit,” he said flatly.

You huffed, rolling your eyes as you carefully spooned dough onto a tray. “Do you ever say anything nice? I’m doing just fine.”

“Tch.” Katsuki leaned in over your shoulder, his voice a low rumble near your ear. “You’re supposed to flatten it so it bakes even, dumbass.”

You turned to glare at him, only to realize how close he’d gotten. He was right there, head tilted slightly, crimson eyes watching you with that unreadable look he sometimes gave when he thought you weren’t paying attention. Your heart skipped.

“Then you do it, chef boy,” you shot back, pretending your face wasn’t heating up.

Katsuki smirked at your challenge. “Fine.” Without warning, he reached for the dough… and smeared a streak of flour across your cheek.

You gasped. “KATSUKI!”

A devilish grin tugged at his lips. “What? I’m helping.”

“Oh, you’re so dead,” you growled, grabbing a handful of flour.

What followed was chaos. Katsuki dodged every handful of flour you tried to fling at him, laughing in that rough, carefree way that made your chest tighten. “You call that an attack?” he taunted, wiping his hands on a dish towel like he was untouchable.

You narrowed your eyes. “Oh, you think you’re funny?”

You charged at him, aiming for the flour canister, but Katsuki was too quick. He grabbed you around the waist, pulling you into his arms with ease. You squirmed, kicking lightly as you laughed. “Let go, you big jerk!”

Katsuki didn’t. Instead, he grinned down at you, his hold loosening just enough for you to look up at him. The laughter died down, leaving just the two of you in the silence of the kitchen, breathing slightly uneven. Katsuki’s hands stayed firm at your waist, his thumb brushing gently against your side. His red eyes softened, searching your face like he was memorizing every detail.

For a moment, the world outside his kitchen didn’t exist.

Then he leaned down and kissed you.

It wasn’t your first kiss, but it still made your stomach flip in that way only Katsuki could manage. His lips were firm but careful, like he was trying to tell you something he couldn’t say out loud. You melted into him, hands curling into the fabric of his shirt.

Unfortunately, your bliss was short-lived.

“BAKUGOU! We’re—WAIT, WHAT?!”

You jolted away from Katsuki, turning to see Kirishima and Mina standing in the doorway, mouths hanging open. Mina’s squeal was ear-splitting. “I knew it!” she shouted, practically vibrating with excitement.

Kirishima grinned like he’d just discovered the meaning of life. “Oh, man! I told you two were acting different!”

Katsuki groaned, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “What the hell are you idiots doing in my house?”

“We came to get you for training, but this is way better!” Mina said, grabbing Kirishima’s arm. “You two—oh my god, you’re actually dating!”

You buried your face in your hands. “This is so embarrassing…”

“Don’t hide,” Mina teased. “You guys are adorable!”

“Shut it,” Katsuki barked, though his ears were flaming red.

Kirishima nudged him with a grin. “Don’t worry, Bakugou, you’re still the toughest guy we know. Just… softer when YN’s around.”

“OUT.” Katsuki pointed toward the door, glowering as Mina and Kirishima laughed their way out of the house.

When they were gone, you glanced at Katsuki, biting your lip to hold back a smile. “Well, the secret’s out.”

Katsuki sighed, rolling his eyes before pulling you into his arms again. “Tch. About time, I guess.”

“You’re not mad?”

He smirked, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Why would I be? I don’t care who knows. Long as you’re mine.”

Your heart fluttered at his words. “I’ve always been yours, Katsuki.”

His grip tightened slightly, and for once, Katsuki didn’t have a sharp reply. Instead, he held you closer, the scent of flour and vanilla filling the air around you.

And when Mina texted later with a million questions and teasing emojis, neither of you bothered to reply.

[s4kura-tr3]

Ice skating! - how ice skating goes with the jjk men

Gojo satoru

The crisp winter air nipped at your nose as you laced up your skates on the bench by the rink. Gojo was already on the ice, gliding effortlessly, his white hair catching the light and his signature blue blindfold wrapped snugly around his eyes. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the attention he was drawing from passersby.

“Are you going to stand there admiring me all day, or are you coming?” he teased, his voice carrying over the soft music and chatter around the rink.

“I’m not admiring you!” you retorted, standing up and wobbling slightly on your skates.

Gojo was at your side in an instant, his gloved hands steadying you with ease. “Sure you aren’t,” he smirked, pulling you gently onto the ice.

You weren’t the most graceful skater, but Gojo made sure to keep a firm grip on your hands, his laughter echoing each time you stumbled. He glided backward with ease, as if showing off his skills, all while ensuring you didn’t fall.

“See? You’re getting the hang of it,” he said after a few minutes, his tone light and encouraging.

You narrowed your eyes. “I think you’re just distracting me so I won’t notice how much you’re showing off.”

His grin widened. “Caught me. But admit it—you like the view.”

Rolling your eyes, you gave him a playful shove, though it barely moved him. He retaliated by spinning you in a circle, his hold on you firm as you shrieked.

Eventually, you both ended up at the center of the rink, the world around you fading into a blur of lights and laughter. Gojo lifted his blindfold just enough for you to catch a glimpse of his vibrant blue eyes, now crinkled with warmth as he looked at you.

“Not bad for a first-timer,” he said, leaning in slightly.

“Thanks to my show-off teacher,” you replied with a grin.

“Always happy to be of service.” He pressed a quick kiss to your forehead before pulling you into another spin, his laughter mingling with yours as the night stretched on.

Geto suguru

The first flakes of snow began to fall as you tightened your scarf around your neck, glancing over at Suguru, who stood beside you, exuding a quiet calmness that always seemed to put you at ease. His long black hair was tied back, and his sharp features softened as he smiled at you.

“Ready?” he asked, holding out a hand as you both approached the ice rink.

“Not really,” you admitted with a nervous laugh, eyeing the skaters gliding around. “I’m not great at this.”

Suguru chuckled, his warm breath visible in the cold air. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep you steady.”

You took his hand and let him guide you onto the ice. His grip was firm and reassuring as you wobbled, gripping his arm for dear life.

“See? Not so bad,” he said, his voice low and comforting. He moved slowly, matching your hesitant pace.

“Easy for you to say,” you muttered, glancing at how effortlessly he moved across the ice, even while staying close to you.

Suguru leaned in, his dark eyes sparkling with mischief. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you just wanted an excuse to hold onto me.”

You shot him a playful glare. “As if you’re not enjoying being my personal crutch.”

He smirked, wrapping an arm around your waist to steady you even more. “Guilty. But I’ll take care of you—always.”

As you grew more confident, Suguru led you to the center of the rink, where the crowd thinned. The two of you glided side by side, your laughter mixing with the soft hum of holiday music.

When your legs started to tire, Suguru suggested a break. You sat together on a bench by the rink, your gloved hands holding warm cups of hot chocolate. He reached over to brush a snowflake from your hair, his touch gentle.

“See? You survived,” he teased, his smile warm.

“Thanks to you,” you admitted, leaning against his shoulder.

Suguru pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his voice a soft murmur. “Anytime, love. As long as it’s with you, I’ll go anywhere—even an ice rink.”

Nanami Kento

The winter chill brushed against your cheeks as you adjusted your scarf, watching Nanami lace up his skates with precision. His beige coat and signature tie stood out against the soft, snowy backdrop, and you couldn’t help but smile at how out of place he looked at the bustling, cheerful ice rink.

“You’re sure about this?” he asked, glancing up at you with a slightly skeptical look. “You know I’m not one for… recreational chaos.”

You laughed, tugging on his arm. “It’s not chaos. It’s fun! Come on, Kento, you need a break from all your seriousness.”

With a resigned sigh, he allowed you to pull him toward the ice. The moment his skates hit the surface, he wobbled slightly, his usually impeccable composure cracking for a split second. You bit back a giggle as you held his hand.

“Don’t say a word,” he muttered, his voice calm but tinged with embarrassment.

“I didn’t say anything!” you teased, leading him forward slowly.

Despite his initial hesitance, Nanami quickly found his balance. His hand stayed firmly in yours, his grip protective as he made sure you didn’t stumble. He moved with surprising ease, his natural elegance shining through even on the ice.

“Are you sure you haven’t done this before?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

He adjusted his glasses, a small smirk playing on his lips. “I may have gone once or twice. But only because someone convinced me it was good for bonding.”

“And was it?”

He glanced at you, his expression softening. “It is now.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, and you tightened your hold on his hand. As the two of you glided across the rink, the festive lights reflected in his warm brown eyes, making him seem even more breathtaking than usual.

When you stumbled, his arm immediately circled your waist, steadying you. “Careful,” he said, his voice low but full of concern.

You looked up at him, your cheeks flushed. “Thanks, Kento. You’re pretty good at this whole ‘not letting me fall’ thing.”

“I try,” he replied, his lips twitching into a rare, genuine smile.

After a while, you both retired to a nearby bench, sipping hot drinks as snow continued to fall around you. Nanami draped his scarf over your shoulders, ensuring you stayed warm.

“Thank you for convincing me to come,” he said, his tone softer now. “I don’t always allow myself to enjoy moments like this, but… I’m glad I did. With you.”

You leaned into him, your heart swelling with affection. “You deserve moments like this, Kento. And I’ll make sure you have them.”

His hand found yours, giving it a gentle squeeze as the two of you sat there, basking in the quiet magic of the winter evening.

Toji fushiguro

The rink was alive with the sound of laughter and the glimmer of lights reflecting off the ice. Snowflakes fell softly, clinging to your coat as you adjusted your child’s scarf. Megumi stood between you and Toji, his small hands stuffed into his coat pockets, eyes scanning the rink with a mix of curiosity and apprehension.

Megumi pouted, glancing at the skates in Toji’s hands. “I’ll be fine.”

“You sure about this, squirt?” Toji asked, crouching down to Megumi’s level.

You chuckled, kneeling beside them. “He’s determined. Just like his dad.”

Toji smirked at your comment but shook his head. “Alright, tough guy. Let’s get you laced up.” He reached out to help Megumi, his large hands surprisingly gentle as he tied the skates securely.

Once everyone was ready, you made your way onto the ice. Toji, of course, stepped on effortlessly, moving with the confidence of someone who could master anything he tried. You wobbled slightly, but his hand was there in an instant, steadying you.

“Easy, sweetheart,” he said, smirking. “Don’t want you taking me down with you.”

You playfully rolled your eyes. “Just focus on not showing off too much.”

Meanwhile, Megumi stood at the edge of the rink, gripping the railing with wide eyes. His little feet shuffled, but he wasn’t quite ready to move.

“Megumi, come on!” you called, extending your hand.

Toji skated over and crouched in front of him. “What’s wrong? Afraid you’ll fall?”

Megumi frowned, his cheeks pink with embarrassment. “No… I just don’t want to look dumb.”

Toji chuckled, ruffling his hair. “Kid, no one cares what you look like. Besides…” He held out his hand. “You’ve got me and your mom. We won’t let you fall.”

Hesitant but trusting, Megumi grabbed Toji’s hand, and the three of you made your way onto the ice together.

Megumi clung tightly to both of you at first, his little legs trembling as he slid awkwardly over the surface. Toji encouraged him with gruff but kind words, while you cheered him on with every step he managed to take.

“You’re doing great, Megumi!” you said, smiling brightly.

“I’m not even skating,” he muttered, but there was a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Baby steps,” Toji said with a smirk, glancing down at his son. “You’ll be zipping around in no time.”

After a while, Megumi started to loosen up, his movements more confident. Toji even let go of his hand for a moment, skating backward to give him space. “Look at that! Told you you’d get it,” Toji said, his voice full of pride.

Megumi wobbled but managed to stay upright, his face lighting up with a rare smile. “I’m doing it!”

You laughed, clapping your hands. “See? You’re a natural!”

The rest of the evening was filled with laughter and playful moments. Toji even surprised you by spinning you around on the ice, holding you close as you squealed. “Show-off,” you teased, but your heart swelled at how effortlessly he balanced being both playful and protective.

By the time you all left the rink, Megumi was bundled up and walking between the two of you, holding your hands. He was exhausted but happy, leaning his head against Toji’s side.

“You were right,” Megumi mumbled sleepily. “It wasn’t so bad.”

Toji chuckled, lifting him up into his arms. “Told you, kid. Your old man knows a thing or two.”

You smiled, resting your head on Toji’s shoulder as you walked back to the car, the three of you wrapped in the warmth of family and the magic of a winter evening.

Sukuna Ryomen

Sukuna’s estate was eerily quiet as he lounged on his throne, the flickering light of torches casting shadows on the walls. He hadn’t seen you in hours, and though he didn’t show it, the absence of your usual presence was unsettling.

“Uraume,” he called, his deep voice reverberating through the hall.

Uraume appeared quickly, bowing their head. “Yes, my lord?”

“Where is she?” Sukuna’s tone was calm, but there was a sharpness in his gaze that brooked no excuses.

“I believe she went outside, my lord,” Uraume replied, hesitating slightly. “By the frozen pond.”

Sukuna’s crimson eyes narrowed, and without another word, he rose from his seat, his towering form exuding authority as he made his way outside.

The cold winter air bit at his skin, but he barely noticed. His four eyes scanned the snow-covered grounds, his sharp senses quickly honing in on laughter—your laughter.

His lips curled into a smirk as he approached the pond, the sight before him catching him off guard. You were slipping and sliding across the ice, your movements clumsy but full of joy. Uraume stood at the edge, their usually stoic face softened with faint amusement as they watched you.

“Careful!” Uraume called when you nearly lost your footing, but you laughed it off, waving a hand.

“I’m fine! See? I can do this!” you replied, taking another step—only to slip and land on your back with a soft thud.

“Enjoying yourself, little one?” he drawled, his crimson eyes gleaming with amusement.

Sukuna’s deep chuckle rumbled through the air, causing both you and Uraume to freeze. You turned your head, finding him standing at the edge of the pond, his arms crossed and a smug grin on his face.

Your cheeks flushed as you scrambled to sit up. “I… was just testing the ice,” you muttered, brushing snow off your clothes.

“Testing it, were you?” Sukuna stepped onto the ice effortlessly, his movements unnervingly graceful for someone his size. The ice groaned slightly under his weight, but it held firm as he strode toward you.

You blinked up at him, pouting. “You don’t have to make fun of me, you know.”

He crouched down in front of you, his sharp claws brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “I’m not making fun,” he said, though the smirk on his lips betrayed him. “But I don’t recall giving you permission to wander off.”

“I didn’t think you’d notice,” you admitted softly, glancing away.

His smirk faded slightly, replaced by a look of quiet intensity. “I always notice,” he said, his tone low but firm.

Before you could respond, Sukuna stood and held out a hand to you. “Come. If you insist on playing out here, at least let me make sure you don’t break your neck.”

You hesitated for a moment before taking his hand. He pulled you to your feet with ease, his grip steady as you wobbled on the ice.

“You’re actually helping?” you teased, raising an eyebrow.

“Don’t get used to it,” he replied, though his smirk had returned.

Uraume watched silently, a faint smile tugging at their lips as Sukuna guided you across the ice, his usually commanding demeanor softened by your presence. For a moment, the cold winter night didn’t feel so harsh, the warmth of his rare affection wrapping around you like a blanket.

Megumi Fushiguro

The chill of the winter air was invigorating as you tugged on your skates, sitting on a bench by the ice rink. The twinkling lights strung overhead made everything feel magical, but what had you smiling the most was the sight of Megumi hesitantly tying his skates beside you.

“You look nervous,” you teased, nudging him gently.

“I’m not nervous,” he muttered, though his furrowed brow and the way he was double-checking the laces on his skates said otherwise.

Once he finished, you stood and held out your hand. “Come on, it’ll be fun!”

He looked up at you, his dark eyes full of doubt. “You know I’m not good at this.”

“That’s the point! You’ll have me to help you,” you replied with a grin, giving his hand a little tug.

With a resigned sigh, Megumi let you pull him onto the ice. The moment his skates touched the surface, his legs wobbled precariously, and he gripped your arm like his life depended on it.

“Why did I let you talk me into this?” he muttered, glaring at the ice as if it had personally wronged him.

“Because you love me,” you said cheekily, trying not to laugh as he stumbled again.

He huffed but didn’t argue, his cheeks turning slightly pink.

You moved slowly, holding his hands as you guided him across the ice. Every few steps, he would slip or falter, but you were always there to catch him.

“Megumi, you’re so stiff,” you said after a while, laughing. “Relax a little!”

“If I relax, I’ll fall,” he grumbled, his shoulders hunched as he concentrated on staying upright.

“You’re going to fall if you keep overthinking it!”

As if to prove your point, his skate caught on a groove in the ice, and he stumbled forward. You tried to catch him, but his weight sent both of you toppling over, landing in a heap on the ice.

For a moment, there was silence, and then you burst into laughter. “See? Not so bad!”

Megumi groaned, propping himself up on his elbows. “Speak for yourself,” he muttered, though the corner of his mouth twitched upward despite himself.

You reached out and booped his nose. “You’re doing great, Megumi. Really. I mean, you’ve only fallen once!”

“That’s once too many,” he said, rolling his eyes but letting you help him back up.

As the night went on, he started to loosen up a bit, though his movements were still far from graceful. You skated circles around him, giggling as he grumbled about how unfair it was.

“Stop showing off,” he said, though there was no real bite in his tone.

“Come on, you’re getting better!” you said, skating back to him and holding out your hands. “Trust me.”

He hesitated for a moment before taking your hands. His grip was firm, but he let you pull him forward, his balance improving little by little.

By the end of the night, he was still far from a pro, but he managed to skate a few feet without holding onto you. “See? You’re a natural,” you said, beaming at him.

He gave you a skeptical look but didn’t deny it, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Maybe. But I think I’ll stick to solid ground next time.”

You laughed, leaning into his side as you both sat down to take off your skates. “Fair enough. But admit it—you had fun.”

He glanced at you, his eyes softening. “Yeah… I guess I did.”

Yuji Itadori

The winter air was crisp as you arrived at the rink with Yuji, his excitement practically radiating off him. He’d been talking about this all week, hyping up his “hidden skating talent,” though you had your doubts.

“I’ve got this,” Yuji said confidently as he tugged on his skates. His grin was infectious, and you couldn’t help but laugh at how determined he looked.

“You sure? You don’t even know if you’re good at skating,” you teased, lacing up your own skates.

“I’m good at pretty much everything!” he replied, puffing out his chest dramatically.

You rolled your eyes but smiled. “Alright, Mr. Natural Talent. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

The moment Yuji stepped onto the ice, his confidence wavered. His arms flailed as his skates slid in opposite directions, and you had to grab his arm to keep him from falling.

“Hidden talent, huh?” you said, grinning as you steadied him.

“It’s just… slippery!” he defended, his cheeks pink with embarrassment. “Give me a second!”

Yuji held onto the railing with a death grip as you skated beside him, your laughter filling the air. “You’re so bad at this!” you teased, watching as he carefully tried to push off with his skates, only to nearly fall again.

“I’m just warming up!” he insisted, though his wobbly movements said otherwise.

After a while, you decided to help him out, skating backward in front of him and holding his hands. “Okay, let’s try this. I’ll guide you.”

He looked at your hands, then back at you, his expression softening. “You sure? I don’t wanna crush you if I fall.”

You smiled. “I’ve got you, Yuji. Trust me.”

With your help, he started to find his balance. His grin returned as he managed a few steps without slipping. “Hey, look! I’m doing it!”

“You are!” you cheered, matching his pace. “See? You’re not hopeless after all.”

“Wow, thanks for the vote of confidence,” he said, laughing.

As the night went on, Yuji got more comfortable, though he was still far from graceful. He occasionally tried to show off, attempting a spin or a quick glide, but it always ended with him flailing or falling. You couldn’t stop laughing, especially when he’d pop back up with an exaggerated “I’m fine!”

At one point, he slipped and accidentally pulled you down with him. You both landed in a heap on the ice, laughter spilling out as you tried to untangle yourselves.

“This is not how I imagined skating would go,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly.

“But it’s fun, right?” you said, leaning against him as you caught your breath.

He looked at you, his cheeks pink but not from the cold. “Yeah. It’s perfect,” he said softly, his usual playful tone replaced with something more sincere.

You smiled, leaning closer. “Even if you’re terrible at it?”

He chuckled, bumping his forehead gently against yours. “Especially because I’m terrible at it. Gives me an excuse to stick close to you.”

By the end of the night, neither of you had mastered skating, but it didn’t matter. You left the rink hand in hand, the cold winter air feeling a little warmer with him by your side.

[insidekatmind]

Red card~ Vinicius jr

Wearning: +18,smut

It was a quiet Sunday evening, and you were comfortably sitting on the living room couch. The Real Madrid match had just started, and as always, your heart raced as you watched Vinícius Jr. play. Your relationship with him was special, a love that had almost happened by chance but had grown intense and deep. He called you his "lucky star," but that evening, it seemed like luck wasn’t on his side.

"Go, Vini, show them who you are!" you whispered with a smile, sipping a cup of hot tea. Your eyes followed every movement he made on the field, as he dribbled past opponents with his usual elegance. You were used to seeing him face everything with a smile, but tonight, something felt different: there was a palpable tension.

45th minute.

The referee blew the whistle. A foul. Vinícius, usually calm, approached the referee with a furrowed brow. You couldn’t hear their words, but the images were clear. An opponent had provoked him, and Vinícius was trying to defend himself. Then it happened: the red card.

You were left breathless.

"No, no, it’s not possible!" you screamed, placing your cup on the table with a thud. You jumped to your feet, your heart racing. You watched in disbelief as Vinícius left the field, shaking his head. The referee seemed unwavering, and the camera lingered on the dark, furious face of your boyfriend.

An hour later.

The door to the house opened with a snap, and Vinícius stormed in. His gym bag flew to the floor, and he ran a hand through his hair, visibly shaken. He didn’t even look at you.

"You saw it, right?" he murmured, approaching you. You gently looked at him and embraced him. "Love," you whispered, hoping to ease his tension.

He was mad but felt better when you grabbed him to hug, making him sit next to you on the couch.

Vinicius puts his arm around you and rests his head on your shoulder."You’re not mad at me are you?" he says quietly, in a weak tone

"No, love, you are and will always be my champion," you whispered softly to him.

He smiles when you call him champion, it’s one of his favourite nicknames you had for him. He nuzzled in your neck, his hand resting on your leg and squeezing it softly

"Even when I act like a dickhead and get sent off again?" sentendo le sue parole sorridi.

"Especially when you become a dickhead,it's hot," you whispered.

He smile.His hand began to slide up slowly on your leg, just teasing."You still think I’m hot when I get mad?" he asks, teasing your neck with small kisses. You groan and nod.

He smirked, hearing you moan he began sucking on your neck, wanting to leave a mark

"Prove it to me then…” he mumbled against your neck, his hand slipping further up your leg.

You smile and kneel down, lowering his trousers and boxers and then pumping his cock a little before taking it in my mouth.

He grabs your hair gently with a hand."Holy fu-ck…“ he moans when he feels your mouth on his tip. You start to swirl your tongue around his big cock and then take it all in your mouth.

Vinicius raised his hips and fucked your mouth and you were moaning as you started to tease his balls with your hands and continued sucking him with more passion. He groans and comes down your throat.

When he makes you rise, he sighs happily and you kiss him.He returns the kiss with even more love, his hand caressing your cheek as they make out. He pulls you closer, until your body is pressed against his, and his leg goes in between yours, keeping you even closer to him.

“Mm… you know, I wouldn’t have been sent off in that game if you weren’t on my mind the entire time…“ he whispers in your ear.

You laugh as you watch him."So now it’s my fault?"

He chuckles, rolling over so he’s on top of you. He looks into your eyes, with a smirk on his lips.”Exactly… it’s your fault, you were being distracting in my mind the whole game…“

I smile and bite my lip. "What were you thinking?" Taming his muscular shoulders.

He moans lowly when you caress his shoulders, his body slightly shudders under your touch.“Do you want me to tell you or show you?”.he replies in a seductive tone, as his hands begin to wander up and down your body, caressing your curves.

"Show me" You say whispering.

He grins and kisses down your neck, occasionally leaving marks on it. His hands keep feeling up your body, caressing it lovingly. As he’s still busy with your neck, his knee slips gently between your legs, slightly rubbing against you.

Feeling the pressure on your pussy groan and you start rubbing yourself on it moaning.

He moans as you rub against his knee, his lips still attacking your neck with kisses.“Mmm you’re just impatient aren’t you…?“he mutters against your skin, his hand roaming down your body and caressing closer to your inner thigh.

"It’s not my fault I have such a sexy boyfriend" you whisper with a mischievous smile.

He chuckles at your comment, lifting his head up to look down at you while still letting his hand gently caress your thigh.“Oh you’re gonna flatter me like this? I might just have to get an even bigger ego…” he grins a little, his hand starting to get closer and closer to your centre.

You kiss him and groan in his mouth feeling the movements of his leg where you needed it. "It’s so beautiful Vini"groan once again.

He kisses you back, his hands going to your waist to grip on it softly. His knee is rubbing up against you still, his body starting to grind down and slightly rub himself against you as well.“Mmm, you like it that much, princesa?” he mutters, the vibrations of his voice sending more pleasure through you.

You moan madly for his Spanish and murmur a little 'yes.'

He moans a bit himself at the sound of your voice, the sound sending even more sensations through him. His knee continues its pace, the friction of him rubbing against you making him want you more. He leans in to your ear and whispers.“Dios mío… te quiero.” say Vinícius.

"Vini please"you have murmured. He growls lowly again, the sound of you begging making him feel even more aroused.

His knee keeps rubbing against you, while his lips go back to attacking your neck, leaving marks all over it. “What do you need, mi vida?“

"I want you inside me, please" you whine, you desperately clung to Vinícius.

He moans when you tell him, his knee slowly slipping away from you. He kisses all over your neck and down to your chest.“You’re begging for me that badly, cariño?“

His hands start caressing your thighs again, slowly spreading them apart for him.

Groan and spread your legs as much as you can. He groans at the sight of you so open and eager for him. His hands go to your waist, holding on to you while he grinds against you slowly, wanting to tease you a bit.

“Mmm… you want it that badly, don’t you, amor?“ he whispers you making you whine.

"Love please don’t tease me" you whine as you raise my hips wanting more.

He smirks, seeing you wriggling around and trying to get more with your hips. His grip on your waist is strong so you don’t move too much.“You’re being impatient again… I thought I said I’ll be making you feel good all night long…” he mutters against your chest, his lips leaving marks on it as one of his hands move down between you.

Groan feeling le sue parole and kiss him. He kissed you back passionately, his tongue exploring your mouth as you feel his hand rub against your entrance slowly. At the same time, his hip grinded against you, letting you feel how hard he’s becoming. “Mmm you drive me crazy, cariño…“

I moan wanting he inside me. "Baby come into me please fill me" you cry.

He grunts when you beg and he can’t take it anymore. He breaks the kiss to look into your eyes.“You’re gonna be the death of me one day…“

Then, you feel him slowly entering you. His grip on your waist tightens as he e tra tutto in te e gemi sentendo il suo grosso cazzo riempirti.

"Always so close to me, child" grunts Vinícius and you whine raising your hips towards him.

In the room you heard only the sound of your skin meeting and your groans and his grunts.

His impulses increased and you were moaning, managing to concentrate only on the pleasure that Vinícius was giving you.

"Vini" you groans scratching his back.

He groans lowly feeling how tight you get around him, and his hands grab on to you more intensely, wanting to hold you as close to him as possible. His lips are on your neck again, leaving more marks on the skin while his hip start pounding in you faster.“Mmm, say my name… say it again…“ he mutters against your ear, his voice is slightly hoarse from how intense his breathing got.

Every time you groaned his name increased the push making you groan louder.

He moans against your ear when he hears his name coming from your lips again and he starts biting and sucking on your neck again, leaving more marks all over it.“Mmm good girl… only say my name from now on, say it loudly and tell me how good I feel…“ he mutters in your ear, as his hip start moving faster and faster.

"It’s so beautiful" you groan, squeezing even more on him.

He grunts at your words, hearing how good he makes you feel was driving him crazy and making him go even faster.“Mmm you’re so tight mi vida…. Do I feel good?”he mutters, his lips are on your neck again, his teeth gently leaving even more love bites.

"Yes, Yes, Yes" You cried when you felt your g-spot hit.

He moans loudly again when you tighten around him even more, his hand grabbing your hip and pulling you closer so he can go even deeper.

“Mmm that’s it… feels good, doesn’t it?” he mutters in your ear, his breathing getting even more intense as he hammered deeper and deeper into you.

You were so taken by the pleasure that you groaned only not being able to say a concrete word. He chuckles at how you’ve become a moaning mess and is now unable to speak after he keeps ramming into you, his grip on your waist gets even tighter, holding you close.

“Mmm you’re so cute like this, amor… all lost in pleasure you can’t even speak" He teased you and you whined.

Two more pushes and you came and you squeezed his cock so hard that he came too.

He chuckles and pecks your lips, as he rolls off of you and lays down next to you. He’s slightly sweaty and his breathing is still a bit heavy from how intense that was. “You’re all mine…”he mutters, as his arms wrap around you and he pulls you close to him, your body pressed snuggly against his.

He burrows his face in the crook of your neck and snuggled against you, smiling blissfully.

You smile nodding and cuddle to him feeling satisfied.He smiles more as you bury yourself in his chest and soon fall asleep.

He looks at you for a moment and can’t help but think how adorable you look when asleep. Then, he pulls the covers up and covers both of you with it, before gently petting your hair. He continues to hold you close to him and soon, he falls asleep as well.

[secriden]

This line. God, this line! It has been eating me up inside for 2 days now, because let's not forget, this line isn't about love, it's about trust. And that has implications that make me want to scream.

It's a direct reference to this moment earlier in the episode:

At the start of this discussion, Style and Fadel still have a kind of playful air about their conversation:

Style: Oh? Not even me? Fadel: You're at 80% at best. I feel like you're hiding something from me in the 20%.

In this exchange, though, there's a sense that Fadel is issuing a challenge, like there's something specific which Style can do to gain Fadel's full trust. And while Style knows there are things he cannot (yet) reveal to Fadel, I think a part of him is determined to be as honest as he can be, which is why he issues a challenge of his own by asking for more specificity:

Style: What do I have to do to gain your complete trust?

Part of this question is a simultaneously inquisitive and deflective - What (and why) do you think I'm hiding (something) from you? - but there's also a moment after Style finishes speaking where he stills and goes quiet that feels... genuine, weighty. Or, as @airenyah has pointed out in her meta on Style in episode 4, the "grounded[ness]" in Style's demeanour is a signal that Style means what he's saying in the moment. Maybe about his own desire to be worthy of Fadel's trust, maybe about how he genuinely does want this relationship to be real in whatever way that matters to Fadel.

I think Fadel sensed that too, because the moment looses all the lightheartedness it had before. Fadel pauses, and then gets a look on his face that just... breaks my heart. There's a sombreness there, like he knows he's going to have to say something that makes him sad. Fadel looks away, and then down, before he seems to steel himself and says:

Fadel: It'll never happen. No matter how much you love someone, I just don't believe that you can completely lay yourself bare in front of them.

Fadel says this like it's fact. Like what he's expressing is something foundational and true and irrefutable. It's not even about his doubt in Style's honesty, because this statement has no qualifiers or conditions put on it to connect it to Style. Rather this is what Fadel fundamentally believes about relationships and trust: he finds the very concept of being fully known and still accepted an impossibility.

Sure, maybe this is because of the falling out (or betrayal or disappearance) associated with the former lover; but I also think it might be because Fadel is acutely aware not only that he's hiding a rather big and dark secret (not to mince words, but: actual literal premeditated murder), but also about what it implies about Fadel. Because being able to kill another human, coldly and clinically and without remorse, takes a certain type of person. Because, yes, Fadel has lived through an absolutely harrowing and traumatising event (his parents' murder), but it's also undeniable that it changed him. Because there's something about Fadel that twisted dark and which he never quite got back. There's an anger, a hurt that colours every moment of his life; that enables him to look a man in the eyes, smile politely, and pull a trigger.

And at this point in their relationship, Fadel's understanding of Style is that he's... well, kind of innocent. Especially in comparison to Fadel and Bison, and even Kant.

Style, who easily reveals facts about his life which Fadel already knows (winning a car tuning competition), making Fadel doubt his own instincts about Style hiding secrets. Style, who also reveals the things Fadel doesn't know, like the tender and secret pain of a mother lost to cancer (which, now that I think about it, Fadel may also know) and his worries about a father who "lost his bearings for a bit" (which he probably doesn't). Style, who tries to comfort Fadel in his own loss by offering a safe space and a sympathetic ear.

Style, who doesn't just see Fadel for his tragedy, but is asking to be given the chance to accept all of Fadel as a person. Style, who not only wants but has the capacity, to be the only person Fadel needs to rely on. Style who, despite the sea of differences between them, understands Fadel on a level that is so very foundational.

I'm going to slightly segue and mention something that may not resonate with everyone, but really hit me in the gut this episode: because I lost my father when I was 16 after he battled cancer for 2 painful years. And this revelation about Style has totally shifted and coloured everything Style has done in a new light for me. Because not only does this totally explain Style's sometimes almost stubbornly childish demeanour (it's common in adults who've had to 'grow up' too early), but also why Style shows seemingly random flashes of insight and maturity when they are most crucial. Notably, Style has this almost instinctive sense of when he needs to back off a sore point with Fadel that I couldn't quite put my finger on until this episode.

I've seen a few jokes about Style's awkward subject change, but I've actually got a friend who I hold very dear to my heart who was one of the only people to give me a sense of normalcy and comfort when my dad was on his last few days and then at his funeral. And part of that was the instinctive way she would know when I needed to just. Not be a grieving daughter for a few minutes. To get a small respite from the overwhelming hopelessness and sense of impending loss. To get a moment to breathe and gather my strength, because knowing I was never going to see my dad again, or hear his voice, or hold his hand was tearing me apart back then. Sometimes she'd talk to me about college drama, sometimes she'd introduce a new kpop video to me, sometimes she'd just ask me what I wanted to eat and take me to go have a meal with her. And sometimes there really just isn't anything else to say other than "I'm sorry." Nothing you say - nothing you can say - is going to ever, ever make this grief go away, and in most cases, it was better when people (especially those who couldn't really understand) didn't try.

And I think if you look at Fadel very closely, there's a moment of genuine surprise (Fadel wasn't expecting the subject change at all) and then... something that looks like fondness mixed with exhausted relief. Because I don't think Fadel was ready to talk about his parents yet. This was honesty he wasn't ready to give Style, mostly prompted because Style himself had willingly been so vulnerable that a part of Fadel wanted to reciprocate. But further down that path lies not only his darkest memories, but also the connection to the part of his life he is not willing to share with Style yet. So this subject change is a relief, it's a blessing, but it's also Style knowing when he shouldn't push any further with Fadel's fragile heart.

Which brings me back to how well the episode's theme of trust (both deserved and undeserved) was woven in this episode. This is true on multiple levels and characters but I'm not even going to attempt to touch Kant in this post because... Lord, that is beyond me at the moment. Someone else needs to do that, pretty please, so I can reblog it and scream.

It starts, somewhat unexpectedly, with Fadel asking for entrance into the intimate spaces of Style's life.

So, this episode was not about Fadel's fear of his own feelings, desires, or even affection for Style - that appears to be fully addressed in episode 4. I think that's why we see Fadel be so physically affectionate and indulgent of Style in this episode. He's come to terms with his lust for Style's body (hence his comfort in initiating sex), he's accepted Style as his boyfriend and so can enjoy Style's playful teasing (still reluctantly, but Fadel is still an introvert even if he's mostly enjoying Style's rambunctious nature), and give into Style's (and Bison's and Kant's) cajoling with relatively little fuss.

He's even comfortable toying with the edges of revealing his darker and more sinister side by reminding Style implicitly about how violent Fadel has the potential to be. Recall that Fadel knows Style knows some of his capacity for violence; he just doesn't know how very thoroughly Style is aware of the full scale of this truth. It does help that Style evidences no actual fear and, in fact, looks positively euphoric. Like, buddy, pal, dearest one... please control yourself.

And yet something very, very telling is the way the show makes it a point to depict Fadel very deliberately getting drunk during the double date. Even before the date has started, Fadel looks to be about half a beer in and we see him constantly drinking, drinking, drinking during the whole date. From the conversation about trust he has with Style while Kant and Bison are being off key and adorable about it, to after Kant leaves and Bison gets worried. And we've seen Fadel cope with emotional and mental distress with alcohol before, so we know that Fadel is internally fighting some kind of very intense battle even as he is also very clearly enjoying moments with Style on this date (most notably when they're dancing by the bowling lanes and when Style asks him to go home with him).

So here's my take: rather than being about love, this is about Fadel fighting to hold onto his own philosophy on relationships and trust. Because as much as I do believe Fadel believes he's telling the truth when he tells Style that 100% trust is "impossible", I think it's clear that's not what he wants.

What he wants is to finish this last job so that the only thing he can't be honest about with Style will finally stop being a factor in his life. What he wants is to fully and completely reciprocate the openness Style seems to be giving Fadel. What he wants is to switch off his brain and let his heart lead for once, to stop fighting a battle he has no desire to win anymore, only he can't. Trust (not love) is Fadel's final frontier, and one which he can't quite give up in spite of himself.

Which is why I think Fadel intentionally gets himself drunk here. Because he wants to let his guard down around Style. He wants to open himself fully, he wants to "lay himself bare" for Style, he wants Style to know the full truth and accept him anyway - and he gets so close, but can't quite get there - because he doesn't know that Style already has.

When Style says this, Fadel thinks it's empty words, not knowing that Style has long passed the bar Fadel thinks is insurmountable. And just like Style was able to offer safety and reassurance to the vulnerability Fadel was showing in episode 4, Style instinctively gets to the core of Fadel's darkest fears again:

Style: One day, I'll be your 100%.

This isn't (just) a promise that Style will wear Fadel's stubbornness down, or that Style will be worthy of Fadel's 100% (which, already, has me in tears, ngl). Beyond that, this is Style promising Fadel isn't ruined for this; that it isn't too late, that whatever hurts and wounds Fadel has can be made whole again. That the kind of honest and all-encompassing and unconditional trust which Fadel says is impossible can, in fact, be his. That Fadel still has the capacity to trust and be trusted the way he so desperately, painfully longs for.

I know a lot of people have said Style in this episode is writing cheques he has no ability to honour, but I think it's more layered than that. Because in a very significant and profound way, Style is wholly deserving of Fadel's trust. Because in all the ways that Fadel has ever known he should want, Style actually IS worthy of his trust. Style knows the truth Fadel is hiding, knows what this man is capable of, knows the danger of being in his arms, knows the likely nonexistent future Fadel has to offer him -- and wants him anyway. Style is a man who would stare into Fadel’s darkness and reach out first. Strip away the complication of Kant being blackmailed and dragging Style into his mission, and Style is literally perfect for Fadel. He is exactly what Fadel wants (and possibly has wanted for a very long time). He is, in fact, exactly what Fadel needs to ever experience anything beyond the shadow of a life he's had so far.

But oh, the cruel narrative means that Style is also, simultaneously, painfully undeserving of Fadel's trust; and this is something Style is very much aware of. I think that's why he's trying so very hard to be worthy in all the other ways he can be. Style's awareness of what Fadel is hiding enables Style to (counterintuitively) be completely honest about his feelings for and about Fadel even as he cannot reveal his motivations. So he gives Fadel as much honesty as he can: offers the vulnerability of his own pain and hurts; the comfort of his true understanding and acceptance.

And just as Fadel's vulnerability in the abandoned factory was met with Style choosing a form of physical connection that prioritised Fadel's pleasure (it's made very clear that Style is jerking Fadel off and that all his focus in that moment was on Fadel, not his own pleasure), so too is this moment met with Style very intentionally choosing to worship Fadel's body with all the tenderness and genuine emotional weight that Style wanted Fadel to have in their first time in the storeroom.

Because, crucially, this was Style giving Fadel the chance to lay himself at least physically bare. This is the closest either of them can get to full honesty with the secrets they both are keeping. It's why Style tries so very hard to show the care and adoration and genuine feelings he has for Fadel. Why he makes sure that the vulnerability of Fadel getting himself as drunk and as relaxed and as trusting as Fadel can allow himself to be is tied only to gentleness and tenderness and pleasure.

Because Style actually knows that Fadel can't (and shouldn't) trust him in the way Fadel truly wishes to.

And as much as I believe that Style genuinely means this from the bottom of his heart, the horrifying full truth is that it is Style that has the metaphorical knife hovering over Fadel's chest. He is the one with the capacity to actually give Fadel a new scar that would truly matter. He is, in fact, the only one Fadel wants to fully trust -- and this, along with Style's compromised heart, makes it so that the circumstances will doom them both.

[happilyhertale]

Stocking Surprise – Modern Daemon Targaryen x fem!reader

Summary: You meet your boyfriend Daemon's family over Christmas. Everything goes well and even Daemon behaves perfectly – until you find out what he has in mind.

Pairing: Modern Daemon Targaryen x fem!reader

Warnings: Smut, Fingering, Sex (p in v)

Author’s note:

English is my second language, please forgive me if I made any mistakes (:

Word count: 1.5 k

Other stories of mine

12 Days of Smuffmas

12 Days of Smuff

The sprawling Targaryen estate gleams under a blanket of freshly fallen snow. Strings of golden lights wind around the ancient trees, casting a warm glow that illuminated the path to the grand manor. Inside, the atmosphere is lively but cozy, filled with laughter, music, and the faint scent of pine and cinnamon.

Daemon is a vision tonight in a charcoal-gray cashmere sweater, his silvery-white hair perfectly tousled. You’d spent the evening meeting his extended family—most of whom exuded the same enigmatic charisma as Daemon, albeit in varying degrees. There is Rhaenyra, who commanded the room with her sharp wit, and Viserys, whose laughter can warm even the frostiest soul. The children are a chaotic joy, zipping through the halls with sugar-fueled energy.

Daemon had been charming all evening, but there was a spark of mischief in his violet eyes that had you on high alert. He’d been uncharacteristically well-behaved around the children, but you know better than to trust his sudden bout of restraint.

As the evening draws to a close, the family begins to retreat to their respective wings. The halls quiet, save for the occasional creak of the old house settling. You decide to slip away to your room for some much-needed solitude. That’s when you notice Daemon sneaking down the hall, a bundle tucked under his arm.

Curiosity gets the better of you, and you follow him on tiptoes, careful not to make a sound. He stops in front of the grand fireplace in the main hall, where the stockings hang in neat rows. Each bears a name embroidered in elegant silver thread. Yours is the newest addition, it‘s dark red velvet standing out against the others.

Daemon crouches before your stocking, grinning like a cat with a canary in its claws. You stifle a laugh as he carefully slips a small, neatly wrapped package into the stocking. But it is what he adds next that makes your eyes widen.

A lacy, vibrant red pair of underwear with a tag that read remote-controlled dangles precariously from his fingers. Your jaw nearly hits the floor.

“Daemon!” you hiss, stepping into the glow of the fireplace.

He looks up, utterly unrepentant. “Caught me, did you?” His grin widens, and he hold the underwear aloft, letting it dangle teasingly.

“You’re insane!” you whisper, glancing around to make sure no one else was awake. “There are children here!”

Daemon chuckles, his voice low and rich. “And you think they’re sneaking into your stocking? Sweetheart, this is strictly for you.” He steps closer, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “And for me, naturally.”

Flustered, you try to snatch the offending garment from his hands, but he is quicker, holding it high above your head. “Daemon, I can’t—what if someone sees?”

“Then don’t leave it lying around.” He winks. “Problem solved.”

Despite your protests, you feel your cheeks heating as he hands you the small package and the underwear. “Here,” he says, his tone playful but firm. “Unwrap it in your room. I’ll be up shortly to… supervise.”

Your heart pounds as you scurry back to your room, clutching the items like contraband. Once inside, you can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. True to his word, Daemon appears minutes later, leaning casually against the doorframe, holding the tiny remote between his fingers.

“Go on, show me,” he says, his voice a low purr.

You hold up the underwear, glaring at him half-heartedly. “You’re impossible.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” he quips. “Now, put them on.”

Your protest is meet with a raised brow, daring you to refuse. Eventually, you relent, stepping into the bathroom to change. When you emerge, his eyes rake over you with an intensity that makes your breath hitch.

“Perfect,” he murmurs, holding up the remote. Before you can say anything, you feel a sudden, faint vibration. Your gasp makes him grin like the devil himself.

“Daemon!” you squeake, clutching at the waistband.

“Shhh,” he says, placing a finger to his lips. “Wouldn’t want to wake the children,” he murmurs teasingly.

The vibrations intensified briefly, and you grab onto the edge of the bed for balance. Daemon crosses the room leisurely, every movement deliberate. “You’re blushing,” he observes, clearly delighted.

“You’re an idiot,” you manage to say, though your voice was shaky.

He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear. “And you’re enjoying this more than you’d admit.”

You stare at him, caught somewhere between exasperation and anticipation.

“Daemon...“, you begin, but whimper as he turns up the vibration.

Daemon just grins, watching you,

“Oh, you're getting off without me? That's not fair...“ Daemon feigns poutiness.

“Shut up,” you gasp as you try to press your thighs together.

Your eyes close and you try to minimize the vibration by squeezing your thighs together.

Daemon's hand pushes you further onto the bed and you follow his movement, crawling up and positioning yourself on all fours for him. The vibration makes your abdomen tremble and you feel yourself soaking your panties more and more. You press your face lightly into the pillow and feel Daemon come onto the bed, pushing your legs slightly apart as he kneels between your legs.

Daemon slowly approaches you, enjoying the way your fingers dig into the sheet. When he is standing behind you, he puts his hand on your bottom, grasping lightly, while the vibration does not subside.

You let out a small moan as you feel his touch and Daemon's grin doesn't leave his face.

“See, you're enjoying this,” he murmurs and you whimper again.

“Shut up,” you gasp again, but press your ass harder against his hand.

He turns up the vibration and your constant whimpers echo louder through the room.

His fingers glide gently over the vibrating fabric, feeling how wet you already are.

“Oh Love... look at you, so wet... you want more, don't you? Do you want me to stretch that tight cunt?“ he murmurs and you whimper. But before you can answer, he slaps the flat of his hand on your ass.

You moan slightly, pushing your face further into the pillow.

“I knew it,” he mutters. For a brief moment, you hear nothing, until you hear his belt unfasten slowly. The sound alone makes you drip even more. Daemon sets the remote control aside as he pulls down his trousers. His length is already hard, twitching impatiently as his hand encircles it, gripping it lightly and sliding up and down.  

He watches how your bottom is pushed up, how the fabric of your panties becomes more and more soaked. He growls slightly, pumping his hardness faster, before his other hand pushes your panties slightly to the side. His fingers glide through your slit, rubbing the wetness along your folds.

“Fuck...”, he just grunts and you can literally feel his cock twitching.

You push your bottom further towards him as he lets the tip of his cock slide through your folds. Occasional grunts and gasps leave his lips before he slowly penetrates you.

You squeeze your eyes shut. No matter how many times he has fucked your pussy raw, this feeling will never get dull. The way your walls stretch around his length. The way he slides deeper and deeper, making your pussy clench.

“Daemon,” you whimper into the pillow, and he grunts, grabs your hips and pushes all the way inside you.

Long strokes hitting so deep into you, making you see stars. Daemon is gripping your hips, fucking into your tight pussy. His balls slap against your clit with every thrust, intensifying the vibration of your panties.

Your fingers dig into the sheets beneath you as Daemon pushes deeper inside you. You cry out into the pillow and Daemon growls. The panties are still vibrating, teasing your clit as Daemon thrusts into you faster.

His cock kisses your cervix, making your body tremble. His hands grasp your buttocks, pull them apart as he watches his cock slide into you, covered in your juices.

At that moment, Daemon feels his balls tighten as he nears his climax.

He grabs your hips tighter and angles them differently to thrust deeper into you. You cry out, feeling your walls clench around him. The pressure in your abdomen increases and you moan out. He groans behind you, thrusting harder as your noises grow more desperate.

And suddenly you come. You scream and Daemon grunts loudly. Your walls milk him, and pull him deeper inside, want his juice – and Daemon gives in.

He growls as his hips stutter. He thrusts deep inside you, his hot seed spills deeper into your clenching pussy with each thrust.

You whimper as he slows down, letting his orgasm subside. Slowly, he pulls his length out of you, breathing heavily. For a moment, he just kneels behind you, his hands on your hips.

His hand gently glides over your bottom before he reaches for the remote and turns off the vibration. Your eyes are closed, but you feel him fall down next to you on the mattress.

You turn your face to him, watching him as he tries to catch his breath with his eyes closed. You smile slightly before cuddling up to him a little and kissing his cheek.

“Thank you for the gift,” you whisper, making him chuckle before he pulls you close.

[minyard-05]

thinking about nicky and erik back home in germany and it's christmas and this year it just didn't work out– they didn't try and plan travelling until it was too late, nobody's schedules worked out quite right, so this is the first christmas nicky spends in germany without the twins. and it's fine, really, it is, nicky knows where they are, andrew and neil have settled into their apartment in colorado, just adopted their second cat, aaron and katelyn are in chicago, their residences have just started, last time katelyn texted she said she was thinking about getting aaron a dog and nicky made her promise to get a pug. it's a quieter Christmas to ones nicky might be used to, but it's all fine, really, it is. but he's got this weird nagging feeling at the back of his mind, his 'mom instinct', erik jokes, and nicky laughs but he really can't shake it. a call to andrew goes unanswered with a text a few hours later "at practice." neil texts just after "did you need something?"

aaron picks up, but it only lasts five minutes. he's driving, because they called him in for night shift again, on christmas, nicky complains, and aaron maybe even laughs down the line but it's still a thousand miles away. "they're sick, nicky, they can't help it."

"alright, doctor man, go save the world or whatever."

aaron laughs again, and says merry christmas before he hangs up. nicky drops the phone in his lap and sighs. erik puts a mug of hot chocolate in his hands and kisses his head, and nicky remembers he meant to send more of the german stuff from the market to andrew, knowing he's probably grown up by now.

"something on your mind?" erik asks, shifting so that nicky can sit sideways against him. he settles his hands into nicky's hair, combing through curls and tangles, and nicky sighs, not sure he could put it into words if he tried.

"it's just so quiet, you know?"

erik nods, reaching for the remote. he flicks on the tv but nicky barely notices, too caught up in his thoughts.

"i mean there's stuff i don't miss. when they wouldn't talk to each other for weeks wouldn't even stay in the same room as each other. i don't miss aaron trying to get as far away as he could from us, or andrew's meds, or when they couldn't communicate outside of therapy. it's just–"

"you miss when they were only a door down."

nicky nods, and he can feel tears pricking at his eyes now. he never cried over the twins when they were anywhere to see, knowing they'd only hate it, but erik knew him better than that by now. erik had listened to nicky break down over both trials he'd been brought in to testify in, had stayed on the phone for hours when aaron was in holding, when andrew was in easthaven, even flown all the way from germany when nicky himself was in hospital. erik had listened and erik had reassured and nicky was certain he didn't deserve him by now, but he twisted his ring around his finger and let erik press another kiss to his forehead.

the volume turns up, and nicky finally looks up at the screen. it's an exy match. nicky frowns– erik has never been much of a sports person, but then he catches half a familiar name on the commentary.

"–Minyard's recent transfer has definitely turned this team around since the start of the season. We're looking forward to seeing a lot more from the Chicago Kings this year."

nicky laughs, because it's like it's been years since he's seen andrew walk out onto the court, helmet under his arm, to crowds of screaming fans dressed in white and blue, and nicky laughs and he's really crying now, but it's like andrew can see him through the camera, because he pulls his helmet on and sends a two-fingered salute to the crowd. nicky lets erik pull him close and wipe tears away from his eyes.

"i'm so proud of them."

"you should be."

[profoundbondfanfic]

Happy Holiday season from all the members at @profoundbondfanfic!

-Part 1 of 5-

Christmas Spirit by MalicMalic (Explicit, 3k words)

It's the afterlife and Dean can finally have everything he wants.

Hanukkahn't Resist You by almaasi (General audiences, 2k words)

Dean made a Hanukkah greeting card for Cas, his fellow teacher and major crush. The card is also a pun. And also a pick-up line. And also maybe a mistake.

Hot Snow Angel by DoctorProfessorSong (Explicit, 23k words)

So you know that absolutely unhinged Netflix holiday movie featuring Lacey Chabert and a sentient snowman played by the actor who was Corbett in Ghostfacers? I saw the preview and immediately said: Dean Winchester would be a snowman fucker. A Destiel Christmas rom com. Come for the crack, stay for the feels.

Sugar Cookies and Mistletoe Kisses by Briston, Whitster_lizzy (Teen and Up, 10k words)

A little too much tequila at a Christmas party leaves Dean with a foggy memory. No one will tell him what happened and Cas can barely look him in the eye. Can Dean salvage their friendship before it's too late?

The Bad Santa Clause by Castielslostwings, jscribbles, MalMuses, pingnova, sobsicles (Explicit, 74k words)

A quiet pre-Christmas hunt goes horribly wrong for the Winchesters, Castiel, and Jack when Dean accidentally murders Santa Claus. Ho ho ho, bitches. A seasonal canon collab loosely based on The Santa Clause.

The Christmas Angel by FriendofCarlotta (Teen and Up, 7k words)

One lonely Christmas, Dean picks up an ornament: a small angel that reminds him of his mother. Over the years, the ornament becomes a fixture of his life, keeping him company through many difficult years. For Castiel, the ornament takes on its own meaning - a reminder of the sort of life he wants and can never have. Will the Christmas angel ever get a chance to take its rightful place at the top of a family tree?

The Morning After by Dancingdog (Explicit, 67k words)

'Twas the morning after Christmas and to Dean's surprise, He'd slept with a vampire, with mortified blue eyes...

The Waiter and the Businessman by followyourenergy (General Audiences, 4k words)

Dean Winchester, CEO, frequents the diner on the corner of Main and South for lots of reasons: pie, the jukebox that plays 80s music, and Castiel, the sweet, handsome waiter who always has time for Dean. When he sees Castiel unexpectedly on Christmas Day, he learns more about the quiet man… and receives two precious gifts that money could never buy.

[arabella0001]

can somebody stop my obsession with him

Sasuke Uchiha’s quiet ways to show he cares

Sasuke Uchiha, who doesn’t say “I love you” often, but presses his forehead to yours in rare, quiet moments—his silence speaking louder than words ever could.

Sasuke Uchiha, who calls you annoying but looks for you the second you’re gone too long.

Sasuke Uchiha, who stands in front of you during fights—not because you need protection, but because he refuses to let anything touch you.

Sasuke Uchiha, who tells you not to rely on him, but always ends up being there first when things go wrong.

Sasuke Uchiha, who scoffs when you get hurt, muttering about carelessness—while his hands are already bandaging the wound, slower than necessary, his voice drops to a whisper, and your name sounds almost fragile on his lips.

Sasuke Uchiha, who doesn’t laugh at your jokes but smirks faintly when you’re not looking.

Sasuke Uchiha, who looks unimpressed when you’re angry, but the faintest smirk betrays the fact that he thinks you’re cute when you’re frustrated.

Sasuke Uchiha, who rarely compliments you, but you catch him staring like you’re the only thing worth looking at.

Sasuke Uchiha, who always says, “I’ll be fine,” but looks at you a little too long before leaving for missions—as if memorizing the way you look before he goes.

Sasuke Uchiha, who lets you vent without interruption, arms crossed as he leans against a tree. later, without explanation, you notice he’s already taken care of what was bothering you.

Sasuke Uchiha, who criticizes your form during training, but his hands ghost over yours, adjusting your grip without a word.

Sasuke Uchiha, who rolls his eyes when you complain about being tired, but slows his pace without saying a word.

naruto one

kakashi one

[impishjesters]

Quiet morning together - Jax x Reader

CW(s): suggestive talk, indirect implications towards the two of you being nude but left up to your decision, same goes for any hanky panky the night before, soft fluff A/N: I want to write so many things after these latest episodes but nothing has sparked in my mind and I'm sad... so have this random soft moment together that I've forced myself to write to try and get the creative juices flowing. (I haven't written in so long, I'm so rusty...)

Neither of you has ever been a morning person but unlike a certain someone. You can push through it and get yourself out of bed in a timely fashion.

Except today.

Today is one of those days… Jax’s arms wrapped snugly around you, barely giving you an ounce of space to yourself as his long leg is draped over yours, keeping you trapped in bed. The soft fur from his face tickled your neck as he nuzzled closer, burying his face into the junction of your neck and shoulder. One of his ears flopped over your face like an eye mask.

You don’t have the energy to say anything, nor do you make any attempts to move even if your arm is falling asleep under his lithe form laying on it. This scene has happened enough times for you to know that Jax is awake and doing this on purpose to keep you in bed with him—luckily for him, you have nowhere to be today and no rush to get out of bed.

Despite the tingling in your arm that he’s lying on, you raise your hand far enough to brush your fingers over the nape of his neck. The warmth of his soft fur radiating against your fingertips, it’s something you still don’t understand but you’ve learned not to question it by this point.

A quiet purr makes its way out of Jax as you run your fingers through his fur, your fingers knowing just where to scratch to relax him. And of course, in good Jax fashion, he can’t let you get the one up on him. Jax tightens his hold around your body, pulling you impossibly close like he’s trying to fuse the two of you, and presses the weight of his body halfway onto you.

You let out a quiet grunt at his weight and tangled your fingers in the fur of his nape, giving a brief tug. “Jax…” There’s no venom to your words if anything, his name is just a sigh on your lips and Jax greedily soaks up his name from your mouth.

Jax mumbles your name in response, a soft breathy yawn leaving him right after as he affectionately nuzzles his forehead close to your ear. The leg draped over yours shifts, his calf and ankle hooking around your legs to pull them closer and tangle between his legs.

“How long do you plan on keeping us in bed, cottontail?” You can feel where Jax’s nose would be scrunched up against your skin. Despite his protests of the nickname you can’t help but feel he’s come to like it—at least from you.

The lithe rabbit man lets out a pathetic, dramatic whine right into your ear before responding. “C’mon… who cares if we waste the whole day here? Oh right,” he pauses and feigns a panicked tone. “We’ll miss work! Can’t have a cut in our paycheck, how will we ever survive?!”

Even if he can’t see it, you roll your eyes and pinch his ear. A soft yelp leaves him as he brushes your hand away from his ear and finally looks at you with his usual shit-eating grin. “Oh, right. We don’t need that here.”

His tone is soft and playful, but you can hear the underlying sadness in his voice. You reach up with your free hand and pet the fur on his face in different directions, letting you see his full, unobstructed face—shit-eating grin and all.

Jax lets out a soft hum, accompanied by a faint purr as you brush his fur in place. “Look at that, personal grooming and I didn’t even have to request it.”

His tone was smug as you finished grooming his face, your hand lingered on his cheek as a grin made its way to your lips. “You know most animals only let others that they are close to or trust a lot to groom them.” Jax goes stiff in your hold, refusing you meet your eyes. “So it’s good to know this little bunny trusts me so much to groom him.”

He lets out a soft snort and shoves his face into your chest, rubbing his face left and right as you laugh, chest rising and falling as he tries to undo all your hard work.

“Hey! Now I have to do that all over again, brat.”

You push his head away and manage to slip your arm out from under him, using both hands to keep his head still as you redo all of that hard work brushing his fur neatly.

“Oh, boo hoo.” He says sarcastically, though this time he doesn’t try to stop or impede on your mission of fixing his fur.

At some point the two of you shifted, your hands brushing through the fur of his face to working on the rest of his head and down to his neck and upper chest, taking care of any miraculous tangles that formed through the night. Jax now lies on his side, head propped up with his hand as he stares at you focusing so intently on the fur of his chest. Several dirty jokes bounced around his head but he kept his mouth shut—for once—and simply relaxed under your touch.

Your legs were still tangled with his as you moved alongside him to lay on your side, the blanket slipping down to your hips as you worked. His hand eventually found a home on your hip, keeping the blanket from slipping further but also keeping you in place close to him.

“Any lower and that’s gonna be a whole new “waking up”, toots.”

You don’t have to look at him to know he’s got that smug grin on his face and give the fur on his chest a sudden sharp tug. He hisses and reaches a hand up to pull yours from his chest and holds it. “Ouch, not so rough in the morning.”

“That’s not what you’ve said before.” You grumble softly, already tired of his shenanigans and the two of you haven’t even gotten out of bed.

Jax lets out a musical hum in response as he pulls the two of you closer and guides your head to his rest on his chest. “Touché.”

The two of you lay like that for god knows how long, simply basking in the artificial warmth of one another, your head slowly bobbing against his chest with every unnecessary breath.

[astral-aromance]

Grandchildren

Imagine being Nerdanel, sure that your family is lost to you forever. You're completely alone. Even after over 6000 years, your bed still feels empty without your husband there. There's no noise in the kitchen where the brothers are fighting over the last apple, despite all of them knowing there's a whole apple tree right outside the window. No smoke coming from the smithy, no papers with blue prints and miracles scattered around. No dog hair clogging up the drain. No music at 3 am. Nothing.

But then, one day, this Elf shows up at your door. He's shorter than usual, and he looks older than you have ever seen an elf look. He says, "I'm your grandson," and suddenly, you are not completely alone anymore. Elrond is nice, you like him. The music room gets used again, even if only a little. It brings you joy.

A few decades go by, and a Raven brings you a summon from Mandos. You except Tyelpë is finally coming home to you, but instead, it's an elf you have NEVER met before. Tall, stoic, and dark-haired, Nolofinwëan in all ways, but his eyes are unmistakably those of your husband. Those of your eldest son. He is just as surprised to see you there, as is Anairë, but you work it out. Turns out Ereinion and Elrond always thought of one another as brothers, now they actually are. One morning, you go downstairs for tea, and you hear the King yell at the Lord about stealing his strawberries off his plate.

Elrond goes to the havens to meet his sons. Surprisingly, the Seagull carried a summon for you as well. Two identical faces greet you, and your heart stings with old grief. You turn to leave, but spot something unusual. Another Peredhil, shy and distancing himself from the others. He looks like Elrond in hair and build, but... Elrond didn't have any other children, did he? One of the twins tugs on his arm and tries to pull him into the crowd, and the newcomer scowls at him. His face turns bright red. Soon after, you find detailed descriptions of Finarfin's failure as a king when it comes to finances on your coffee table.

Tyelpë returns too, turns out he knew all of them, and they get along great. Maybe a little too well, because they start shutting you out. They stop talking when you walk into the room. They hastily hide documents beneath their robes when you pass them. You don't know what they're up to, but at least your house isn't silent anymore, and the forge burns again.

You realise that they are indeed of your house when it comes to stubborn determination when on a quiet Tuesday afternoon 8 Ravens show up to your house with summons, and none of the grandchildren seem surprised.

You are happy as you step out the front door toward Mandos, carrying a basket with 8 sets of robes, a blanket, cups, some bread, some cheese, and a very strong bottle of wine.