#handful of people in my life with the same name

[sonarspace]

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆STUDY BREAK (FT. GOJO)

꒰ synopsis. being in the same class as gojo satoru was bad enough; having him as the professor’s insufferably smug assistant made it worse. content. college au. nsfw. (teasing. slight praise kınk. fıngering. oräl. p in v. multiple ōrgasms.) wc. 5.3k. an. to clear up any confusion 😭.. satoru’s a senior student + the professor’s assistant in the course you’re both taking. (fic is kinda all over the place so idk if this works but let’s pretend like it does).

there’s something about gojo satoru that drives you insane. not in the fun, heart-fluttering way that comes with a secret crush or the thrill of banter. no—this is the kind of insane where you want to hurl something, preferably at his stupidly smug face.

“class,” he drawls, leaning lazily against the desk at the front of the room, his shirt slightly rumpled like he doesn’t give a damn—and he doesn’t. “these papers? a mixed bag. some of you really impressed me. others… well.” his lips curve into a smirk. “let’s just say the recycling bin was hungry.”

you groan inwardly, already sensing where this is going. he’s done this before, holding your work hostage like it’s part of his routine entertainment.

“and here,” he continues, brandishing a paper like a prop. your paper. “is a prime example of someone… almost getting there. strong ideas, decent execution, but the conclusion? oof. fell harder than my GPA sophomore year.”

a few students laugh. your jaw tightens, the heat in your chest bubbling up into something sharp and biting. he doesn’t have to name you; everyone knows exactly whose paper he’s waving around.

“anyway,” he finishes with a shrug, tossing the paper onto the desk like it’s disposable. “there’s potential. keep at it.”

you don’t even wait for class to end before your resolve solidifies: you’re going to kill him. maybe not literally, but metaphorically? absolutely.

you don’t plan on storming to his dorm room. it just… happens. one moment, you’re replaying his smug grin and the way his eyes gleamed when he mocked your paper, and the next, you’re standing outside his door, your fist raised to knock.

he answers quickly, and the sight of him makes you falter. his hair is damp, sticking out in soft tufts like he just got out of the shower, and his plain white t-shirt clings to him in a way that’s almost—no. you shake the thought away.

“well, this is unexpected,” he says, leaning against the doorframe with a grin that’s all teeth. “if you wanted private tutoring, you could’ve just asked.”

“don’t flatter yourself,” you snap, brushing past him into the room without waiting for an invitation.

he whistles low under his breath. “feisty tonight. to what do I owe the pleasure?”

you spin to face him, your hands clenched at your sides. “what is your problem with me?”

he blinks, his smirk faltering for a fraction of a second before returning full force. “problem? sweetheart, i don’t have a problem with you.”

“you humiliate me in class,” you say, your voice rising. “you make these comments, you single me out—what, are you that bored with your life?”

“humiliate?” he echoes, feigning a wounded look. “i think you mean ‘motivate.’ you’re one of the smartest people in that class. if i don’t push you, who will?”

“that’s bullshit,” you fire back, stepping closer. “you don’t ‘push’ anyone else.”

“because no one else is as fun,” he replies easily, his grin tilting into something sharper. “the way you react, the fire in your eyes—it’s addictive.”

your breath catches, the heat in your chest spreading to your cheeks. “you’re insufferable.”

“and yet, here you are,” he says, his voice dropping just enough to make the air between you feel heavier. “in my room. alone.”

“because you drive me crazy,” you snap, the words tumbling out before you can stop them.

his eyebrows lift slightly, as if he’s genuinely intrigued by your outburst. “good crazy or bad crazy?”

he takes a step closer, too close. the kind of close that makes your pulse stutter and your instincts scream at you to step back—but you don’t. instead, you stand your ground, your jaw clenched as he waits for your answer, his gaze steady and almost daring.

“what does it matter?” you mutter, your voice quieter now, the heat of your earlier anger ebbing into something more uncertain.

“it matters,” he says, his voice low as his eyes flicker to your lips. “because I need to know if I can do this.”

before you can ask what he means, he leans in, his lips brushing against yours like he’s giving you the chance to pull away. but you don’t. his hand finds your waist, tugging you closer as the kiss deepens, his mouth hot and insistent against yours.

it’s like a dam breaking. weeks—months—of tension and unspoken words all come crashing down in a rush of heat and urgency. his other hand slides into your hair, tilting your head to kiss you deeper, and the sound you make in response is embarrassing and needy, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

you should stop this. you should push him away, tell him he’s crossed a line. but the way his thumb brushes against your waist, the way he tilts his head just right, the way he kisses like he’s been waiting for this moment as long as you have—it’s addictive. you can’t stop. you don’t want to.

but then reality slams into you like a cold gust of wind. what are you doing? your chest tightens as the weight of it crashes down all at once, the heat between you dissolving into something sharper, more terrifying.

you pull back abruptly, your breathing uneven. “i can’t.”

he blinks, his expression softening from one of heat to confusion. “what?”

“this—this is a mistake,” you stammer, backing away. your hands feel clumsy as they fumble behind you for the door. “i shouldn’t have come here.”

“wait.” his hand reaches out, almost instinctively, but you’re already opening the door, your chest tight and your mind racing as you step out into the hall. you don’t look back, even as the warmth of his touch lingers on your skin.

────

you avoid him after that. in class, you sit as far from him as possible, claiming a seat in the back corner, close to the door. the usual tension he brought to the room—his teasing remarks, his piercing gaze when he caught you rolling your eyes—feels conspicuously absent. he doesn’t call on you, doesn’t glance your way, doesn’t even acknowledge you.

it’s been weeks since that night in his dorm, and as the semester nears its end, the distance feels heavier with every passing class. his silence, once the thing you desperately wanted, now presses on your chest like a weight. you wonder if he regrets it, if he’s just as caught in the what-ifs as you are—or if he’s already forgotten.

the final project looms, deadlines creeping closer, but the distraction isn’t enough to stop the quiet ache that’s settled in your chest. you remind yourself it’s for the best. boundaries were crossed, a line you know you shouldn’t have stepped over. it doesn’t matter how he made you feel, how his kisses left you breathless and yearning. none of it matters.

and yet, every time you leave class, you rush, head down, praying he won’t stop you. and every time he doesn’t, the ache grows.

when class ends today, the air feels heavier than usual. your peers chatter around you, their voices blending into background noise as you pack your things quickly, eyes fixed on the door. if you can just slip out unnoticed, avoid another day of walking the tightrope you’ve been balancing on since that night—

but then a hand wraps gently around your wrist, warm and familiar.

“you’re avoiding me,” he says, his voice low and steady. there’s no edge to it, no teasing grin or smug undertone. just quiet certainty, like he’s stating a fact.

you freeze, your heart thudding in your chest. it’s been so long since he’s said anything to you that the sound of his voice directed at you feels foreign.

“i’m late,” you mumble, tugging your wrist weakly in an attempt to free yourself. “let me go.”

“you don’t have any classes after this,” he says, his grip loosening but not letting go. his eyes meet yours, calm but resolute. “i checked your schedule.”

your jaw tightens, irritation flashing through you. “you shouldn’t have access to my schedule.”

“probably not,” he admits with a shrug, a hint of the old satoru creeping into his voice, “but i’m me.”

you open your mouth to snap at him, to tell him to back off, but he cuts you off first. “come have coffee with me.”

you blink, caught off guard by the casual offer. “what?”

“coffee,” he repeats, his tone light, as if this is perfectly normal. “you like coffee, don’t you?”

“that’s not the point,” you snap, yanking your wrist free from his grasp. “what is this, some weird apology?”

“it’s not weird,” he says, his smirk faltering slightly now, his expression open and strangely earnest. “it’s just coffee. with me.”

you stare at him, struggling to find the right words. “gojo,” you begin, your voice heavy, “you and i are not friends.”

his face falls, the shift so quick and unexpected that it makes your stomach twist. you see the way his shoulders tense, the way his gaze drops for just a moment, but you force yourself to look away. without giving him a chance to reply, you turn and push past him, your steps quick and unsteady as you leave the classroom.

the ache in your chest grows with every step, and even as you round the corner, out of sight, the image of his expression lingers. there’s no relief this time. only guilt.

────

you don’t know why you’re here. no, that’s a lie—you know exactly why you’re here. the memory of his expression, the slight drop of his shoulders at your retort, has been looping in your mind, making it impossible to focus on anything else.

your feet carry you down the familiar path to his dorm, the ache in your chest twisting tighter with every step. before you can talk yourself out of it, your fist is already knocking on the door.

it opens almost immediately, and the sight of him steals the breath from your lungs. his white hair is a mess, sticking up in chaotic directions, and his glasses are perched crookedly on his nose. there’s a faint crease on his cheek, like he’d been leaning against a book, and his shirt hangs loosely off one shoulder, rumpled from sleep or hours spent working. he looks… soft. disarming. almost painfully cute.

“coffee,” you say, holding up the cups like a white flag. “can i come in?”

his lips twitch, a hint of a smile breaking through the haze of surprise as he steps aside. “bribery, huh? didn’t think you had it in you.”

his dorm is as cluttered as you remember—papers and notebooks sprawled across his desk, a blinking laptop shoved precariously to one side. you set the coffee down on the edge of the desk, your gaze catching on the scrawled notes and dense blocks of text.

“grading?” you ask.

“research,” he replies, dropping onto the edge of his bed with a tired sigh. his hand rakes through his already-messy hair, making it stick up even more. “finals prep. you know, glamorous TA things.”

you hand him a cup, your fingers brushing against his as he takes it. the simple contact sends a jolt up your arm that you stubbornly ignore. “thought you could use it.”

he hums as he takes a sip, his lashes fluttering briefly before he lets out a quiet sound of approval. the noise is so low, so soft, it makes your stomach twist. you glance away quickly, your grip tightening on your own cup.

“about the other day,” you start, the words quiet and tentative.

he glances up, the coffee still in his hands. his expression is unreadable, but his fingers still against the cup, like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. “you don’t have to explain,” he says, setting his cup down on the desk. “if you don’t want this—if i got it wrong—just say so.”

“it’s not that,” you blurt, the words tumbling out too fast, too raw. warmth floods your cheeks, creeping down to your chest. “i just… i don’t know what this is.”

he doesn’t respond immediately, doesn’t fall into his usual teasing deflection. instead, he stands, crossing the small space between you with deliberate steps. his gaze holds yours, steady and unguarded, and it makes your stomach flip in a way you can’t control.

“let me show you,” he says softly, his voice low, uncharacteristically serious.

he’s so close now, his hand brushing against yours, his touch light, almost hesitant. and then his lips are on yours, and everything else fades away.

this kiss is nothing like the first. there’s no uncertainty, no restraint. his hands find your waist, pulling you flush against him as his mouth moves against yours, hot and insistent. your grip on the coffee slips, the cup hitting the floor with a dull thud as your hands find his shoulders, clutching at the fabric of his shirt.

when his hands slide under your shirt, the roughness of his palms against your bare skin makes you shudder. he guides you backward, his body pressing into yours until the backs of your knees hit the mattress. you sink down, the weight of him grounding you as he follows, his lips trailing fire along your jaw and down your neck.

his hands are everywhere—tracing the curve of your waist, brushing the underside of your ribs, exploring like he’s memorizing every inch of you. when he pulls back to look at you, his lips are curved in a wicked, breath-stealing grin.

“you’re infuriating,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough as his eyes rake over you, drinking in every detail.

“you’re worse,” you manage, though your voice is barely more than a whisper.

his grin widens, and his laugh is warm against your skin as he dips his head, his teeth grazing the sensitive spot just below your ear. “you’re already so worked up. it’s cute.”

“shut up,” you snap, though the way your hips arch into his touch betrays you.

“make me,” he challenges, his lips brushing against yours before descending lower, kissing down your collarbone and tugging your shirt higher with every inch. his hands roam greedily, tugging the fabric over your head and tossing it somewhere behind him without a second thought.

his mouth is back on you immediately, nipping and kissing along the swell of your breasts as his hands work the clasp of your bra. when it comes free, his lips part in a satisfied hum, his hands kneading your soft skin like he’s savoring every second of this.

“so fucking perfect,” he mutters, his voice husky as he leans back slightly to take in the sight of you. his gaze is heavy, filled with something dark and hungry that makes your stomach twist in the best way.

“stop staring,” you grumble, though the heat in your cheeks betrays the sharpness of your words.

“can’t help it,” he says, his grin tilting into something softer, more genuine. “you’re gorgeous.”

before you can respond, his mouth is back on you, his tongue flicking over your nipple as his other hand trails down your stomach, fingers dipping just beneath the waistband of your pants. your breath hitches as he pauses, his gaze flicking up to meet yours.

“can i?” he asks, his voice quieter now, his expression serious.

you nod, and he wastes no time. his fingers hook under the fabric, tugging your pants and underwear down in one swift motion. the cool air against your bare skin makes you shiver, but the warmth of his hands is there immediately, coaxing you to relax under his touch.

“look at you,” he murmurs, his voice low and thick as his hands part your thighs, his gaze drinking in every inch of you. “so fucking pretty.”

your cheeks flush, and you try to turn your head away, but his hand cups your chin, gently coaxing you to meet his eyes. “don’t hide from me,” he says, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “not tonight.”

his other hand slides between your thighs, his touch featherlight at first, teasing. when his thumb brushes over your clit, a jolt of heat shoots through you, and your hips buck involuntarily.

“sensitive,” he murmurs, his lips curving into a wicked grin. “i barely touched you, and you’re already squirming.”

“shut up,” you snap, your voice shaky as your fingers clutch at the sheets beneath you. but the way your body reacts—arching into his touch, chasing the pressure—makes it clear that his teasing isn’t far from the truth.

“you don’t really want me to, do you?” his voice is low, almost a growl, and the sound of it sends a shiver down your spine. “i think you like when i talk to you like this. when i tell you how good you’re doing, how fucking beautiful you look right now.”

your chest heaves as his fingers dip lower, sliding through your slick folds with infuriating slowness. every movement feels deliberate, calculated, like he’s savoring every second. when his fingers finally slip inside you, the stretch makes your head fall back, a gasp tumbling from your lips.

“that’s it,” he murmurs, his thumb circling your clit as his fingers begin to move, slow and deliberate at first. “you feel so fucking good, baby. so perfect.”

your hands fly to his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as he curls his fingers, hitting a spot that makes your vision blur. “oh my god—gojo—”

he tuts sharply, his fingers pausing inside you, his thumb stalling its maddening rhythm. your head snaps up, breathless and confused, to find him staring down at you with a dark look, his lips curving into a smirk that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“no,” he says firmly, his voice low and commanding as he tilts his head. “say satoru.”

“w-what?” you stammer, your heart racing as his fingers remain perfectly still, the tension building with every passing second.

“not ‘gojo,’” he says again, his free hand sliding up to cup your jaw, tilting your face toward his. his thumb brushes over your bottom lip, his grin sharpening. “say satoru.”

you hesitate, your breath hitching as your body trembles beneath him. he presses his fingers deeper, curling them just enough to make your toes curl, and your resolve shatters.

“satoru,” you gasp, your voice breaking on the syllables.

his smirk widens, something dark and triumphant flickering in his eyes. “good girl,” he murmurs, his thumb resuming its slow, torturous circles on your clit as his fingers pick up their rhythm again, harder this time, deeper.

your head falls back against the mattress, your body arching into his touch as the pleasure builds again, higher and hotter than before. his name tumbles from your lips like a mantra, breathless and needy as he drives you closer to the edge.

“that’s it,” he coaxes, his voice dripping with praise as his free hand slides down your body, his touch possessive. “just like that, baby. let go for me.”

the coil in your stomach tightens to the breaking point, and when he curls his fingers just right, pressing against the perfect spot, it snaps. your orgasm crashes over you, white-hot and overwhelming, and his name spills from your lips in a broken moan.

“satoru—fuck—”

“that’s my girl,” he murmurs, his voice rough with approval as he works you through the waves of pleasure, his movements slowing but never stopping until your body goes slack beneath him, trembling and spent.

he pulls his hand away slowly, his gaze fixed on you as he brings his fingers to his lips, licking them clean with a deliberate, satisfied hum. “even better than i imagined,” he says, his voice dripping with arrogance, his eyes gleaming as they roam over your flushed, trembling body.

you blink, your breath still uneven as his words settle over you. “wait—” you say, your voice catching slightly. “you’ve thought about this?”

his grin widens, slow and deliberate, and he leans down, bracing himself on his forearms so his face is just inches from yours. “oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing, “you really think i haven’t?”

your cheeks flush even hotter, your pulse racing as his words sink in. “you’re—” you stammer, at a rare loss for words. “you’re ridiculous.”

“ridiculous?” he repeats, feigning offense, though the wicked glint in his eyes never falters. “i’d say i’m a man of focus. you’ve been in my head for weeks, driving me insane with that sharp mouth and the way you look at me when you think i don’t notice.”

“i don’t—” you begin, but his lips curve into a knowing smirk, cutting you off.

“you do,” he insists, his tone softening just slightly. “and every time you glared at me, every time you rolled your eyes or bit back some little retort, all i could think about was how much i wanted to shut you up. like this.”

his lips capture yours again, and this kiss is slower, heavier, laced with an intensity that makes your toes curl. his hands roam, sliding over your bare skin with a reverence that feels almost out of place against his words.

when he finally pulls back, his gaze is still on you, his expression uncharacteristically serious. “and now that i’ve got you,” he says, his voice dipping into something darker, “i don’t think i’ll ever get enough.”

the weight of his confession leaves you breathless, and before you can respond, his lips are trailing down your body again, his hands parting your thighs as he settles between them.

“what are you—” you start, but his eyes flick up to meet yours, and the look in them steals the rest of your words.

“relax,” he murmurs, his lips curving into a soft, almost mischievous smile. “i’m not done tasting you yet.”

his hands slide to grip your thighs, pulling you apart with ease as his lips descend, brushing over your inner thighs, teasingly slow. his tongue flicks out, hot and wet against your skin, and when his mouth finally finds you again, you feel your body arch instinctively, your breath leaving in a sharp, unrestrained gasp.

he’s relentless. his tongue drags up your folds in a languid stroke before circling your clit with maddening precision. his mouth is hot, the slick, wet sounds mingling with your soft moans, and his breath—warm and uneven—fans against your skin with every movement.

his hair brushes against your thighs, soft and messy, and your fingers thread through it again, tugging sharply enough to make him groan against you. the vibration of it sends a jolt of pleasure straight through your core, and your hips buck against his mouth.

“satoru,” you gasp, but it’s barely coherent, your voice breaking as he latches onto your clit, sucking just enough to make your toes curl. “oh my—”

the cold press of something against your inner thigh pulls you out of the haze, just barely. it’s sharp, unfamiliar, and you glance down—his glasses. they’re still perched on his nose, slightly crooked, the metal frame fogging faintly from the heat of his breath. he’s so lost in the moment, so focused on the way his tongue works against you, that he hasn’t even noticed.

your hand drifts down, brushing against the cool frame, and you slip them off without a word. the absurdity of it—the way he’s been eating you out with his glasses still on—makes you want to laugh. the corners of your mouth twitch, and a soft sound bubbles up in your throat, but then his tongue presses flat against your folds, dragging up in one slow, deliberate motion, and the laugh dissolves into a sharp moan.

your head falls back against the pillow, your hand tangling back in his hair as you toss the glasses onto the bed with the other. the noise they make as they hit the mattress is faint, drowned out by the obscene wet sounds of his mouth, the low hums of satisfaction he lets out as he devours you.

“fuck,” you whimper, your thighs trembling as his tongue flicks against your clit again, faster now, more insistent. your body arches instinctively, chasing the pressure, and his hands tighten on your thighs, pulling you even closer to his mouth.

he growls against you, the sound low and rough, vibrating through you in a way that makes your toes curl. his tongue dips lower, teasing your entrance before sliding back up, and the sharp scrape of his teeth against your swollen clit has you seeing stars.

“so fucking sweet,” he mutters, his voice muffled against your slick skin. “can’t get enough of you, baby.”

you can’t respond, can’t think. the only thing you can focus on is the way his tongue works against you, precise and relentless, building the heat in your stomach until it’s unbearable. your fingers twist in his hair, pulling harder, and the groan he lets out in response sends you spiraling.

“satoru—” his name falls from your lips like a prayer, breathless and broken. he doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up, his mouth dragging you closer and closer to the edge until you can’t hold on any longer.

your orgasm hits you hard, ripping through you in waves that leave your entire body trembling. your hips jerk against his hold, your moans loud and unrestrained as you ride it out. his tongue slows, working you through every aftershock until you’re left panting, boneless against the bed.

when he finally pulls back, his chest is heaving, his lips and chin glistening with your slick. his hair is a mess, strands sticking up where your fingers had tugged, and his eyes—those impossibly bright blues—flick up to meet yours, gleaming with satisfaction.

“twice,” he says, his voice low and teasing as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

he sits back on his knees, his hands smoothing over your trembling thighs as he takes in the sight of you—flushed, panting, your chest rising and falling as you try to catch your breath. his grin is lazy, self-satisfied, like he knows exactly what he’s done to you.

“you’re staring,” you mutter weakly, your voice barely above a whisper.

“hard not to,” he replies, his tone low and full of amusement. his fingers trace lazy patterns on your skin, his touch soft, teasing. “you look so fucking good when you come.”

your cheeks burn, and you want to glare at him, to tell him to shut up, but the words catch in your throat as he reaches for the hem of his shirt. in one fluid motion, he pulls it over his head and tosses it to the side, the movement effortless and maddeningly confident.

your eyes follow the shift of his muscles, the way they ripple under his skin, lean and defined. a faint sheen of sweat glistens across his chest, catching the dim light, highlighting every sharp line and curve. your gaze drifts lower, down to the sharp ridges of his abdomen. the faint trail of white hair starting just below his navel draws your attention, leading your eyes further, until his hands move to the waistband of his boxers.

he doesn’t rush. he hooks his thumbs under the fabric, dragging it down slowly, deliberately, letting the anticipation coil tighter in your stomach. as the fabric falls away, your breath hitches.

he’s fully bare now, and your mouth goes dry.

his cock is… breathtaking. thick and flushed a deep pink at the tip, already leaking beads of precum that catch the light as they drip down the length. it’s long, the kind of length that makes your thighs press together instinctively, wondering how he’ll fit, but the heat pooling low in your stomach burns hotter, overriding any hesitation.

his hand wraps around it, and he strokes himself slowly, his thumb swiping over the head to collect the wetness there. the motion is deliberate, almost lazy, and the soft groan he lets out sends a shiver down your spine.

you’re staring—you know you are—and he notices, his lips curving into a wicked grin as his eyes flick up to meet yours.

“don’t worry, baby,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing as he leans forward, the head of his cock brushing against your folds, slick and hot. “i’ll make it fit.”

his words send a shiver through you, his voice low and dripping with confidence. the weight of his cock against your folds, hot and heavy, is enough to make your hips twitch instinctively, chasing the friction. but he doesn’t push in right away—of course he doesn’t. instead, he drags the head up and down your slick, letting it catch on your clit with every pass, teasing you until you’re squirming beneath him.

“satoru,” you whimper, your nails digging into his shoulders. you’re not above begging at this point. “please.”

his grin widens, his head dipping to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “what’s the rush, baby? we’ve got all night.”

“satoru,” you repeat, more insistently this time, and he groans at the sound of his name on your lips, his cock twitching against you.

“fuck,” he mutters, his voice tight now, losing some of that smug edge. “you sound so pretty when you beg.”

he lines himself up, his hand still wrapped around the base as he presses the head against your entrance. the stretch is immediate, a sharp, overwhelming mix of pleasure and pressure as he pushes in slowly, inch by inch.

“holy shit,” he breathes, his voice rough as his head falls forward, his hair brushing against your cheek. “you’re so fucking tight.”

your fingers clutch at his shoulders, your breath catching as he sinks deeper, the fullness stealing every coherent thought from your mind. he pauses halfway, his free hand sliding up to cup your jaw, tilting your face toward his.

“you okay?” he asks, and there’s something softer in his voice now, his eyes scanning your face for any sign of discomfort.

you nod, your voice shaky as you answer. “yeah. just—keep going.”

his jaw tightens, and he exhales slowly, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before he starts to move again. every inch feels impossibly deep, your walls stretching around him, and when he finally bottoms out, you both pause, your breaths mingling as you try to adjust.

“fuck,” he groans again, his voice strained as his hips twitch against yours. “you feel so good. better than i ever—” he cuts himself off with a shaky laugh, shaking his head. “shit, you’re perfect.”

you can barely respond, the stretch and fullness leaving you trembling. but then he starts to move, pulling out almost entirely before sliding back in with a slow, deliberate roll of his hips. the drag of his cock against your walls is enough to have you moaning, your head falling back against the pillow.

“that’s it,” he murmurs, his voice rough and approving as he sets a steady rhythm. “good girl. taking me so well.”

your hands trail down his back, your nails scraping lightly against his skin, and the groan he lets out sends a fresh wave of heat through you. his movements quicken, the sound of skin against skin filling the room, and every thrust has him hitting that perfect spot deep inside you, making you cry out.

“satoru—” his name falls from your lips again, and he leans down, his teeth grazing your neck as he thrusts harder, deeper.

“you’re gonna make me lose my fucking mind,” he growls, his hands gripping your hips tighter, holding you in place as he drives into you. “you feel so good—so fucking perfect for me.”

the coil in your stomach tightens with every roll of his hips, the pressure building higher and higher until it’s unbearable. his thumb finds your clit, rubbing in tight circles that make your vision blur, and your moans grow louder, more desperate.

“come for me,” he demands, his voice rough and low in your ear. “let me feel you.”

the command sends you over the edge. your orgasm rips through you, your body arching into his as you cry out, his name spilling from your lips like a prayer. your walls clench around him, and the sensation makes him groan, his thrusts growing erratic as he chases his own release.

“fuck—” he gasps, burying himself as deep as he can go as he comes, the heat of him spilling into you, thick and warm. his head falls to your shoulder, his breath ragged against your skin as he rides out the last waves of pleasure.

the room is quiet except for the sound of your heavy breathing, the air thick and charged as he finally pulls back, his weight pressing into you as he collapses onto the bed beside you. his arm slides around your waist, pulling you against his chest as he presses a soft, lazy kiss to your temple.

“told you i’d make it fit,” he murmurs, his voice still rough, but there’s a hint of smugness there, his lips curving into a small grin.

you can’t help the laugh that escapes you, your body still trembling against his. “you’re such an asshole.”

“yeah,” he agrees, his tone light, teasing, as he brushes a strand of hair from your face. “but you like it.”

you roll your eyes, but there’s no heat to it, your lips curving into a faint smile as you bury your face against his chest. “shut up, satoru.”

“never,” he replies, and the warmth of his laughter vibrates through you, grounding you as your breaths slowly even out.

an. gojo with glasses... *hnnggghh*

DO NOT COPY, TRANSLATE, OR REPOST MY WORK ON OTHER PLATFORMS!

[natlovesls2]

It Isn't Over

Lando Norris x Fem!Reader

*ੈ✩‧₊˚warnings: small amount of angst, minimal swearing, no use of y/n, short and honestly not that good

*ੈ✩‧₊˚word count: 900

*ੈ✩‧₊˚summary: Lando regrets the everything that has happened between you. Part two to this: part one

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚

Lando had silently hoped your Instagram stories only served to make him jealous. Perhaps you simply wanted to show him what he had lost– of course that had been nothing but wishful thinking, having heard from a mutual friend that you were indeed seeing some guy. He stood at the door of your apartment, hand slightly raised as he debated whether he should knock or not.

“Are you going to stand there all day or are you going to knock?” the sound of your voice shaking him out of his thoughts. 

He hadn’t seen you in months, you looked as radiant as ever, “I miss you,” he blurted out, voice slightly shaky as he reached a hand out towards you,“I made a mistake, a big one, I know I did. I lie awake every night thinking about it.”

He noticed your hesitance, he wasn’t a complete idiot when it came to reading people despite what you thought of him. “Why don’t you come in, have something to drink,” you sighed, digging through your purse, attempting to find your keys. 

“Thank you,” he said softly, watching as you opened the door to your apartment, letting him in and closing the door behind you. He scanned the living room for any sign of your moving on, perhaps a coat left by your new lover or a picture of a sentimental moment hanging on the wall, but he found none. Instead he was greeted by the same living room he had come to know during the duration of your complicated friendship. 

“I guess we have a lot to talk about,” you led him to your kitchen, hand shaking as you poured him a glass of water, “do you want anything else to drink?” he shook his head, taking a sip of water. 

“I don’t know where to start,” he admits, nervously running a hand through his hair. He was nervous, something he had never been around you. Lando had always been a confident person, especially around you, this was new. “Are you seeing anyone?” he asks. 

“What?” you were confused by the sudden question, it hadn’t been what you expected him to say, far from it. There wasn’t anything that could have come out of his mouth that would have been expected but this was certainly one of the least possible things you would expect. In fact, maybe, an apology would have been more appropriate than whatever he intended with that question. 

“I think I’m in love with you, and if you’re seeing someone then it complicates things. I saw that guy on your instagram– but that doesn’t change how I feel,” he rambled out a confession, burying his face in his hands, tugging at his hair. 

“You think?”

“I am, I am so in love with you. And I made the worst mistake of my life, I know that. I just need another chance,” he said, desperately pleading with you, his tone the most serious you had ever heard from him. It hurt you, it hurt to know that it had taken him years to realize this. His eyes never leaving your face, hoping to find any sort of reaction that would reveal that your feelings for him hadn’t changed despite his foul treatment. 

“Lando…” you started. He hated the way you said his name, how soft your voice still sounded despite the evident pain. “You hurt me in many ways. It was as if you saw me as less than human, just something to satisfy whatever needs you had,” you felt tears start to well up in your eyes, it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep calm. “And now you show up at my front door claiming to be in love with me? I find it all hard to believe.”

You remember one night that had been particularly hurtful– the night of your birthday. Lando had called you earlier that day, inviting himself over to your apartment. You had wishfully thought that he had remembered your birthday, despite the fact that he had yet to acknowledge it. When he had finally arrived that night you were not greeted with the words “Happy Birthday”. Instead he pushed his way into your home, kissing you and whispering against your skin about how much he needed you. It wasn’t until a week later that he had even noticed that your birthday had passed. So to say that you couldn’t believe Lando had truly changed was an understatement, but even so, you couldn’t bring yourself to forget about your feelings towards him. 

“I’m not asking you to believe me. I'm asking you to give me another chance– an opportunity to prove to you that what I feel for you is real, that I truly do love you,” Lando took a step closer, his hand reaching out to brush away a stubborn tear that had made its way past the threshold of your eyes. 

“One chance,” you whispered, letting your forehead rest against his. 

“So you’re not seeing that guy you’ve been posting on your Instagram?”

“He’s my cousin,” you said with a small teary laugh, placing a kiss on his nose. 

And maybe things would be different than they had been before. Maybe this time he wouldn’t ditch you at events for models who made you insecure or forget your birthday. This time he wouldn’t make you hate the way you looked. But only time would tell.

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*ੈ✩‧₊˚ Note: I had a lot I wanted to do for this but lost motivation and I didn't want to just scrap the whole fic so... yeah, I know its shit but I've had a rough month. Anyway, I just wanted to give the original a happy ending. My Decemeber shorts will be better (I hope), peace out

[magics-neptunes-things]

Love Me Harder

Hi guys :)

Still working on my WIP! This is a request I got here, so I hope the person asking for it will be happy with what I wrote :)

I'm sorry for the delay by the way.

But please enjoy ♥

TW : Head injury, concussion, jealousy, angst with happy ending.

Leah and you have been a couple for almost two years now, even if you managed to get it hidden for now. You always had something for the girl to be honest, but when you met Leah, she was already with Jordan and you weren’t really a couple breaker. Sure, it hurts sometimes to see her happy with someone else, but at least she was happy and that’s all that matters for you.

You tried to forget her by sleeping around or having a girlfriend yourself, but nothing really worked. You usually dated people away from the football world, not wanting to mix your professional life with your private life. It happened that you slept with other players though, but never in your team or with them being friends with one of your friends.

With that state of mind, it was hard to find someone to sleep with, but at least you were out of trouble.

Well, that’s what you thought until today.

Leah and you aren’t playing for the same team, she was born at Arsenal while you travel a lot during your career. You started in Manchester City, then you went to Lyon, then to Bayern and since last season you have been back in Manchester City. You like it here and it was easier to live your relationship with Leah that way.

You are together when you are playing for your national team though, you have been the number one goalkeeper of the team for years now. Leah is back from her injury and is now back in national camp too.

Sarina knows that you are together, like all your teammates. The only people who don’t know are the public. You are friends with a lot of Lionesses, so when you are spotted with Leah and some of your friends, no one really puts two and two together. Meado tease you a lot about it, but in reality, you aren’t fan of PDA anyway and so is Leah. Maybe not like you are with your friends, but it’s another discussion.

Back to today, you are playing against Italy for the qualification of the next international championship. After your World Cup and the fact that you weren’t qualified for the Olympics Games, all your team wants to show that you are still here and deserve to win the Euro back in 2022.

You were doing the pitch inspection, casually talking with Lucy and LJ when you heard someone calling your name. Leah, as always, wasn’t far away from you with Keira and Georgia.

“Y/N?”

You turn without really thinking in the direction of the voice, just to be faced with a girl that you actually slept with several months ago. To be honest, it was just before you got in a relationship with Leah. You hate to admit it, but you kind of ghost that poor girl after that, way too happy to finally be with the girl you were in love with.

“Oh, hi Milena” you say nervously.

You even have forgotten that she’s in fact from Italy and you will be facing her today. You can see Lucy exchanging an intrigued look with LJ next to you while the girl keeps walking in your direction.

“I’m happy to see you” she says when she’s in front of you.

You don’t have time to answer before she hugs you and your arms automatically surround her waist to give her back her embrace. If your arms very quickly drop from her body, one of her hands stays in your arm.

You probably never have been so uncomfortable during the rest of your life. You can feel Leah burning gaze on your back.

“How are you? I think we haven't talked for like two years” she laughs.

“Oh, uh. I’m good thanks” you mumble.

“You look good indeed” she smirks.

You deal very badly with cringe, to be honest. So, you are particularly relieved when Lucy passes her arm around your shoulders before talking.

“We have to go back inside” Lucy says, nodding towards the locker room.

In fact, when you look around, you realise that almost all your teammates are already inside. That excuse is perfect after all. You mumble a “See you later” before letting Lucy take you out of the pitch.

Lucy and LJ manage to wait to be out of your ex’s ear before bursting into laughter. You suppose you must be grateful to them for that.

“What was that?” Lauren asks while Lucy is still laughing like crazy.

“Nothing” you roll your eyes.

“She doesn’t look like nothing” Lucy smirks when she can breathe again.

“Be careful with what you say, or Ona will receive a strange text from me, explaining how you find other girls not nothing” you frown.

She suddenly shuts up, her face becoming way more serious. It makes you smile. You never saw Lucy so whipped for a girl before. But you know that your friends deserve an explanation. You sigh softly before starting your explanation.

“It’s a girl I slept with before Leah kissed me at that party, and we got together. I was still in the process of forgetting her. I met that girl before the Euro and well… You know” you shrug. “But then after the semi-finales we got together with Leah, after that she hurt her ACL and I kind of totally forgot that girl.”

LJ hums after your explanation, nodding softly. You can see that your explanation makes sense for both of them which is great because it’s nothing but the truth.

“Leah was boiling” Lucy informs you.

You grimace at this. You were pretty sure that she would react that way. You never realise how Leah can be jealous before being with her. You like it actually, fond of the way she wants to be sure that you are hers and no one can take you away from her.

But here and now aren’t exactly the right place to show her that she is your only one.

You are nervous when you enter the changing room, looking for your girlfriend. You finally see her sitting in Georgia’s cubby. Her eyes are burning when she crosses your gaze after you enter the locker room.

Lucy goes sit on her cubby, just next to yours, while LJ goes on hers too. You want to talk to Leah, but Georgia’s non-verbal language makes you think that you better not approach Leah for now.

That girl is really scary when she wants to.

Keira’s gaze is softer and it’s what makes you walk in their direction. Lucy was right, Leah seems furious.

“Can we talk?” you ask softly when you reach them.

“No” Georgia answers harshly.

“Georgia” Keira sighs.

“Leah?” you try again, trying to cross your girlfriend’s gaze. “Please?”

She sighs and throws the towel she was holding in the cubby while standing up. She doesn’t answer really, but you follow her anyway when she walks to leave the room. You don’t really know where you are going at first, until she turns to enter in a closet.

“What do you want to talk about?” Leah asks harshly just after you close the door.

You are a little bit taken aback. You know what you want to talk about of course, but you don’t know how to start. You are sure that if you say that you know she’s jealous, she will deny it and that it will be the end of the conversation. This is not what you want.

“I just wanted to know if you are okay” you tentatively say.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

She has now her arms crossed and her famous frown on her face. You know how hard it would be to have something from this conversation.

“Because you seem angry”

Leah snorts and looks at the handle of the door. She putted her hands on her hips now and is shaking her head.

“Am I supposed to be happy when my girlfriend is getting flirted with by someone else?”

“No, that is why I wanted to talk to you too. I just…”

“Do you know her?” Leah cuts you.

This time her eyes are deep inside yours and you know that you can’t lie to her. It wasn’t something you wanted to do anyway, but with her eyes scanning your soul, it would have been impossible.

“I… We slept together some time ago” you finally sigh.

“When?”

“Just before the Euros”

You know that Leah knows perfectly that your first kiss happened after the semi-finals against Sweden and the happiness of the victory. You were the first shocked when she kissed you after some naughty dancing, but you kissed her back and the rest of the night probably made her understand very much how much you were fancying her already.

It’s even stronger now, of course.

But Leah is looking at you like she’s going to kill you.

“Don’t look at me like that, Le. I didn't know that several weeks later you would kiss me. I didn’t know you were interested in me at this point.”

You try to take her hand with yours, but she takes it away from you, before opening the door again.

“Well you can go back fucking her in that case”

“Leah!”

She slams the door, almost pinning your fingers inside. When you manage to get outside too, Leah isn’t here anymore. You decide to go back to the training room and try to talk to her again, but when you arrive, Sarina is right behind you, asking you to go training.

You aren’t really concentrating during the training to be honest; you keep looking at Leah, but she doesn’t. She doesn’t even share a look with you when you are right behind her at the beginning of the game.

You really hope that a win will ease her mood and help you to reconcile with Leah. You turn when you feel a tap on your shoulder, turning your bigger frame towards Keira. She just smiles at you, and you nod only. You are too nervous to smile, but you are glad to know that you have at least one of Leah’s friends on your side. You are sure that Leah explained everything to them.

You take a deep breath when it’s time to go on the pitch, trying to focus on the game. The national anthems help you and you keep a straight face when you check all the Italian players, even Milena.

You do your usual check with Lucy too, looking for good luck before starting the game. England is supposed to be the favourites, but Italy is fighting with all their strength. Your forwards manage to have good opportunities, but without being able to score for now.

After the first half, no one scored, and you had to use some of your best moves to avoid taking a goal or two.

You just nod when Sarina congratulates you in the locker room. Leah is still not looking at you, as if you weren’t even here. It creates a strange feeling in your throat. You are happy that Lucy is just next to you, even if she’s not talking, your friend’s presence is good for you.

When the game starts again, you realise with anxiety that Milena and her other teammates change their side, meaning that Leah is the one marking Milena from now.

But Leah manages to take the upper hand on Milena every single time, using with ability her slide tackles. You are happy when Alessia finally manages to score around the seventy minutes.

Five minutes later, Sarina made all the different changes she was planning to, leaving Lucy and Leah in the defence but changing Millie and Maya in the same move. You don’t have a lot of time to get used to that though, because soon Italy won a corner, and you have to focus again on the game.

You can’t really explain what happened. Your eyes were on the ball when the Italian player shot it in the middle of the surface. But the knock you received on your head suddenly makes everything dizzy and you fall on the ground without really realising it.

There is a wheezing and everything else sounds like you were underwater. You feel hands on you, someone slapping your cheek, two fingers looking for your pulse in your neck.

You don’t know if it’s because it’s Leah or if it’s because she’s screaming right above your head, but you hear her distinctly shout

“Don’t fucking touch her! Let her breathe!”

And the panic in her voice finally makes you open your eyes. It’s the same feeling when you are sleepy, and Leah wakes you after you fall asleep in front of a movie to go to bed. Your eyes are heavy, the light is too bright too. You wince and close your eyes almost as soon as you open them, pressing your hand on your head.

“Y/N? Hey Baby, can you hear me?”

Leah’s voice is softer than you ever heard it, and you groan for only an answer. Your head is pounding.

“Can you roll on your back?”

You recognize the voice of one of the people from the medical team. You groan once more and roll on the ground, lying now on your back. You warily open your eyes, thankful that someone is hiding the lights of the pitch with their frame. You frown softly when you realise that it’s Milena

“I’m sorry Y/N, I wasn’t looking where I was going and…”

“It’s okay” Leah cuts her harshly. “She needs to get looked at; can you leave?”

You perfectly see the staff member smile at each other before turning their attention to you again.

They ask you several questions, make you sit, look at their fingers and look at a light too. It’s not an enjoyable experience to be honest, it hurts, and you have trouble staying focused.

“I think it’s a concussion” one of them finally says. “It would be better for you to get out of the pitch.”

“No” you frown. “Sarina made all the substitutions already. I can’t leave.”

“Of course you can” Leah interjects. “No one would blame you. It’s safer like th– “

“Leah. I’m playing.”

Her light blue eyes went right into your eyes. You don’t look away, Leah might be stubborn, but you are too when you really want something. And you want to play, you want to prove to her that she can count on you no matter what. You know you have hurt her and maybe bummed after your revelation earlier. You want to take amend of that.

When she opens her mouth to answer, you look at the medical staff.

“Am I allowed to play?”

They hesitate for several seconds, looking at you silently.

“If I let you play, you have to swear that if you don’t feel good, or dizzy, or tired, you will stop the game and get out of the pitch. Can we make this deal?”

You nod and he nods back, before helping you to get up. You take some water from the bottle he gave you, splashing some of it on your face too. You feel tired to be honest and the lights are killing you. But you are determined to end this game.

“Y/N.”

You turn in Leah’s direction and it’s easy to see the concern in her eyes. You smile softly at her while your teammates and the opposite team are coming back on the pitch.

“I’ll be fine, Leah”

She sighs and you feel her gaze on you when you go back to the goal. You don’t see her or hear her turning to the players around her, telling them not to let anyone come near your goal.

They manage to do it greatly to be honest, and you are glad for it. You have to make some intervention, like grabbing the ball in the air for example. Jumping was fine, but the shock when you fall on the ground is harsh.

When the whistle of the referee finally sounds, signalling the end of the game, you are more relieved than ever. Closing your eyes, you let your tired body sliding along one of the two posts on your goal.

“You’re alright mate?”

You don’t open your eyes but nod at Lucy’s question, feeling her hand on your shoulder without seeing it.

“Do you need help to get up?”

“Please” you mumble.

She makes you stand as easily as you were a 5-year-old child, making you smile softly. You thank Maya with gratefulness when she gives you your things waiting behind the goal and slowly make your way to the locker room.

You look around to see where Leah is, which isn’t missed by Beth who is walking on your other side.

“She’s answering some questions for the TV” the blonde informs you.

You groan and drink more water, still walking. Pretty slowly, you must admit. But you feel dizzy, and you sigh internally when you see Milena running in your direction.

“Hey” she says, with her Italian accent. “Look, I'm very sorry. How are you feeling?”

“I’ll be okay, don’t worry” you answer with a soft smile. “I’ll need some rest tonight and maybe tomorrow, but other than that it’s okay.”

You watch her bite her lips, like if she’s thinking about something to say. And how to say it. You really hope that she won’t ask you out now, because you don’t have the energy to deal with it right now.

“Can I write to you tomorrow? To know how you are feeling. I really feel very guilty”

You were going to answer something, but you were interrupted by an arm sneaking around your waist and a body suddenly pressed against yours.

“She will post an update on her Instagram tomorrow. And don’t worry for her, she’s between great hands” Leah says, before looking at you. “Are you okay to leave, Babe?”

You repress a smile and take a small breath.

“Yeah, let’s go. See you”

You give a smile to Milena, who you feel sorry for. You know that she never meant to hurt you, but Leah seems to take her for the only responsible of the accident.

“You know that I wasn’t looking either?” you mumble to Leah.

“It doesn’t matter. Sarina told me we can leave now; the staff asked for a taxi so we don’t have to wait on anyone. Would you like to shower in your hotel room rather than here?”

“Sounds good” you mumble again.

In a record time, Leah manages to take all your things and put them in your two bags, change herself in a training suit and help you to do the same. You are starting to feel tired and dozens in the cab on Leah’s shoulder.

“Baby you have to wake up. I can’t carry you in your room” Leah whispers when you are in front of the hotel, gently kissing your temple.

Usually, you love the fact that you are higher than Leah. You love how she easily fits in your arms, how you can hold her and feel like you are protecting her from everything and everyone.

But right now, you really would love for her to be able to carry you.

She does a bit though, holding you firmly against her while you are going to the lift and then to your room. You let yourself fall on the bed when you arrive inside your room, letting Leah deal with your bags and everything else.

“Come on Baby, we have to wash the game out of you. Then you can go in bed until the staff members come again”

“I just want to sleep” you groan.

“I know. But you will feel better.”

You do feel better, Leah is right. She helps you to take your shower, affectionately dry you with a towel after, help you to put fresh pajamas on and then even brush your teeth and your hair.

She then takes a quick shower too and it’s with wet hair and in one of your t-shirts that she opens the door of your room for the staff. The t-shirt easily covers her smaller frame, the tissue going until her knees.

They make some more tests on you, asking several questions to Leah too. You have trouble staying focused, but only because you are very tired. You don’t hear them leaving, opening your eyes again when you feel the bed move when Leah crawls on it.

“Are you sure you’re not in pain?”

You hum, snuggling against her warm body. They gave you some morphine earlier anyway. Leah lets you do it and you sigh happily when she starts to stroke your neck with her fingers.

“I’m sorry for the way I reacted because of your ex”

Leah’s whisper takes you by surprise. You probably almost never heard Leah saying that she was sorry for something so serious. Opening your eyes again, you search hers.

“I’m sorry for the way you learned it” you whisper back. “But it has nothing to do with you. It was before knowing you could be in any way interested in me. I was still in my “Forgetting Leah” era”

Leah chuckles and you smile hearing that sound. You close your eyes again, the tiredness being more and more hard to fight against.

“I’m glad you never managed to get over me” Leah says after some silence, playing with your hair.

“I will never be able to get over you”

You feel like your voice is low and your words aren’t very well articulated, but Leah seems to understand very easily what you are saying.

“I was hoping to” Leah mumbles too. “Now sleep, you little menace.”

You groan softly once again, making Leah smile. You happily let her kiss your face several times, finishing with your lips. You manage to whisper that you love her and it seems to you that Leah say it back, but you are not really sure. Because you are already asleep then.

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Calming the Emperor God

Geta x wife! reader

warning : hurt/comfort, kissing, cuddling, mention of murder and sickness

Summary : Rome seemed to turn on their rulers, what Caracalla compensated with more Colosseum fighting Geta had to face reality as much as he thought he was divine, he alone couldn't control everything. The demand of his head was only the beginning as the emperor sought advice and care in the arms of his wife.

info : A work for Geta I just wanted to give him a long hug, enjoy reading ;)

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Marriage, when you were a ruler of a empire, it was important to have a wife after your appointment, someone you loved or not, someone who could give you an heir.

He had even less regard for his father than his brother, a man driven by empathy and kindness as well as hope, a weak man whose only great deed was to father him and Caracalla with his mother, nothing else. That was the only reason for his damned father's last acts, a marriage.

A marriage three years ago, on his twentieth name day, he took her as his wife, a young lady of his own age from a noble house of the united kingdoms under Rome.

He hadn't thought much of her then, but when he looked at the sitautioon now, she was more than just his love, she was his shield, the judgement of the people and a light that all kinds of people looked up to so that the people wouldn't rise up in revolt.

She was a pillar at his side who could lead Rome, advise Caracalla and be there for him at the same time…the only thing that had not been created in all this time was an heir.

An inheritance that in theory the two emperors had in each other, but with each passing day Geta saw how bad things were for Caracalla, ,,The Holy Roman Empire will belong to the world, but three deaths would mean its end" he had said shortly after their wedding, at first still indifferent to her, even disgusted by her failure to conceive and paranoid that she would betray him.

But none of this mattered when he saw how gentle she was with his brother, how good she was at managing the senate and how understanding she was towards him every day.

,,My doubts were never about you, my husband, a marriage of the dead is beyond our influence and your circumstance worries me more than my own" she had admitted when she realised how bad things were for the emperors.

Who ruled a world empire, how easy she had had it, several siblings, no illnesses, her parents a long life and security, everything Geta and his brother didn't have.

Both had hardly received any training in warfare, politically she hardly knew what to do and they had no connection to the people.

From the moment they were born, they had already come too close to the sun and would never raise their wings again. She was a woman, a princess, aware of her role as a mother, but if she couldn't even be that, she would do anything to support her husband.

Taking her eyes from the marble floor that lay cold beneath her sandals, she looked back at her husband Geta presenting new proposals for the military, improvements and enhancements to a Senate that seemed barely interested.

They were strategies and proposals for which Geta had spent hours and nights in the library with her, he was trying so hard for his people, or at least for the world for now, the dream of a Rome that covered the world, it wasn't fair that the senate consisted only of fake snakes, but you couldn't kill them either.

No one is interested but us she thought and sat down again on Geta's throne when she heard a giggle next to her.

Caracalla was once again more than just bored by all this and began to play with his fingers, seeing that Geta gave her a quick glance and an unsaid ‘thank you darling’ seemed to come from his eyes, she rose to take care of Caracalla.

As much as the presence of both emperors was required, Caracalla was disturbed by the introduction of the laws the blond was probably about to rise herself, she put her hand on his shoulder, ,,We should leave Geta alone, how about a game?" she asked in a whisper and saw the grin widen. Already sending Caracalla forward.

She bowed to Geta who had paused in his speech, allowing everyone a brief moment to think, ,,I'm already longing for your liberating kiss of my sorrows" he murmured to her before placing a kiss on her cheek, a face with a ‘divine’ countenance looking back at her before she withdrew from the senate.

Once again, her god had to try to cope on his own, an event that occurred weekly and took its toll on him, for what was an emperor without preparation since childhood?

He was nothing.

Footsteps followed Caracalla, who was already pulling out his favourite figurines from a wicker basket, ,,The conquest of Rome with the crucifixions of the Christians!" he announced and she clapped as he told her everything in meticulous detail.

Not a game in the sense, but something amusing for him, especially when he could stab the little figures and she had to make the death noises that he always found extremely sweet, ,,Your memories are unfathomable and fascinating," she said and tapped him on the forehead.

He could hardly remember what was served for dinner yesterday, but he seemed to know such a battle going back hundreds of years completely by heart, it was the madness you couldn't control.

But that didn't matter because, apart from the battle, they played together with Dundus and in the afternoon she had to sing Caracalla a lullaby because otherwise he wouldn't go to bed, otherwise he would only cause more ‘problems’ like a small child.

One thing that hardly bothered her anymore she knew it would give Geta less to worry about and she had a few more hours of peace and quiet in which to organise her own things, ,,Sleep well little king" she whispered as she closed the door to his room and with a sigh made her way back to her own room.

Knowing that the meeting in the senate would take a long time she returned to her art of the gods, knowing that only they could help her and her family Appolo I pray to you for healing and beauty over my brother-in-law Caracalla and husband Geta she heard her own praying voice in front of her altar to Appolon the model for Geta.

In all the golden clothes he wore, even the make-up was dedicated to the god, but the gods seemed to have abandoned the brothers since the birth and not given her a blessing.

She spent the next few hours embroidering, writing and reading books, hoping to get advice from former emperors on how to cultivate fields to increase yields, which were getting lower and lower.

This was bad for the population of Rome, the army and the imperial family itself, who had to cope with all this without falling into the madness that Caracalla was making worse and worse.

The goblet of water next to her was refilled every now and then and the lamps and torches in her room were turned on by the servants when the sun had long since reached the horizon, she knew that the discussion in the Senate had to come to an end.

She was about to roll back the parchment and place it on the table when someone knocked on her door.

,,Yes?” she said, but instead of her beloved she only found a servant who bowed and replied, ,,Emperor Geta wishes to see you, he insists that you dine with him. His brother Emperor Caracalla has already been taken care of” the message read.

She sent the servant away with a wave of her hand and rose herself more hastily than she had intended and immediately headed for his chamber, which was only a corridor away.

So Caracalla is sleeping well it flashed through her mind casually as she realized that he had probably taken care of him as well. Geta was once again doing a lot more than he was supposed to, another reason why she loved him so much.

Stopping in front of the large double wooden door, the guards bowed before they opened the door for her and she was finally back with him, ,,Geta dearest I see you again,” she said happily and automatically went to the table where she had expected him to be for dinner but he wasn't there.

Turning around as she heard a sniffle she saw a golden curly head standing on the balcony, he was overlooking the city but ewa san his posture made her falter ,,Geta? Is everything alright?” she asked as she stepped out into the cool night and stood behind him, her fingers carefully resting against his back.

He was tense, trembling slightly but whether it was from the cold or the excitement she couldn't tell, ,,No one...none of these philistines listened, it led to nothing,” he finally said slowly as he turned to face her, the moon shining above him, the cold god watching over God's representation on earth.

The make-up on his face smudged, the golden light clothes wrinkled and not smooth and his blond hair completely disheveled. He did not have the madness of his brother, but as the sole ruler of an empire, such a burden lay heavily on him alone. ,,My husband, you know I couldn't be prouder, don't you?” she asked the superfluous question but knew he needed it.

The next moment he turned to her with a sigh and grasped her hands, she could see the watery eyes even in the faint moonlight, ,,The feelings are the same...but an emperor without his senate only with enemies and no support as it seems...is neither god nor man he is nothing” he finally spoke the truth and embraced her a little more strongly, slightly painfully and yet seeking help.

She understood him, understood him from the bottom of her heart, a pain, a helplessness she knew only too well.

Putting her hand on his cheek and looking at him for a moment, he entangled her in a kiss, she felt his hand at her side running over her hip, ,,Love you” she heard the murmured words as they broke away, as this wonderful fallen god looked at her so full of grace and love.

Her heart was bound with his as the brass rings made a soft muffled sound as their hands met again, the small smile on the god's lips as he looked at his love.

,,You are the most important thing to me and to Caracalla and I as your beloved swear to you that this will not be the end,” she assured him and saw the love that showed in the darkly painted eyes.

She saw him look away at Rome, the city behind him, his home and the empire that belonged to him, saw the nod, heard the intake of breath as he pulled her into another kiss. he may be destitute but he would never lose his family, his love, Geta knew that.

,,We'll show them together," he promised and led her next to him, leaving his hand linked with hers and seeming to promise her not only Rome, but the whole world, because together the imperial family of Rome would be able to do anything.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@potatoesenpaii , @thatnerdliv , @scorpiongirlsthings , @pxnx-kk

@the-a-word-2214 , @peakygirl1919 , @k-yurieee

[gay-dorito-dust]

Hi! :) mayhaps can i request your HC's for viktor x an artist reader. 👉👈 ur angst drabbles have been sustaining my life since season 2

There’s a saying that if an artist loves you or falls in love with you, you can never die.

A saying that Viktor didn’t give much thought until it was very clear that he was your forever muse, your reason to keeping your passion alive through experimenting art styles to maximise the effect you wanted your art to have; almost in the exact same way a scientist would conduct experiments in order to understand how something works and how to properly utilise it.

However each and every one of your art works came out looking like masterpieces that should and probably would be studied by future artists themselves one day, given how beautiful they were.

But also because they all included a man with amber eyes and soft chocolate hair hard at work with his own projects as blue sparks are captured liked shooting stars flying past his beautiful face. He truly was a once in a lifetime experience that you wanted to eternally capture within the pages of your sketchbook.

It literally didn’t matter what he did, whether it was tinkering, experimenting with the hexcore or just simply existing, you wanted to capture as much of Viktor as you possibly can whenever you can.

Viktor, in your eyes, was the kind of man people would kill to create sculptures of and artworks that would be seen in grand museums, within a beautifully intricate frame that only added emphasise to his importance to the artist in question. The artist being you of course.

So needless to say whenever you were with Viktor you made sure to have your sketchbook and pencils in hand as you knew that you’d end up wanting to sketch him for the millionth time that day.

However your favourite sketch of him came when you made him smile, genuinely smile.

The image of his bright and handsome smile was all you could see for hours on end as you found yourself absentmindedly sketching his face, his smile, the wrinkles near his eyes and his wind ruffled hair to perfection.

You then found yourself staring at it as though reliving the moment where you heard his laugh reach your ears like a harmonious melody, swept upon the wind that ruffled his hair and into your ears and your ears only.

To be loved by an artist was to be seen and you saw Viktor in a way that nobody else could, not even himself, and it showed in your work as you made him look like an angel disguised as a human given how frequently you used the colour gold whenever you drew him. From his eyes, to his clothes, everything with Viktor had hints of gold to it.

So much so that you had to get more colouring pencils of the exact same shade of gold so frequently that the manger of the art shop knew your name and the muse of your latest works at this point.

‘Drawing Viktor again I see?’ They’d teasingly ask as you’d shrug your shoulders.

‘Guilty as charged.’ You would reply before taking your things and leaving.

Viktor didn’t pry into your sketchbook, it was your belonging and he didn’t feel it was necessary for him to pry into it, but his curiosity didn’t help him one day as he found himself drawn to the sketchbook that you seemed to had left in his lab.

The first few pages were merely parts of the academy that you frequently visited, from the gardens, to the library, to even the lab he was stood in. Each one was increasingly more impressive than the last with how lifelike you made each one as though he could fall into the scene you had created; a true testament to your talent, creativity and insane attention to detail.

However the further the sketchbook went, he could easily see a decline in inspiration in your art. only for it to pick back up again when you had started drawing him doing the most mundane of things -at least in his mind he thought so- as simple sketches to portraits solely done by oil pastels or only colouring pencils. All just to emphasise his features and the concentrated furrows of his brows, a large variation of colours you’ve used so effortlessly to make up his face in a way that he could never imagine.

And yet Viktor found that there was more artworks of yours regarding him, artworks that seemingly continued endlessly and were just as hyper detailed and colourful as the more of himself that he saw, each one touching his heart in a way that made him realise that this was how you genuinely saw him; an angel in human skin as the way you depicted him was either simply human or an ethereal being coated in various shades of gold.

Through the eyes of an artist, through the eyes of you, Viktor knew that you only conveyed what you believed to be true and the fact that you saw him in such a way was enough to have him struggling to breath, but in the best way possible.

You way you saw him transcended beyond the person he saw each and every day in the mirror. You saw him as a man of infinite beauty, wisdom and strength in a multitude of ways while never shying away when it came to his leg nor disease.

If anything you made those parts of him stand out the most in a way that told him that you found these parts of him a strength and perfection in your eyes. Telling him that you didn’t wish him to be anything other then himself, for he was perfect and so much much that only your art could help describe.

Viktor; a man on borrowed time became a man immortalised within the pages of his artist lover.

He even seen the sketches of him fast asleep against his workbench you’ve done and even then you took your time making it look like he was staring into a mirror of himself.

You’d catch him flicking through your sketchbook but you couldn’t say anything against it as the way his eyes light up and soft smiles upon looking at your latest works, looks that only made you want to draw Viktor even more if it meant this sight becoming more common with the passage of time.

‘You like them?’ You’d ask from the doorway.

‘I love them my dear.’ He replies softly as he presses his forehead against your own, making you smile fondly. ‘But was the drawing of me sleeping necessary?’ He adds playfully as you chuckled.

‘Oh it was very necessary my muse.’ You replied with equal playfulness as you kissed his nose. ‘I saw an opportunity and couldn’t let it pass me by without at least drawing it first,’ Viktor scoffs but the smile upon his lips remained, ‘and besides you looked really peaceful and relaxed that I wanted it to be something I remember. Hoping I get to experience more moments like that to be my muse for my future drawings.’ You finished.

‘I’m glad the to could do that for you my dear.’ Viktor closed his eyes and rested his head further against yours, wanting nothing then to capture this moment within his mind forever, secretly hoping to continue to be the muse of your art projects as your artistic range grew.

‘You’ve always been my muse,’ you said, closing your eyes, ‘you will always will be my muse.’

[theonottsbxtch]

COURAGE | OP81

an: i warn you ahead of time this faces the topic of substance abuse, if you or anyone you know needs help, please feel free to talk to me or here are links for who to talk to: united kingdom, united states, canada, europe. these are some of the links i've found, if you need help searching for one, my inbox is always open!

warnings: substance abuse, religous themes, mentions of death & hospitals.

wc: 4.6k

The church bells rang out over the small town of Willow Creek, their low hum rolling through the autumn air like a solemn hymn. Oscar stood at the edge of his front porch, adjusting the cuffs of his Sunday shirt as he waited for her. He always waited for her.

She emerged moments later from her house next door, pulling her shawl tighter against the chill. The hem of her modest dress caught the breeze, brushing against her knees as she approached. She didn’t say much, she never did on Sundays. Her gaze, solemn and steady, flicked toward the church steeple visible from the end of the street.

“Ready?” Oscar asked, though he already knew the answer.

She nodded, her braid catching the sunlight as they started down the gravel path.

The girl was his best friend, his constant, the one person in this quiet town who felt as real to him as the chipped paint on his window frame or the threadbare pews at St. Anne’s.

Their routine was always the same: church in the morning, quiet afternoons spent sitting on his porch or hers, talking about scripture or nothing at all. It was an existence that felt safe and good, built on a foundation as steady as the faith they shared.

But something had shifted in her lately. He couldn’t place it, not exactly. She still walked with him to church. She still bowed her head during the prayers, her lips moving silently along with the hymns. But her eyes were somewhere else, distant and restless, as though her thoughts had wandered too far and couldn’t find their way home.

“I heard Father O’Connell mention the youth retreat next month,” Oscar said, breaking the silence as they neared the church steps. “He said he’s hoping for a big turnout this year. Are you thinking of going?”

She hesitated. The pause was brief, but it was there, and Oscar caught it like a pebble in his shoe.

“Maybe,” she said, her voice quieter than usual. Then she offered him a faint smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “We’ll see.”

Oscar didn’t press her. He never did. But as they entered the church, he couldn’t help but notice the way her hand lingered at the edge of her shawl, clutching it like a tether.

It started with small things.

Oscar didn’t think much of it when she skipped their afternoon talks one Sunday. Her mum had said she wasn’t feeling well, and that made sense. People got sick; life happened. But then she missed the next Sunday, too. And the one after that.

She stopped coming to the Wednesday youth group meetings at church, which was even stranger. For as long as he could remember, she’d been one of the first to volunteer for scripture readings or help organise bake sales. Now, her name wasn’t even on the signup sheets.

Oscar wanted to ask her about it, but he couldn’t figure out how. It wasn’t like they had a friendship built on confrontation. They’d grown up side by side in the same pews, their lives as intertwined as the ivy creeping up the churchyard walls. But it was a quiet bond, one where words weren’t always necessary.

That’s what made the silence feel so loud.

One Friday afternoon, after work, Oscar saw her for the first time in weeks. She was sitting on the front steps of her house, legs crossed, the heel of her shoe tapping a restless rhythm against the wood.

“Hey,” he called as he approached, hands in his pockets. “Haven’t seen you around.”

She looked up, her expression unreadable. “Yeah, I’ve been busy.”

Busy. The word felt wrong coming from her, like a puzzle piece jammed into the wrong spot.

“Your mum said you were sick,” he said, testing the waters.

Her eyes flickered, just for a moment. “Yeah. That too.”

He leaned against the porch railing, watching her closely. There was something different about her, but he couldn’t pin it down. Her braid was still neat, her dress still modest, but the way she sat—loose, almost careless—was unfamiliar.

“You coming to youth group next week?” he asked, trying to keep his tone light.

She shrugged. “Probably not.”

“Why not?”

She looked at him then, really looked at him, and he felt like she was seeing through him instead of at him.

“Just not my thing right now,” she said, and there was an edge to her voice he didn’t recognise.

Oscar frowned. “You’ve been going for years.”

“Yeah, well,” she said, standing abruptly. “People change.”

And just like that, she disappeared inside, leaving Oscar alone on the porch with the sound of her footsteps echoing in his ears.

Over the next few weeks, Oscar saw less and less of her. When he did see her, she wasn’t the same.

The first time he noticed the guy, it was at the diner on Main Street. She was sitting in a booth near the window, her back to him, but he recognised her laugh instantly. She wasn’t alone.

The guy was tall, older, with a leather jacket slung over the back of his chair. He leaned in close when he talked to her, his hand brushing her arm like it was the most natural thing in the world. Oscar stood outside the diner for a long time, watching them through the glass.

When she turned her head and laughed again, Oscar caught a glimpse of her face. There was something wild in her expression, something unrestrained and electric. It scared him.

He didn’t tell her he’d seen her. He wasn’t sure why.

But the next Sunday, when her mum stopped him on his way to church, the worry in her eyes told him she’d seen it too.

“Have you talked to her?” her mum asked, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. “She’s… I don’t know what’s going on with her. She won’t talk to me.”

Oscar didn’t know what to say.

“I’m sure it’s just a phase,” he offered weakly.

Her mum smiled, but it was the kind of smile people gave at funerals.

“I hope so,” she said.

The next time Oscar saw her, it wasn’t at church or on her front porch. It was behind the convenience store on Elm Street, just after dusk.

He had been walking home, the kind of mindless stroll he often took when his thoughts got too loud. The streets were mostly empty, the only sounds the faint hum of a streetlamp and the crunch of gravel beneath his shoes.

He heard her before he saw her. Laughter—sharp, jagged, and nothing like the laugh he remembered. It came from the alley behind the store, followed by the low murmur of voices.

Oscar turned the corner, and there she was.

She leaned against the brick wall, her arms crossed loosely over her chest, a cigarette dangling from her fingers. The glow of the lighter in the guy’s hand caught her face just long enough for Oscar to see the hollow beneath her eyes, the strange way her smile curled at the edges, like she wasn’t entirely sure it belonged there.

The guy was the same one from the diner, older and out of place in this small town. He said something to her, and she threw her head back in laughter, her voice ringing out into the quiet night.

Oscar froze. She looked so different. Her braid was gone, her hair loose and tangled, framing a face that seemed sharper, thinner. Her clothes were casual but careless, like she’d grabbed the first things within reach. She didn’t look like the girl he’d grown up with—the girl who bowed her head in prayer and scolded him when he skipped scripture reading. She looked like someone else entirely.

The guy noticed Oscar first. He smirked, nudging her with his elbow. “Friend of yours?”

She turned her head, her smile fading when she saw him. For a moment, something flickered in her expression—guilt, maybe, or shame—but it was gone as quickly as it came.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice sharper than he expected.

“I could ask you the same thing,” he said, his throat dry.

She rolled her eyes and took a drag from the cigarette, exhaling smoke into the cold air. “It’s none of your business, Oscar.”

“It is my business,” he said, stepping closer. “You’re my friend.”

She laughed, but it was a brittle sound, lacking any real warmth. “Yeah, well, friends don’t follow each other around like lost puppies.”

Oscar felt the words like a slap, but he didn’t back down. “This isn’t you,” he said quietly. “What are you doing with him?”

The guy smirked again, clearly enjoying the tension. “Relax, man. She’s fine.”

“No one asked you,” Oscar snapped, his voice louder than he intended.

The guy raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. I’ll leave you two to it.” He handed her the lighter, brushing her fingers with his in a way that made Oscar’s stomach turn, and walked off down the alley.

She didn’t look at Oscar right away. Instead, she stared at the lighter in her hand, turning it over like it was a puzzle she couldn’t solve.

“I’m fine,” she said finally, her voice softer but still distant. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

“You’re not fine,” Oscar said, his frustration bubbling over. “You’ve stopped coming to church. You won’t talk to your mum. And now you’re…” He trailed off, gesturing helplessly toward the cigarette still in her hand.

She sighed, tilting her head back against the wall. “I don’t need a lecture, okay? I get enough of that at home.”

“I’m not trying to lecture you,” he said, his voice cracking. “I just… I don’t understand. Why are you doing this?”

Her gaze flicked to his, and for a brief moment, he saw something raw in her eyes—pain, anger, maybe even fear. But then she blinked, and the mask was back.

“Maybe I’m tired of being the perfect little Catholic girl,” she said, her tone light but cutting. “Did you ever think of that?”

Oscar stared at her, searching for the girl he knew beneath the stranger in front of him. “This isn’t you,” he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper.

She pushed off the wall, brushing past him. “Maybe you never really knew me.”

And just like that, she was gone, leaving him standing alone in the alley, the faint scent of smoke lingering in the air.

That night, Oscar lay awake, staring at the cracks in his ceiling. He wanted to help her, to pull her out of whatever dark place she’d fallen into, but he didn’t know how. She wouldn’t let him.

For the first time in years, he prayed not for himself, but for her.

“God,” he whispered into the stillness of his room. “Please. Bring her back.”

It became a pattern.

Oscar would see her slipping further away, each time a little less like the girl he had grown up with and a little more like a stranger. Sometimes it was behind the convenience store. Other times he saw her stumbling out of a car that didn’t belong in their quiet town, the headlights cutting through the dark as it sped off, leaving her swaying on the curb.

She wasn’t hiding it anymore.

When their paths crossed now, she barely looked at him. Her words, when she offered any, were short and cold, like she was daring him to stop caring. But he couldn’t stop.

So he prayed.

Every night, he knelt by his bed, his hands clasped tightly together, his eyes shut so hard it hurt. He prayed for her to come back, for her to see what she was doing to herself. He prayed for the strength to find the right words, the right actions, anything to pull her out of this spiral. But every morning, when he saw her again—laughing too loud, her eyes bloodshot and empty—it felt like no one was listening.

One night, well past midnight, there was a knock on his window. He woke with a start, his heart pounding, and stumbled to open it. She was standing there, her hair tangled and wild, her face streaked with something he couldn’t tell if it was makeup or tears.

“You need to stop,” she said, her voice slurred but venomous.

“Stop what?” he asked, his voice barely audible.

“Praying for me,” she snapped. “I know you’re doing it. Just… stop.”

Her words stung, but what hurt more was the way she looked at him—like he was the enemy. Before he could respond, she turned and disappeared into the night, leaving him standing in the cold.

A week later, it was her mum who knocked—not on his window, but on his door.

Oscar opened it to find her standing on the porch, her face pale and drawn, her eyes red from crying. She looked older than he’d ever seen her, like the weight of the world had settled on her shoulders and wouldn’t let go.

“Hi, Ms,” he said, stepping aside to let her in.

She didn’t move. Instead, she stood there, clutching the edge of her sweater like it was the only thing keeping her together. “Oscar,” she began, her voice trembling. “I didn’t know who else to come to.”

He felt his stomach sink. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s her,” she said, her voice cracking. “She’s… I don’t know what’s happening to her. She barely comes home anymore. And when she does…” She broke off, pressing a hand to her mouth.

Oscar didn’t need her to finish. He’d seen it all himself.

“I’ve tried talking to her,” Her mother continued, her words spilling out in a rush. “I’ve begged her to stop, to come back to church, to tell me what’s going on, but she won’t listen. She doesn’t even look at me anymore. And now…” She trailed off again, her shoulders shaking as tears filled her eyes.

Oscar reached out instinctively, placing a hand on her arm. “Ms…”

She shook her head, brushing his hand away. “I don’t know what to do, Oscar. She’s slipping away from me, and I can’t stop it. I thought maybe you could… I don’t know. Talk to her. Get through to her. She listens to you, doesn’t she?”

The desperation in her voice was like a knife in his chest.

“She used to,” he admitted, his throat tight. “But not anymore. She won’t let me help her. I’ve tried. I’ve tried so many times.”

Her face crumpled, and she let out a sob, covering her face with her hands. “She’s all I have,” she choked out. “It’s just me and her. I don’t know how to do this alone.”

Oscar hesitated, his heart breaking at the sight of her. He wanted to promise her that he could fix everything, that he’d bring her daughter back, but the words wouldn’t come. He didn’t know if he could keep that promise.

Instead, he did the only thing he could think of. He stepped closer and wrapped his arms around her. She stiffened for a moment, then broke down completely, her sobs muffled against his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his own voice shaking. “I’m so sorry.”

They stood like that for what felt like an eternity, the house silent except for her quiet, broken cries.

When she finally pulled away, wiping her eyes, she gave him a look so full of raw hope it made his chest ache. “Please, Oscar,” she said. “Don’t give up on her.”

He nodded, though his heart was heavy with doubt. “I won’t.”

But as he watched her walk back across the front garden to her house, the weight of the promise settled over him like a stone. He didn’t know how to save someone who didn’t want saving.

So that night, like every night before, he knelt by his bed and prayed.

“God,” he whispered into the darkness, his voice trembling. “Please. Show me what to do.”

That night the ringing of his phone jolted Oscar out of a restless sleep. For a moment, he thought it was his alarm, but the screen glowed faintly in the dark: Unknown Number.

He rubbed his eyes and answered, his voice groggy. “Hello?”

The sound on the other end wasn’t words at first. It was crying—deep, heaving sobs that clawed at his chest before he even recognised her voice.

“It’s me,” she managed between gasps.

Oscar sat up so quickly the blankets slid off his lap. “Where are you? What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” she choked out. “I’m… I’m at this party, and I—I took something, and now I can’t—” Her voice cracked, and she let out another sob. “I feel so weird, Oscar. I feel like I’m dying.”

His heart dropped. “You’re not dying,” he said quickly, already grabbing his keys from the nightstand. “You’re not. I’m coming to get you. Just tell me where you are.”

She mumbled the address through her tears, barely coherent, but he caught enough to recognise the street. It was across town, the kind of neighborhood he tried to avoid.

“Stay where you are,” he said, his voice shaking. “Don’t move. I’m on my way.”

He hung up and bolted for the door, his chest tight with fear.

The streets were eerily quiet as he sped through town, the glow of his headlights slicing through the darkness. His mind raced faster than the car, flashing through every worst-case scenario he could imagine. He gripped the wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white, his foot pressing harder on the gas.

When he turned onto the street, he knew he was in the right place. Cars were lined haphazardly along the curb, some with doors still hanging open. Music blared from the house, but the sound was disjointed, chaotic.

And then he saw them.

A wave of people surged out the front door, spilling into the front garden and onto the street. They were shouting, laughing, some tripping over themselves in their haste to leave. Oscar pulled over and jumped out of the car, his heart pounding.

“What’s going on?” he yelled at one of them, grabbing a guy by the arm.

“Cops are coming,” the guy slurred, shaking him off. “Some girl OD’d, man. It’s bad.”

Oscar didn’t wait to hear more. He shoved his way through the crowd, pushing against the flow of bodies until he reached the front door. The smell hit him first—alcohol, smoke, and something sour underneath.

Inside, the scene was chaos. The music was still blaring, but most of the partygoers were gone, leaving behind overturned cups and broken bottles. He stepped over a pile of discarded coats and followed the sound of a frantic voice.

In the living room, he found her.

She was lying on the floor, her face pale, looking like nothing he’d ever seen before. A girl about their age was kneeling beside her, pressing her hands against her chest in a desperate rhythm.

“Come on,” the girl muttered, her voice shaking. “Come on, don’t do this.” She glanced up briefly, her phone pressed to her ear. “Yeah, I’m doing compressions,” she said into the receiver. “Please, hurry.”

Oscar froze for a moment, the sight stealing the air from his lungs. She looked so small, so fragile. Her hair was damp with sweat, her lips tinged blue.

The girl performing CPR looked up again, her eyes wild. “Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to help?”

Her words jolted him into motion. He dropped to his knees beside them, his hands trembling as he reached for her. “What happened?” he asked, his voice cracking.

“I don’t know,” the girl snapped. “She took something—pills, I think. Someone said it was laced, but I don’t know with what.” 

Oscar’s hands hovered uselessly over her, his mind racing. He didn’t know what to do. He’d never been trained for this, never thought he’d need to be.

But he knew he needed to do something, looking at the girl in front of him, he watched her hands and pushed them aside, continuing for her. 

“She went upstairs to take a phone call, walked back in and collapsed.” The girl sat back on her heels, then leaned forward to blow two breaths into her mouth. “They thought it was a joke at first, but it all got so serious all of a sudden.” Oscar continued the same rhythm on her chest, watching as the girl flexed her hands nervously. Underneath his breath, he was silently praying that someone was listening, because in the last couple of weeks he was beginning to lose faith. No one listened to him when he was desperate, begging for someone to save her.

“Stay with me,” the other girl murmured, her voice cracking as tears streamed down her face. “Don’t you dare give up.”

The distant wail of sirens broke through the chaos, growing louder with every passing second. Relief flooded Oscar’s chest, but it was fleeting. He looked down at her pale, lifeless face and felt the weight of every prayer he’d ever whispered.

“God,” he said under his breath, his voice breaking. “Please. Don’t take her.”

The sirens grew deafening as the paramedics burst through the door. Oscar was pulled back, forced to watch as they took over, their voices calm but urgent as they worked to save her.

He didn’t realise he was crying until he tasted salt on his lips.

As they loaded her onto a stretcher and wheeled her out the door, Oscar followed, his legs unsteady but his resolve firm. He wasn’t leaving her—not now, not ever.

He watched them close the doors of the back of the ambulance and ran back to his car to follow them when he saw the girl weakly walk out of the house. He could have just left her, but she had just saved his best friend’s life. Instead, he walked back up to the house, hugged her and offered her a lift.

When Oscar finally got to the hospital, it was cold and quiet in a way that felt wrong, like it was holding its breath. Oscar sat in the hard plastic chair next to her bed, his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped tightly together. He had barely spoken to anyone since they arrived, giving only short, clipped answers to the nurses’ questions.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, staring at her pale face, willing her to wake up. The IV in her arm looked too big, too intrusive, and the steady beeping of the heart monitor was the only thing anchoring him to the moment.

Finally, her eyelids fluttered.

He shot upright, his breath catching as she groaned softly, her head turning toward him. Her eyes opened slowly, unfocused and heavy, but when they landed on him, recognition flickered.

“Oscar?” she croaked, her voice barely audible.

Tears sprang to his eyes, and he let out a shaky laugh that was more relief than joy. “Yeah, it’s me,” he said, his voice thick. He reached for her hand, squeezing it gently. “You scared the hell out of me.”

He never cursed. 

She blinked, her gaze shifting to the IV in her arm, the sterile hospital room around her. “What happened?”

“You don’t remember?” he asked, his voice breaking.

She shook her head weakly, then winced. “I… I don’t know. I was at the party, and then…” Her voice trailed off, her brows furrowing as if the memory was too painful to touch.

Oscar leaned closer, his face inches from hers. “What were you thinking?” he asked, his voice low but trembling. “Do you have any idea what could’ve happened to you? You could’ve—” He stopped himself, his chest heaving as he swallowed back the lump in his throat.

This wasn’t what she needed to hear.

She looked away, tears slipping down her cheeks. “I didn’t mean to,” she whispered. “I didn’t think it would…”

Oscar let out a shuddering breath, running a hand through his hair. “I thought I lost you,” he admitted, his voice barely audible.

They sat in silence, the weight of his words hanging between them.

A nurse came in not long after, checking her vitals and saying she’d be discharged soon. Oscar nodded numbly, his mind already racing.

When they stepped out of the hospital, the chill of the early morning air hit them both. He helped her to the car, her steps unsteady, and buckled her into the passenger seat. She leaned her head against the window, her eyes glassy and distant.

“I’ll call your mum,” he said, turning the key in the ignition.

“No,” she said quickly, her voice hoarse but firm.

Oscar paused, his hand on the wheel. “I need to tell her. I stopped the hospital from calling her.”

“Please, don’t,” she said, her voice breaking. She turned to him, her eyes pleading. “I can’t face her right now.”

He hesitated, the conflict written all over his face. “What do you want me to do?” he asked finally, his voice soft.

“Just drive,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

So he did.

They didn’t talk as the car rumbled down the empty highway. The radio was off, the only sounds the hum of the engine and the occasional rustle of her shifting in her seat.

She didn’t cry, but her silence was heavy, and Oscar didn’t push her. He kept his eyes on the road, his hands gripping the wheel tightly.

After a couple of hours, her breathing evened out, and when he glanced over, he saw that she’d fallen asleep, her face turned toward him, her expression soft but exhausted.

He sighed, his chest aching with a mix of relief and sadness. He took the next exit and drove toward her house.

When they arrived, it was still early, the sky a pale gray as dawn broke. He parked in front of her house, then got out and walked around to her side. Carefully, he opened the door and unbuckled her seatbelt, slipping an arm under her knees and another around her back.

She stirred slightly as he lifted her, but she didn’t wake. Her head lolled against his chest, and he carried her up the porch steps and knocked softly on the door.

It swung open almost immediately, and her mum stood there, her face a mixture of worry and exhaustion. When she saw her daughter in his arms, she let out a strangled cry, her hands flying to her mouth.

“She’s okay,” Oscar said quickly, his voice gentle. “She’s just sleeping.”

Her mum nodded, tears streaming down her face. She stepped aside, and he carried her inside, laying her gently on the sofa.

Her mother sank to her knees beside her, sobbing quietly as she brushed the hair from her daughter’s face. “Thank you,” she whispered, looking up at Oscar. “Thank you for bringing her home.”

Oscar knelt beside her, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “She’s going to be okay,” he said softly, though he wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince her or himself.

They sat there for a while, her mum’s quiet cries filling the silence.

Eventually, Oscar cleared his throat. “Do you have a spare set of sheets?” he asked.

She looked at him, confused. “Why?”

“I’m going to stay,” he said. “Just for tonight. I’ll sleep on the floor. I want to make sure she’s okay.”

Her mum nodded, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. “Thank you,” she said again, her voice breaking.

Later, after setting up a makeshift bed on the floor beside the couch, Oscar lay there, staring at the ceiling. The room was quiet now, her mum having gone to bed, but he could hear her breathing softly above him.

He closed his eyes and whispered another prayer, one of gratitude this time.

“Thank you,” he murmured. “Thank you for giving her another chance.”

And for the first time in a long time, he felt like someone was listening.

the end.

[seleneprince]

The MC from my yandere!batfam au

Name: Lucia Wayne-Perez

(This got too long, ops. And there's more coming)

-Her mother was a whore, living in a pretty shitty neighborhood and working for equally shitty people. She got pregnant after a one-night stand with Bruce Wayne. She was told to abort the baby, since not only it would be a burden to her job, but she wouldn't been able to give her a good life.

-However, she refused everytime. She briefly considered using the baby to get a hold of the Wayne's fortune, but as time passed, she decided to keep her precious babygirl to herself instead. The rich society wouldn't ever accept them anyway, and if they gave a shit, it'll be only to take Lucia away from her for being a Wayne.

-For the first time in her life, the woman had something worth living for. Something that was entirely hers, her own creation. And she refused to let anyone take it from her.

-Unfortunately, love itself isn't enough to raise a child, as she soon found out. With a new mouth to feed, she had to work more and leave little Lucia with other people more often than not. When she became old enough, her mother chose to leave her alone at home instead, drilling in her mind to never, ever, open the door to anyone that wasn't her.

-It made her feel better knowing her babygirl was waiting for her at their home, rather that in someone else's hands.

-Lucia's happiest memories from childhood are the time she spent with her mother when she wasn't working, doing things together at home. They cooked together, watched tv snuggled at the couch, chased each other all around their little apartment between laughs.

-From outside, it wasn't a safe or healthy life for a kid. But Lucia was loved, and she was happy even when they struggled. Her mother was her everything.

-Then her little brother was born, her mother once again deciding to keep the baby against all advice, and Lucia learnt to take care not only of herself, but now of another human being as well.

-It was fine, because she adored her little brother. She wasn't alone anymore when Mommy went out to work. She had her brother to play with.

-She was homeschooled, definitely. Her mother was smarter than people gave her credit for, so she had no problem teaching them what they needed. Plus, it gave for sweet family bonding time.

-The people her mother worked for were dangerous, ruling over the town with iron fists and fear. The woman had a somewhat privileged position compared to her co-workers, but it didn't mean she was safe.

-And she found out the worst way.

-You see, Lucia's mother earned her privileges with her charm and silver tongue, not only for her "work ethic". This allowed her to get a hold on certain secrets, information she shouldn't have had. The kind of secrets that, if she shared them with anyone, they would've mean serious trouble for her superiors.

-It didn't sit right with them, of course, so they decided to eliminate the risk permanently.

-One day, a man showed up to their apartment's door, banging it loudly and yelling. Her mother grabbed Lucia and her brother in a hurry, shoved them in a closet and locked it, telling them to not make a sound until she returned.

-Through the gaps of the closet, Lucia could only see the shadows of her mother and the stranger, and heard the screams. She cried, burying her face in her brother's head to muffle the sounds, covering his mouth with her hand to do the same for him.

-At last, she heard gunshots. Several. She saw traces of blood splashed on the wall, and then silence followed. Eery, terrible silence.

-There were voices of adults talking, all men. She could heard them walk through the apartment, and she closed her eyes tightly, begging silently that they left soon so Mom could return and comfort them.

-But Mom didn't return. Instead, heavy footsteps approached them, and the closer was opened slowly.

-A man stood in front of them. Big, scary looking, and with his clothes stained in red.

-He didn't say anything, didn't move, just stared at them. Lucia held his gaze with her teary eyes, her brother holding unto her.

-"Oi, you found anything?!"

-"Nah, there's nothing in here!"

-And he locked the closet again.

-The police arrived much later, ripping the closet open apart, as if they knew they were there. They were led out of the apartment, passing the living room, where there was blood everywhere...and Mommy's corpse laying there, with a giant pool of red underneath.

-Lucia shielded her brother's eyes, but no one did it for her. She just looked at her mother, unblinking, frozen in the spot. She couldn't hear anything or anyone besides her own heart and an intense ringing in her ears.

-She had to be dragged away from the scene.

-Commissary Gordon received them on the street, after they were covered in blankets and briefly interrogated. He was the nicest of the bunch, even when Lucia remained unresponsive. He didn't ask questions, leading them to his car with a gentle hand and taking them to the police station, where they soon figured out they had no relatives to care for them.

-Gordon himself took them to the orphanage, reminiscing of a certain event several years ago when he saw another child with the same haunted look in his eyes, right after losing his parents too.

-It was only after her brother fell asleep that Lucia finally broke down.

-In the orphanage, things weren't much better. Gotham doesn't care about orphans unless they're rich. The clothes weren't the best quality, the food wasn't always warm, and sometimes the punishments for misbehaving were a bit too harsh.

-Lucia found out she hates small, closed spaces. She was thrown in one as punishment for causing trouble and got such a panic attack she fainted there.

-However, she grew to like it there despite all. She played with other kids, her brother had other people to take care of him, and she was free. She cried every night for her Mom, but the rest of the day wasn't so bad.

-Until blood tests came. Lucia knew she and her brother came from different fathers, but she had no idea who they were. Afraid that they would be separated, Lucia went out of her way to avoid getting blood tests. Hiding when there was an appointment, pretending to be sick or injured. Anything.

-It worked for a year, surprisingly. Because again, no one cares about orphans.

-But then, one of the orphanage's rich sponsors dropped for a visit, to check their donations were used properly. That person happened to have known Martha Wayne from youth...and pointed out the strong resemblance little Lucia held with the woman.

-She couldn't evade the blood test this time. The results confirmed the suspicions: She was Bruce Wayne's daughter, and meant to go live with him.

-Everyone filled her ears with praises about Bruce, about how lucky she was, how great of a father he obviously is. That everything will be better from now on. And he'll definitely let her visit her brother as much as she wishes, maybe adopting him too.

-For the first time since her mother's death, Lucia felt hopeful. As she was dropped at the Wayne manor, being welcomed by the kind butler named Alfred, she believed great things awaited her.

-It wasn't the case.

-Her father doesn't seem happy to see her, barely concealing his indifference with a quick apology over the loss of her mother (which happened a year ago by then so what's the point?). He's distant and doesn't show interest in her, handling her over to Alfred while he goes on about his day. Alfred apologized on Bruce's behalf, holding her by the hand and leading her through the manor, helping her get established in her new room.

-Lucia might've been young, but she wasn't blind, and the circumstances she was raised in only made her more observant than most children. She knew she wasn't wanted there, that she was an unpleasant surprise for her father. Which, okay, it hurt a bit a lot but she could handle it. She only had to wait for him to get used to her presence and work hard to earn his love.

-She meets Dick Grayson next, her older brother, according to Alfred. Lucia is hopeful once again. Maybe if her father doesn't like her very much, at least she can get along with her big brother.

-Wrong again. Dick shows pity for her situation and ruffles her hair as a greeting, talking to her in a friendly manner, but Lucia can see he's disconnected from it. He leaves as soon as he can.

-The others aren't any better, making her feel more and more dissapointed by each meeting. Tim brushes her off before they can even talk, acting as if she didn't exist. Jason is scary as fuck, being so big and grumpy (it reminds her of the man that opened the closet). Cassandra and Barbara are polite enough, greeting her when they see each other around the manor, but that's all. Stephanie seems genuinely interested at first, sitting down with her and asking questions, only to ignore her completely after some weeks.

-Turns out she was just bored and Lucia was something "new" to distract herself.

-It becomes clear that she wasn't wanted there. She was an inconvenience, someone that was forced upon them without asking for it, especially for her father.

-The whole family disregard her, and she feels how she disturbs their mood when she enters the room. How their conversations grew quieter in her presence, letting clear she wasn't part of the group.

-They hang out a lot, but never made an effort to include her unless Alfred suggested them to. Lucia couldn't stand how uncomfortable they obviously were with her there, so she was the one to tell Alfred it wasn't necessary.

-Lucia thought she only had to try harder. She noticed how all the family were so talented. She had to keep up. Prove herself to them.

-She took gymnastics classes, judo, programming, painting, everything she could try. She read books Jason liked, studied hard to get good grades. Everything she could think of to impress them and have their approval.

-Nothing worked. In fact, they only seemed more annoyed when she tried to get their attention.

-Acting rebellious was out of the question, thanks to Alfred. He taught her etiquette and how to behave in social settings now she was a Wayne. That her actions could affect the Wayne's reputation. Besides, she respected the man too much to dissapoint him like that.

-The last straw was when Damian showed up, her other half-blood brother. She expected him to be received with the same coldness and indifference, and thought that she could bond with him. She already had a younger brother she loved, having another one would be great.

-Only to feel her heart break for the umpteenth time when he was treated with such kindness and warmness, despite him acting like an asshole all the time. She spent years running herself ragged to earn a spot in the family, to get just a tiny bit of their affection, all for nothing. And he gets it all and more without even trying. Why? What's the fucking difference? What does he have that she doesn't?

-Still, she tries to reach out to him anyway, just like with everyone. He's still her brother, after all. Her actual brother, not like the others. They have the same blood, surely that means something.

-She gets her answer when he sneaks into her room one night and tries to kill her, leaving a long scar across her neck.

-Damian gets a slap on the wrist and Lucia has to hear how he had such a rough upbringing, how he doesn't know better, that it wouldn't happen again. Please, forgive him.

-And that's exactly when she gives up. She realizes she'll never part of the family, not in a way that matters. She's nothing in that house. Her father doesn't want her, her supposed siblings treat her like shit. Well fuck them. She finally got the message. From now on, she'll stay out of everyone's way.

-She has her little brother and Alfred. She doesn't need anyone else. Alfred loves her enough to fill the gap of a father, and takes care of her with the utmost dedication, practically raising her as his own.

-With time, she decides this isn't so bad. At least she gets to live in a huge mansion with plenty of places to explore, and has a nice allowance. She can get used to this. Besides, with how often they're out of the manor, she's free to roam as much as she wants.

-Now, how she gets into her...slightly illegal hobby? Well, you see, that's the thing when you neglect a kid and ignore them all the time. They're left to their own devices without supervision. And they tend to wander into places they shouldn't be.

-Out of all the classes/activities she took, programming was her favourite, along with gimmnastics. She excelled at both, but there was something about technology that called to her. It was her preferred way to distract herself when loneliness hit too hard. She spent hours browsing through internet, playing with the settings, trying new things.

-She felt an addicting kind of satisfaction the first time she cracked a code, succesfully hacking someone's phone without them noticing. She realized she could to many, many things with this skill. And it was surprisingly entertaining. The thrill of it, the challenge it supposed to her. She found her passion.

-Soon enough, this hobby became her life. She went from phones to computers, from computers to security cameras. Not even electric vehicles were safe from her. If it had some sort of software, she could hack it.

-She began to build and develop her own arsenal. Programs, computers, tablets, drones. She modified her phone to be a weapon in her hands, capable of hacking and controlling anything remotely technologic with it. This gathers the interest of the wrong kind of crowd, pushing her into dangerous, very illegal bussiness.

-She uses the money she earns from it to provide for her little brother and save it for the future, in a separate account from Bruce. She intends to get them both out of Gotham at some point, and so her moral code gets more blurry as no one is there to tell her "Stop".

-Lucia grows up as an overachiever, unconsciously to fight her insecurities, and hyper-independent, believing fully she can only ever rely on herself.

-She's also naturally good at parkour, years of gimnastic classes serving her well to climb, jump and sneak into places gracefully. She spends a lot of time on rooftops to "work", since it's usually the best place.

-She also drives her own motorcycle, a gift from Alfred himself when she got her license. However, he'll have a heart attack if he saw how she tends to drive on it.

Part 2 definitely coming, 'cause I have more lore for this girl (she still has to meet Duke)

@nebulousmoon3990

[the-real-dannix]

There are degrees of shipping people with the Batfam. Like a spectrum even for established relationships.

And each non-bat can be anywhere from full civilian to other JL to someone turned this character into a bat by proxy.

My favorite is bat by proxy because it's a hilarious thing to me.

I mean, the ships that come to mind where the later works really well are Birdflash and TimKon. Which makes it better. Because Wally is a Flash and Kon is a Super. Two of the other rather large clans of themed leaguers with two of the other more recognizable family heads. I mean, throw in JayRoy and it's three of the others and adds in the Bruce v Oliver fun.

And the Bat by proxy thing.

I don't mean they just side with the Bats over the rest of the League. I mean they start becoming Bats by virtue of always being around them.

Like Wally just accidentally learning to be better at hearing people sneaking up on him because if he's gonna go to brunch with Dick at the Manor he has to be able to dodge these near silent people. Especially Damian, who will stab him if he fails a vibe check, and Tim, who will steal and solve your cases or hack your phones ringtone to be stuck at the loudest setting and playing Barbie world for every notification and there is no in between our way to tell which kind of day it is. So none of the League can sneak up on Wally. And he's smiling and capable like Nightwing but has also picked up that steal slightly crazy smile and no other flash is quite as scary as Wally.

Or Kon, after being constantly threatened with kryptonite by Steph, Jason, and Duke at various points just gives up and learns how to fight through the weakness and goes through enough bat training to be able to survive when he and then he's one of the best trained Supers in hand to hand and no one understand how. And because he's always around Tim, he gets really good and reading people. Because his life can and will depend on being about to tell if Tim is approaching someone at a gala for WE business or for RR business. Even the other supers are confused at how quick his is to pick up in the slightest shift in body language.

And Roy. It was easiest for Roy, going from Arrow to Bat. But that doesn't mean he didn't have to just get used to casually collecting blackmail as some kind of twisted way of showing love. The first time Tim gave him and Jason a photo of them on a date where neither of them knew Tim was watching or talking pictures Roy is shook. By the tenth he's finding it endearing and hoping that Tim manages to get around Jason's traps to get done candids of Lian. No other arrow is quite as stealthy, despite the red of his costume.

And the JL, even the 'families' they came from, know that they have the ability to appear normal. To blend with the rest of the League, but the longer they're with their Bats the more cryptid they become. Until Flash finds himself unsettled by Wally in the same way as the other Bats. And Big Boy Blue refuses to train with Kon for a different reason than before, no longer because of the clone thing but for the same reason he avoids training with any of the Bats. And Green Arrow finds himself looking over his shoulder for Bruce and Roy on the Watchtower.

And their secrets are more and civi identities locked down. No names in my the field and they never slip these days. Like any good Bat.

New Leaguers meet these converts and can't tell the difference between the Bats Batman chose and the ones the other Bats brought into the fam.

And the rest of the League starts to wonder: is being a Bat contagious?

[levisolace]

cigarette after dark — suguru geto x reader

pairing: suguru geto x f!reader

summary: smoking outside the club, an old friend who drifted away, suguru, finds you and strikes up a conversation.

genre: heavy angst. light comfort. modern au.

word count: 3.1k

warnings: heavily depressive thoughts. mentions a lot of smoking and quitting. mature themes.

note: completely a self-indulgent fic. it’s 2am and i can’t really think of another way to feel better unless to write it out. uploading this raw on my phone before i sleep so i’ll probably edit (maybe even delete) the post and re-format it tomorrow after work. idk if anyone will read this lol but here u go.

—————————

There was nothing to sugarcoat. This was it. You’re just another failure.

The puddle on the ground, a remnant of the rain that poured a few hours ago, reflects an image of a person that is foreign. Disgusted, you stare back at her with disdain.

You put the stick in your mouth, inhaling, and taking a long drag. The smoke curls around you like a cloak, shielding you from the chaos of the night. The bass from the club thumps faintly through the alley, vibrating the air but not quite reaching you. You exhale, watching the smoke dissipate into the cold, damp air, and for a fleeting moment, you feel like it could carry away everything you’ve been holding onto. But it doesn’t.

The reflection in the puddle shifts as you move, and you hate the way it looks back at you. Eyes heavy, makeup smudged, shoulders hunched like you’re trying to fold in on yourself. A version of you that you despise.

You take another drag, the heat from the cigarette warming your fingers as the nicotine buzz settles over your nerves. A voice in your head whispers that you should go back inside, but your legs don’t move. You can’t face the stares, the shallow laughs, or the weight of their questions.

“Got a spare?”

The voice is low, almost drowned out by the city noise. You glance up to see a figure standing a few feet away, their face obscured by shadow. For a moment, you’re too tired to answer. Wordlessly, you reach into your pocket and hold out your pack. He takes one, sliding it out with ease.

The man steps closer, just enough for the dim glow of the streetlight to catch their face—a mix of sharp edges softened by something you can’t quite name. They take the lighter you’re holding out from your hand with a quiet “Thanks,” lighting his cigarette with practiced ease.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. Just two people standing in the dark, sharing silence and smoke.

“How long has it been?” It’s him who speaks first, staring out into the bright moon.

You don’t answer for a while, contemplating if you’ll answer him or just stay silent and hope that he’ll leave you alone. After almost a minute, you decide on the former.

“Dunno. Like 3 years?”

“Wrong, it’s been four.”

“Four, huh?” you murmur, the words tasting unfamiliar on your tongue, like the cigarette in your hand. You flick the ash off the end, watching it dissolve into the puddle at your feet. “Feels like longer.”

He hums, leaning against the wall beside you. The air between you is thick with unspoken history, but he doesn’t push it—at least, not yet. You risk a glance at him, expecting the same boy you once knew, but what you see makes you pause.

Suguru Geto looks good. Too good. His black hair, once always falling in messy waves across his face, is now neatly tied back. His clothes are clean, tailored even, and the sharp edges of his face, once softened by youthful recklessness, now hold a quiet confidence. He looks like someone who has his life together—like someone who doesn’t spend nights outside clubs, smoking to forget.

The contrast is almost unbearable.

His posture is relaxed, but there’s a tension in his voice when he speaks again. “Didn’t think I’d find you here. Like this.”

You glance at him from the corner of your eye. He looks the same but not quite. Time has softened some of his edges and hardened others. The lines of his face are sharper, his frame broader, but there’s something familiar in the way he stands, hands in his pockets, like he’s trying not to take up too much space.

“And what’s this?” you ask, raising an eyebrow as you take a drag, trying to ignore how unnatural it still feels.

He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he watches as you exhale a slow stream of smoke, watching it curl into the damp air. “You. Out here. Smoking.”

The words sting more than you care to admit. You glance at the glowing tip of your cigarette, suddenly hating the way it feels between your fingers. “People change,” you say, but your voice lacks conviction.

“Yeah, they do.” He pauses, turning to look at you fully. “But this isn’t you.”

You snort, a humorless sound that feels foreign even to you. “You don’t know me anymore.”

“Maybe not,” he concedes, his tone quiet but steady. “But I used to. And the girl I knew wouldn’t have touched a cigarette, let alone ended up outside some club at this hour.”

You roll your eyes, the defensiveness bubbling up despite yourself. “Well, the girl you knew is gone. Life happened. People grow up.”

“Ha…”

His reaction hangs in the air, heavy and unavoidable. You don’t answer right away, staring down at the puddle again. The reflection staring back at you is a stranger, a reminder of all the ways you’ve tried to erase the person you used to be.

“You don’t get to judge me,” you say finally, your voice sharper than you intended.

“I’m not judging you,” he replies softly. “I just… I thought you’d have more faith in yourself than this.”

You laugh bitterly, shaking your head. “Faith doesn’t get you very far these days.”

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The sounds of the city fill the silence: the faint bassline from the club, the hum of passing cars, the drip of water from the gutter overhead.

“I thought about calling you,” he says suddenly, his voice breaking the stillness. “A lot, actually. But I don’t know why I didn’t. I thought—.”

“Thought what?” you reply, crushing the cigarette under your heel.

He chuckles, though it’s void of humor. “That you’d be better off without me.”

The words hit harder than you expect. You glance at him again, searching his face for pity, disappointment, anything—but all you see is regret.

“Why now?” you ask the question quieter than you meant it to be.

Why approach me now? is what you wanted to ask. You couldn’t get yourself to ask him directly but as if he knows you like the back of his hand, he answers the question.

“Because I saw you,” he says simply. “And I didn’t want to walk away this time.”

The honesty in his voice disarms you, cutting through the walls you’ve spent so long building. You look away, crossing your arms as if to shield yourself from the weight of his gaze.

“Maybe you should have,” you murmur, but your voice wavers, betraying the truth. And from the way he stays, you think he knows it, too.

He stayed silent as if he’s debating what to say. He looks like he wants to comfort you—or terribly ask what happened to you. Either way, you know that he can’t do it. He can’t get himself to open your wounds up so suddenly when it looks like it’s eating you alive.

For a while, neither of you says anything. The muffled bassline from the club fills the silence, blending with the distant hum of traffic. You sneak another glance at him, and that’s when you notice it—the cigarette in his hand, he hasn’t smoked it once.

The cigarette dangles between his fingers, the faint glow of the ember a stark contrast to the cold night air. He doesn’t bring it to his lips, doesn’t inhale. He just… holds it.

“You’re not smoking,” you say, your voice cutting through the quiet.

He glances at you, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’s amused. “Nope.”

“Then why the hell did you ask for one?”

He shrugs, twirling the cigarette between his fingers. “Felt like the easiest way to approach you.”

You glare at him, annoyed at his nonchalance. “You’re wasting it.”

“Not really.” He flicks the ash with a practiced motion, his gaze never leaving yours. “I quit years ago.”

The revelation catches you off guard. “Then why light it at all?”

He exhales—not smoke, just a slow breath—and leans back against the wall, looking up at the faint glow of the moon. “I guess…” He pauses, turning the lit cigarette in his hand, his voice softening. “I wanted to remember what it felt like. Holding this. Being here. With you.”

You flinch, the memory hitting like a slap. Back then, Suguru was the wild one—the one who always seemed to have a cigarette tucked in his fingers or a flask hidden in his jacket. You were the good one, the one who didn’t drink, didn’t smoke, didn’t step a toe out of line. You used to lecture him about taking care of himself, about how much potential he was wasting. And now? Now you’re the one standing in an alley with a cigarette in hand, trying to feel something other than regret.

“Guess the roles are reversed, huh?” you say with a forced chuckle, gesturing at him with the glowing tip of your cigarette. “Look at you. Clean, polished.”

You glance down at your cigarette, suddenly hating the way it tastes, the way it feels in your hand.

“Why’d you quit?” you ask, the question slipping out before you can stop it.

He smiles faintly, looking down at the cigarette in his hand. “Mm… I didn’t want it controlling me anymore. Felt like every bad decision I made started with one of these.” He twirls the cigarette between his fingers, a ghost of the habit he once had.

“Good for you,” you mutter, rolling your eyes a little. You can’t help it. You were jealous.

“What about you?” he asks this time, turning to look at you. “When did you start?”

The question makes your stomach twist, but you shrug it off, exhaling a stream of smoke. “A while ago. Doesn’t matter.”

“It does,” he says, his tone calm but insistent. “You used to give me so much crap for this.” He gestures vaguely with the cigarette, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “What changed?”

You hesitate, the words caught in your throat. What changed? Life? Disappointment? Somewhere along the line, the lines you swore you’d never cross blurred until you didn’t recognize them—or yourself. If Suguru’s bad decision started with the stick in your hand, yours ended with it. Every bad decision you made piled up and up until all you could do was punish yourself in many ways possible. That included this… stupid addiction.

Failure—that’s what you are. And failures… they’re just that.

“Life. Me. You know how it is. One wrong decision after another and next thing you know, you’re exactly the disappointment you fear you’d be.”

“Hm,” he agrees, tilting his head slightly like he doesn’t agree with you.

You roll your eyes, the defensiveness bubbling up. You know what he’s thinking. “You don’t know me anymore, Suguru.”

“No,” he admits, his voice soft but steady. “But I don’t think you’re as far gone as you think.”

His words hang in the air, heavy and unwelcome. You glare at the ground, crushing the cigarette under your heel with more force than necessary.

“Cut the bullshit,” you snap. “I don’t need your words of wisdom.”

Suguru sighs, flicking his own cigarette into the puddle. It hisses softly, the ember extinguished, and he turns to face you fully. “I’m not trying to do anything,” he says quietly. “But I know you don’t need this.”

The honesty in his voice makes something in your chest tighten, and for a moment, you want to tell him to leave. To stop looking at you like you’re someone worth saving.

But he doesn’t push. He just stands there, hands in his pockets, like he’s waiting for you to let him in.

A new cigarette burns low between your fingers, the smoke curling up into the night air like a ghost of something you can’t name. Suguru stands beside you, quiet now, the silence between you stretching long and thin. You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, but he doesn’t say anything. Maybe he senses you don’t want him to.

The stillness lets your thoughts slip in, unwelcome and relentless.

You think about her—the girl you used to be. The one who would have hated to see you like this. That girl had big dreams and bigger expectations from herself and everyone around her. She thought she could take on the world, carve out a future she’d be proud of. Back then, it felt possible.

But somewhere along the line, it all unraveled.

One bad decision led to another. You chose the wrong major, convinced yourself it would work out. It didn’t. Classes you thought you could handle became impossible to pass. Graduation came late, dragging with it the weight of disappointment. Every failure piled up until it felt like they were suffocating you. It suffocated you until even doing the smallest tasks took too much of your positive energy.

There was so much anger and hatred for yourself that it was either you pull away from everyone… or you’ll have to see them disappointed in you. You chose the former everytime. And that’s why you failed at every aspect of life. Career, friends, family… love. All you feel now is an emptiness that is both heavy and light. Heavy in emotions. Light in meaningful weight.

Everything that was good about you was taken away from you. It’s like someone’s out to get you. It’s like someone’s punishing you to forever be painfully mediocre. Never good. Never bad. God, you feel like a non-playable character in your own life, watching yourself try and try over and over again but it’s like you’re destined to not be somebody. Not somebody’s best coworker. Not somebody’s best daughter. Not somebody’s best friend. Not somebody’s girlfriend. It’s like you’re cursed to not be able to hold on to something that makes you feel good.

You drag on the cigarette, the bitterness of it filling your lungs, but it doesn’t quiet the ache.

If you could go back, maybe you’d say sorry to her—the little girl who dreamed of being someone better, someone whole. She didn’t deserve this. You’d tell her you tried. You really did. But the truth is, deep down, even back then, there was a voice whispering you’d never make it.

That voice had always been there. Back then, you fought it. You told yourself it was wrong. But it had patience. It waited.

And now it’s winning.

The cigarette trembles in your fingers, the smoke curling upward in erratic spirals. You bite your lip, trying to steady your breathing, but it’s no use. The weight pressing on your chest grows heavier, like it’s trying to crush you entirely.

You exhale slowly, staring at the faint glow of the streetlight reflected in the puddle at your feet. For a moment, it feels like you’re staring at her, that little girl that Suguru knew, looking back at you with all her bright-eyed hope and wonder. You wonder what she’d say if she could see you now.

“You’re quiet,” Suguru says, his voice breaking through your thoughts.

You glance at him, startled, and realize how long the silence has stretched. “Yeah,” you mutter, flicking ash off the cigarette. “Just thinking.”

“About what?”

“Nothing important.”

He doesn’t believe you—you can see it in the way his brows knit together, the way he studies you like he’s trying to piece together a puzzle. But he doesn’t press.

“You know,” he says softly, “quitting wasn’t easy for me.”

You raise a brow, caught off guard by the sudden shift in conversation. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says, taking what was left of the cigarette in your hand. “There were a lot of nights I thought about lighting one up. Not because I wanted to, but because it felt like I needed to. Like it was the only thing that made the rest of the world shut up for a bit.”

His words hit closer to home than you’d like. You look away, staring down at your own cigarette, now burned to the filter in his hand. “And what changed?”

Suguru shrugs, his gaze steady. “I realized it wasn’t fixing anything. It was just… giving me an excuse not to.”

You don’t say anything, but his words settle uncomfortably in your chest. He crushes the cigarette under his heel.

“You can still fight it,” he says after a moment, his tone soft but unwavering. “Whatever it is. You don’t have to let it win.”

You scoff, but it lacks conviction. “It’s not that easy.”

“I never said it was.” He shrugs, tucking his hands inside his pockets.

You don’t respond, the weight of his words mingling with the lingering taste of smoke in your mouth. Somewhere in the back of your mind, that voice still whispers, still taunts. But for the first time in a long while, it doesn’t feel quite so loud. Maybe it’s his presence, steady and familiar, or maybe it’s just the faintest flicker of hope. Either way, you don’t feel entirely alone. Not tonight.

You feel it before you even realize it’s happening—a tear slipping down your cheek, warm and unwelcome. You quickly turn your face away from Suguru, staring hard at the ground.

He doesn’t say anything, but you feel his gaze, calm and steady, like he’s waiting for you to say something first.

Another tear falls, then another, and before you know it, your shoulders are trembling as the quiet sobs escape you. You clench your jaw, swallowing hard, trying to hold it in, but it’s like a dam has broken.

Suguru shifts slightly, the faint sound of his shoes scuffing against the wet pavement. “Hey…” he says softly, his voice low and tentative.

You don’t respond. You can’t. If you open your mouth, you’re afraid you’ll break completely.

“I’m sorry,” he says after a moment. The sincerity in his voice makes your chest ache even more. “If I said something to—”

“No,” you manage to choke out, cutting him off. Your voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper. “Just… no.”

He doesn’t press further. He just stays there, silent and steady, his presence grounding in a way you didn’t expect.

Your tears fall freely now, mixing with the remnants of rain on the ground. You haven’t cried in front of anybody in so long. And yet, here you are, crying to some guy who was practically a stranger to you for four years.

“I ruined everything,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

Suguru shifts again, and this time, you feel his hand hover near your shoulder before settling there gently. His touch is warm, reassuring. Without a word, you lean in, wrapping your arms around him. He hugs you back with one arm, his hand on your head as he pulls you into his chest. You haven’t been held in so long. You’ve slept so many sleepless nights alone, wondering if the warmth of another person would make you feel better. It never did, not like Suguru’s.

The weight of his words settles in your chest, heavy but not unbearable. You don’t know exactly how this night came to be, but for the first time in a long while, the thought of waking up another day doesn’t feel entirely impossible.

Suguru stays quiet after that, his hand still caressing your hair, offering silent reassurance. He doesn’t try to push you further or tell you everything will be okay. He just stays, letting you cry, letting you feel.

And for now, that’s enough.

[jinxposting]

Jason Todd x Jinx! reader Chapter 5

Your Robin

"Batman and Jinx."

"Jinx and Batman."

"We'll work on it."

That was the last time you'd seen Robin. It's been roughly two years since then. It was a mystery amongst vigilantes and villains alike. One day Batman has his sidekick, the next they both go missing for months. When the Bat did resurface it was alone. Until now.

Your heart soared seeing the familiar color palette of the Bird. Only for it to sink when you came face to face with a stranger. Mask or no it didn't take a genius to notice the obvious differences in boys. This one was much smaller. Shorter, thinner, and relied more on redirecting than raw strength. Your Robin was tall, built, and liked to punch his problems.

Though props to the Bat, they appeared to be roughly the same age. Or rather what age your Robin should be, assuming he isn't dead. You frowned at the thought. No. He wasn't allowed to die. He has to become the new Batman like you planned.

This Robin wasn't as fun to banter with either. He lacked the dry sarcasm you were accustomed to. This one was too bright eyed.

You sat next to a gargoyle, overlooking the city. You sighed. "Where are you, Boy Wonder?"

"Aw, you missed me?"

"Not you, replacement." You didn't have to turn around to know he felt insulted by the term.

You weren't sure of the particulars when it came to Batman and his sidekicks but you were nothing if not loyal.

"You gonna come quietly or do we have to do this the hard way?"

From the corner of your eye you saw the boy brandish a bo staff. Another reason to dislike him. This one didn't even get his hands dirty.

"Please. As if you could catch me."

You'd taken Robin's - your Robin - words to heart. You'd been practicing your hand to hand combat these past few years. More importantly, you've been honing your skills.

You clicked the button of your remote trigger. Several colorful smoke bombs bursted to life around you. By the time Robin cleared the smoke from his vision you were gone. You had no reason to linger here. He's no fun.

You sat, tinkering away, at your workbench. Bomb after bomb, always decorated in colorful scribbles. This one resembles a bird. Didn't take a psychologist to figure out you'd grown attached to the masked boy. Didn't stop her from pointing it out though.

"You still mopin' around in here?"

Harley skipped into your room, bells jingling. She came to a quiet stop at your desk. You looked up with a sullen face.

"Come on, little J. Don't gimme those puppy dog eyes." She sat down next to you. "I know you miss your playmate but you'll find someone new to explode in no time!"

"But he's my rival. The Batman to my Joker."

"I hate seein' you so down... Tell ya what, why don't we have a girls night? Just you and me." Her grin grew wider. "We can hit the town! Try out those new glitter bombs you been workin' on?"

You gave a melancholic smile.

"That's the spirit!"

You spent that night covered in stolen jewelry and sparkles. One of your most fond memories. Harley had a more understanding side to her than Joker. A gentler one. You admired her for that.

You eventually did move on from your Robin blues. Of course you still miss him, but you knew it was out of your control. You still didn't take to the new Boy Wonder. Batman himself grew on you however. You talked, he pretended to ignore you, but given he always answered your questions of lesser importance you knew he was listening.

You'd also become better acquainted with your fellow villains. You especially like Selina - Catwoman - she always gave the shiniest gifts. Bane was cool too. For someone so roided up he made for a decent conversationalist.

Riddler could drop dead.

Man thinks he's funny. He's not.

You'd also made a name for yourself. People knew that with the name Jinx came explosions and spray paint. Legally you were labeled a terrorist. You blow up one banking building and accidentally erase thousands of credit card debts and SUDDENLY you're an activist. Not your goal but a happy coincidence nevertheless.

Joker was certainly pleased. You were a harbinger of destruction and chaos after all. You and your dysfunctional, mad family were on top of the world.

But even still, between everything at home being good (or at least what you're used to) and being one of the most notorious figures in Gotham you still felt something was missing. You knew what it was. Who it was. The only friend you'd ever had. You missed Robin. Your Robin.

Little did you know far from where you sat in Gotham, half way across the world, a certain boy laid in a vat of green waters. Ready to be reborn.

[cherrysurf]

can we have hot chocolate with tsukishima please? i'll bring a secret santa gift no worries 🫶 let's go christmas shopping !! 💕🤗🫡 (thank you🙏)

Hot cocoa at night !

(hii i hope this is to your standards, angst if you squint LOL, reader is a year older than tsukishima and yamaguchi, timeskip)

It was the middle of December and Christmas was a week away, you loved christmas and we’re all about christmas spirit, so was your brother Tadashi and his friend Tsukishima not so much….. But that didn’t stop you from trying to get him into the Christmas spirit. per usual he ended up spending the night over at our house like they used to do as kids since everyone was back home for the holidays. You were only a year older than tadashi but sometimes it felt like you were the same age “because you’re just as childish as tadashi” wise words from tsukishima. Anywho as you stand in the kitchen preparing hot cocoa for yourself it was 11pm, you couldn’t sleep maybe it was because of finals or maybe it was the fact that your crush was in the same house as you, after all this time it’s like a rush of emotions came back, tsukishima was no longer that boy that you once knew but a tall blonde man that was dare you say handsome, but that’s weird. That's not something a good sister does, good sisters don’t crush on their brother's friend. You sit there in thought sulking at your thoughts until you hear a faint voice call out your name, you turn around to find tsukishima standing there looking a little sleepless himself “hey tsuki…hot cocoa?” you say pointing down at the warm beverage he nods and goes and sits down at the table, truth be known you and him were used to this sorta way of communicating very few words but understood each other each time. He respected you of course, why wouldn’t he? you were tadashi’s older sister after all you were always helpful and nice and would tease tadashi alongside with him, but why was he so shy to speak to you especially during his and yours highschool years up until now.

You hand him a warm mug full of the chocolatey substance and sit across the table from him with yours. “you know you can call me kei yn, i feel like we’re long past formality’s” he says looking down at his drink, “oh i’m sorry kei it’s just force of habit i guess” you chuckled lightly and apologetically and sip your drink, to avoid saying anything else stupid. “the house hasn’t really changed huh?” he says lightly, always had a very soft tone around you compared to others, “yeah but i like it that way. I mean so many other things in my life have changed drastically. Is it nice to have something that doesn’t you know?”

you say tilting your head looking at him “i think there is still a lot of things that hasn’t changed to be honest” he says in a very suspicious way, “mhm maybe, but not that i can think of” you responded shrugging you didn’t like to pry tsukishima he hated that, he hated when people poked and prodded questions or answers out of him so you just slightly dismissed it and moved on. He liked that about you the way you never bugged him, it’s what made you so different from others. you both sat there silently drinking the hot cocoa that soon became cold whilst enjoying each other’s company in the late night, tsukishima ended up dismissing himself afterwards to head off to bed, and you did a little after leaving you both in thought as he laid there and you as well in separate rooms thinking about each other, just as tsukishima drifted off to sleep he glances at the small glitter wrapped gift with your name on it still in his bag, to cowardly to give it to you tonight. The next morning you woke up pretty late due to the lack of sleep the night before and the silent company of kei. As you sit up right from your bed, you glance at your nightstand to find something that wasn’t there before a gift? a small glittery pink gift with your name on it and a “K.T” initials on it. you look outside your window to find tsukishima's car gone, so you decide to open it. It was a beautifully crafted gold necklace with your birthstone on it and a note along with it “yn, i’ve known you for years and no one’s ever understood and given me my space as much as you have and i’ve never been much of a talker. Maybe it’s wrong but I've grown very fond of you before you start freaking out. Tadashi has been well aware actually since highschool he knew.”

you giggle in relief as you read that part. “As I'm still too scared to tell you in person as embarrassing as that sounds, I hope you reach out soon so hopefully we can spend many more hot cocoa nights together you and i.” you start getting teary eyed, until you hear a knock “ah so he finally did it huh?” you hear your brother say with a chuckle “who knew he was such a nervous wreck around you yn, you two may have been teasing me together but i was teasing him for years about this” he laughs, you chuck a pillow at tadashi and laugh along too happy that he was happy for you.

[batmanfruitloops]

I gotta know about the Drcrane au, is it only inspired by Frankenstein in the sense of reanimating/making a person from the dead or are there other elements?

Like does Jonathan hate Ed like Victor hates the creature after making him? If so that’s so tragic. :(

Or is it like one of the au’s where Victor loves his creature?

Does Jervis take the place of Clerval? Or does Ed take the place of Clerval?

Why does Jon create Ed? Did he know Ed before hand and reanimate him or did he create him fully from scratch? If he created him fully from scratch what was the reason?

LASTLY is Ed similar to the creature in being somewhat of a mess of parts or is Ed “perfect”? Basically what I’m asking is does Ed only have his head recognizable as Ed or? 

Sorry I know this a lot I just really love Frankenstein and wanted to know about the au.

@quackerzzz

I haven't actually read the book, so it's just based on bits and pieces of themes and concepts that I like about the story, as well as inspiration from Frankenstien-related media. Things like Tim Burton's Frankenweenie and Young Frankenstein but it's been a while since I've watched either movie. However, I was mostly inspired by seeing someone else make a Frankenstein au with Jonathan and Ed. Unfortunately, I never saved it or anything and I'm not sure if I could find the post again, especially since it was someone else drawing pictures for the person's au. If I do find it again, or if someone knows what post I'm talking about, I'd love to credit them. I'll leave a description of what I saw in the post at the end of this one in case someone recognizes the description.

Anyway, I'm fascinated by medicine and love all things biology, so I'm more fixated on that aspect of Frankenstein's story than the themes of human hubris. I'm just curious what would happen if you brought someone back to life in such a way? In the world of medicine now, we can technically bring people back to life with resuscitation. People can be dead for hours and be brought back. We can also reattach limbs and transplant organs. So like, conceptually, you could make a Frankenstein. So what better way to explore that idea than with the blorbos, they are my little Muppets to put into whatever situation I want.

Jonathan wouldn't create Ed for the same reason Victor creates the monster but it's still a similar theme. Jo would still be very interested in psychology but based on the time Frankenstein takes place, it wouldn't be an established discipline. I'm pretty sure it wouldn't even have a name to it yet. So he'd be trying to explore psychology and his peers wouldn't really understand what he was doing and look at him like a dog chasing his own tail. Psychology is notorious for not being taken seriously, even among academics. Since you can't really measure anything. So Jonathan would be pretty frustrated. Because of this, he'd become proficient in things like physiology and neurology. Knowing how the human body physically works, especially the brain can get him closer to unlocking the secrets of the mind.

So Jonathan creates Ed to further his understanding of the human body and its relation to the brain. He wouldn't be doing it for the sole purpose of bringing Ed back to life but would be curious if it's possible (maybe even subconsciously hoping it would happen, it would be nice to not be alone). He wants to see what the brain is capable of. It's mostly an intense version of using electricity to move the muscles of a frog. If the brain suddenly has power, what will it decide to do? Would it truly be alive?

Ed isn't someone Jonathan knew, he's pretty much made from scratch. He was Ed when he died but he is still Ed after he's reanimated, he just can't remember. His body was in pretty poor condition when he died (I'm not entirely set on the details), he at least had gotten ill and likely was mutilated in some way. Ed's body is essentially a base for Jonathan to work off of. He keeps his head and then other bits and pieces from there. Ed is an unclaimed cadaver when Jonathan goes looking for parts. Jonathan feels he's technically free to use those parts for his experiments. Ed is just what he needs.

Ed is perfect after he is reanimated in a medical sense. With minimal issues, his brain accepts everything that didn't originally belong to his body. The blood type is the same, it's in the correct place, and all the blood vessels and nerves are connected as they should be. It all acts as one body. Eventually, he'd look like a normal person with only the scars from the operation, but he'd look horrific before his body healed—like a walking piece of sad jerky.

Jonathan doesn't hate Ed but he's not really sure how to handle him at first. He didn't expect Ed to be fully alive and he wouldn't expect Ed to live very long. He'd be scared to get attached for this reason. So there's a lot of strain on their friendship at first. Jonathan hardly has positive interactions with anyone and still grew up in a horrible environment. So to be thrown into a situation where he suddenly has to care about someone is very stressful. Ed is also a very clingy and affectionate person so that makes it a billion times worse. They do still become best friends as they normally do, it just takes a lot more work than usual. Before then Jo does try his best to take care of Ed even if he's being distant.

Jervis I don't think would be an equivalent to Cerval. I didn't know about this character. Instead, he is a tailor/hatter. He knew Jonathan before Ed was created but is not friends with him yet, they are good acquaintances. Jervis is one of the few people Jonathan has had a positive experience with but he's still shy and has a hard time getting close to people. Jo appreciates Jervis a lot even if he's not close with him, Jervis actually treats him like a person and doesn't guak at him. Jo especially appreciates Jervis's kindness because he is a tailor. Jervis has to get so physically close to Jonathan to tailor his clothes properly and yet he makes no comments on Jonathan's appearance or demeanor and just makes friendly conversation. He's very happy to go see Jervis any time he needs his clothes mended or something (even though he could mend it himself;)). Jo is able to fully become friends with Jervis after Ed's creation and the Dork Squad is together yet again.

-Fluffy

(Post description I was talking about undercut)

There are two drawings I'm pretty sure, In the first one Jonathan is saying something along the lines of "I need to work so don't bother me" and Ed replies with "No problem" Then the next drawing is Jonathan sitting at a table with a pencil and Ed pushing him out of the way reaching for Jonathan's pencil and saying "my turn!" and there's an arrow pointing at Ed that says "learning to write."

[wisecura]

Shine

Yan-yuji x fem-idol reader

An:just a concept I was thinking about writing for soon. Let me know what you think. I prefer golden retriever type yanderes so here we go.

Warning: obsessive behavior, unhealthy behavior, stalking, please read at your own discretion

You met Yuji while on tour about a year ago.

You’ve met plenty of people. Hundreds if not thousands. From all walks of life. But that pink headed ball of pure admiration was definitely one that stood out. You could say with utmost certainty that Yuji Itadori was your most devout fan.

He showed up at every concert, purchased tons of your merch, went to almost every fan meet and greet. He was so consistent, you knew him my name at that point.

It was cute at first. That sparkling energy, those lovestruck puppy dog eyes, and that dopey smile he always gave you. Always energetic and happy to see you. Begging you to flash you killer pose he’d seen so often on stage.

It was like—from the second he met you—he was hooked. He just seemed to absolutely adore you. Knew all of your songs, followed every possible social media, and even led a few fan clubs.

After that year, he became much bolder. During your meet and greets he’d often ask for a picture, where he’d shyly pull you into a side hug—flashing a peace sign and bright smile. Now this wasn’t strange, it was something that was always offered in the meet n greet bundle.

Only now his hand seemed to cling on a little more tightly, not willing to let go quite as fast. You’d noticed his breathing picked up and his face flushing. And by the time he actually let go, you were almost a little red.

You’d shrugged it off—something you normally wouldn’t have done if it had been anyone else. Normally baring them from the next meet and greet just for safety sake. But you let it slide. After all, Yuji was a consistent face. Someone you were somewhat familiar with.

But you’d noticed you also started getting pages from the front desk of your pent house apartment more often. There’d been multiple visits from a hooded figure, loitering at the elevators. Trying—but failing to jam the button that lead straight to your floor. Thank fuck for key card access.

You’d been concerned, obviously. And what made it even scarier was the frequency of visits coupled with the lack of any actual resolution. They weren’t caught. Always slipping away just quick enough to miss the security guards.

And then the night came. First it was the knocks. Heavy. Loud. And frantic. You’d been too scared to open the door, immediately searching for your phone to call the police should you need to. Then making your way over to the intercom.

Before you could reach it, the knocks stopped.

This freaked you out enough to grab a kitchen knife—maybe dial the front desk. You’d barely reached the kitchen before you heard it.

Bam! Bam! BAM!

Your head spun around only to find someone’s foot through your front door. You, like any sane person, fucking panic—running to grab that knife before you didn’t have a chance.

You get there just in time to see that hooded figure standing at your kitchen entryway.

And who would you fucking guess, other than Yuji Itadori.

“Y-yuji?”

A huge grin spread across his face at your words. You’d remembered his name. A small pink blush crossed his cheeks. His eyes devoid of much else other than glassiness that reflected you. Damn near cold and dead.

That same lovesick grin he’d worn at every one of your meet and greets.

You couldn’t gauge his next moves, but you knew it wouldn’t be good. You kept your knife firmly in from of you, the only protection saving you from this lunatics psychotic break.

He looked ready to tackle you. And you weren’t sure you’d be able to take him. Something you normally wouldn’t pay attention to—wouldn’t have much reason to.

The dude was fucking built. At least twice as wide and a head whole taller than you.

And he started walking, slow—long strides.

“S-stay back!—“ you swing your knife—albeit a little clumsily. You definitely weren’t a fighter.

He stopped just out of your swinging distance, those same dead eyes staring down at you. His grin somewhat fading, an expression of worry—maybe confusion crossing his face.

“You don’t need to do that.” He makes a grab for your knife tats still latched in your trembling grip. “You’re gonna hurt yourself, cut it out—“

“Stay back!!”

“Hey cut it out—“ his grin falling completely, his expression growing more and more impatient by the second.

His hand shoots out grabbing your wrist with surprising strength. The knife falling between you two. And before you could think of even attempting to reach for it—he’d kicked it away.

“See? What were you thinking?” he muttered, tugging you into a crushing hug, his arms wrapping around you like a vice. His grip was desperate, clinging to you as if letting go would kill him. “Please, please don’t hate me,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “Let’s just go home. I’ll make everything better, I promise.”

You were trembling, frozen in his embrace, the weight of his words sinking into your chest like stones. You didn’t know what to say, what to do—every instinct screamed to run, but his arms refused to let you move.

All you could think was how much you wished you’d never met Yuji Itadori.

[chososcamgirl]

(SHE’S) JUST A PHASE CHAPTER TWENTY: love me anyway

masterlist

The sheets beneath her stir as the first light of day seeps through the thin, worn curtains, casting an almost mournful glow across the room. The sun’s touch is gentle, but it’s a reminder of another morning, another routine she knows all too well.

This feels familiar. Too familiar.

She has lived this moment countless times—each one an echo of the last, a rhythm of anticipation and careful avoidance. She knows the weight of the silence, the delicate pause before she turns over. 

And when she does, she meets his eyes.

Those green eyes. 

They’re always the same. The way they linger on her, taking in every curve, every freckle, every scar that marks her—his gaze tracing the map of her body like it’s something sacred, something precious. She feels bare, exposed, but there’s a strange comfort in it, a quiet surrender. 

His hand, gentle, almost reverent, reaches out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. The gesture is simple, yet it shakes her in a way she can’t quite explain. Her breath catches as if bracing for something she’s not quite ready to face, as if she knows, deep down, that whatever happens next will hurt. 

"Morning," he whispers, his voice thick with the weight of unspoken things.

She smiles, but it’s not the smile of someone who’s truly at peace. It’s the smile of someone who knows the cost of each word, of every touch.

“Morning.”

The sheets are pulled tighter against her bare skin, the softness a fragile comfort in the quiet, uncertain space between them.

For a fleeting moment, the room softens, bathed in the muted orange light of early morning. The world outside fades away—the ticking clock, the distant hum of life beyond the walls—all of it dissolves, leaving only them. Two people in one bed. Not quite lovers. Not quite strangers. Something undefined. Something fragile and yet impossibly real.

“I want to be with you, Yn,” his words break the stillness, and though they’re spoken with the sincerity of someone who has nothing left to hide, they land heavy between them.

The light in the room seems to dim, as if the weight of his confession has cast a shadow over everything. The ticking of the clock grows louder, more intrusive, and she feels the rhythm of time moving against her, as if reminding her that this moment—like all the others—will soon pass.

“I’m just… not ready, Megs,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper, her heart heavy with the truth of the words. She can feel the sting of them as they leave her mouth—words she never wanted to speak, yet always knew she would. 

He winces, like her words are a wound. The nickname hangs in the air between them, a reminder of all the things they’ve never said. It’s a name that feels too close to something they both fear. 

“We can take it slow,” he says, his voice almost desperate now, like a plea disguised as an offer. 

She doesn’t respond immediately. She opens her mouth, but the words don’t come. Her mind is spinning, caught between what she wants and what she knows she can’t have. Before she can find the clarity, she needs, the bedroom door swings open, and the familiar sound of footsteps interrupts the fragile moment.

“Woahhhh, clothes, please,” Nobara’s voice rings out, laced with her usual irreverence, as she strides into the room, her eyes already covering her face in mock horror as she heads straight for the closet.

“Nobara, it’s literally my room,” Yn mutters, her voice thick with exhaustion.

“Okay, damn, whatever happened to being civil,” Nobara replies, as if she couldn’t care less, already rummaging through the clothes in the closet.

Yn sighs, shaking her head, and despite herself, a reluctant smile plays at the corner of her lips. The moment between her and him slips away, as it always does, swallowed up by the noise, the chaos, the distractions of life. And in that silence, she’s left wondering if the real truth is the one she’s always too afraid to face.

A thick, suffocating tension settles over the room, hanging in the air like smoke. The weight of unspoken words presses down on both of them, and suddenly, that familiar, uneasy feeling claws its way back—not just in her stomach this time, but in his as well. It coils in their chests, binding them together in an uncomfortable silence.

“What does she mean, again?” His voice is distant, almost hollow, as he stares at her. There’s a blankness in his eyes, but she can see the storm brewing beneath the surface.

She pauses, the words swirling in her mind, but they refuse to form. 

“You slept with your ex?” The question falls from his lips with an unsettling calmness, as though he’s already resigned to the pain it causes.

“...Well... yeah,” she admits, her fingers instinctively scratching the back of her neck. It’s a nervous gesture, one she wishes she could take back, but it’s too late now.

“We were never exactly... together,” she tries to explain, as if offering that detail might somehow make it less of a betrayal. 

But he doesn’t seem to care about the details. His face hardens, eyes narrowing as the words sink in. “But what happens when we are?” he demands, his voice tight with something between anger and hurt.

"What happens when it’s real?"

Her throat tightens, her heart pounding in her chest. She doesn’t have an answer. She’s never had an answer. 

He doesn’t wait for her to speak. The words come fast, like an accusation she’s too afraid to answer. “Are you gonna go back to him every time we argue?”

The question hits her like a blow, the weight of it settling deep in her bones. 

It hurts.

She’s always prided herself on being tough, on keeping the hard things from breaking her. But this—his voice, sharp and cold—cuts deeper than she’s ready for. It finds the cracks in her walls and tears them open. For the first time, she feels exposed. Vulnerable. And it makes her want to run, to flee from this moment before it can consume her.

She swallows, trying to steady herself. “And what about you?” she counters, her voice trembling despite her best efforts. “What are you gonna do? Humiliate me in front of all your thousands of fans? Air out all our business for everyone to see?” 

Her words come out harsh, a bitter retaliation, but they feel like the only defence she has left. She’s trying to protect herself, trying to lash out before he can wound her any further.

But as soon as the words leave her mouth, she realizes how pointless it all is. In the heat of the moment, they’ve both become something they never wanted to be—two people fighting, two people unravelling. And the deeper they dig in their heels, the further apart they’ll fall. 

She doesn’t know if either of them has the strength to put it all back together.

“That’s not the point, Yn.” His voice is low, edged with frustration, as he stands up from the bed. His movements are deliberate, almost stiff, as he gathers his clothes from the floor. Every motion is a careful retreat, a silent act of distancing himself from the words they both know are about to tear them apart.

Yn watches him, her chest tightening, her patience wearing thin. “Oh, then tell me, Megumi. What’s the point?” Her tone is laced with venom now, each word dripping with sarcasm as she crosses her arms over her chest. “Go on, I’m waiting. Enlighten me.”

He stumbles slightly as he tries to pull his pants back on, his fingers trembling just enough to betray the calm exterior he’s trying to hold on to. When he finally turns to face her, his eyes are hard, but there’s a flicker of vulnerability beneath the anger—an ache he can’t mask.

“It’s the fact that you keep doing the same shit over and over again,” he says, his voice thick with frustration. He rubs his temples with his right hand, fingers digging into his skin as if trying to erase the pain building inside him. “It’s like I’m invisible until it’s convenient for you.”

Yn feels the sting of his words, but it’s not enough to make her back down. She’s already out of bed, a shirt hastily thrown over her, unsure if it’s her own or his. It doesn’t matter. She could be wearing nothing at all, and it wouldn’t change the suffocating weight of this conversation.

“Megumi, what the fuck are you even saying?” Her voice wavers between anger and hurt, each word a shard of glass she’s trying to throw back at him. “Last night, you said you’d wait forever if that’s what it took. And now? Now you’ve ‘slept on it,’ and suddenly you’ve had some sort of fucking epiphany? Everything’s changed?” She scoffs bitterly, shaking her head. “Unbelievable.”

He flinches, but he doesn’t back down. “No. What’s unbelievable is you thinking that leading me on is just some checkbox to tick off in your mind,” he says, his voice rough. “Like I’m some fucking game you can pick up and put down when it suits you.”

The accusation hangs in the air, thick with all the things they’ve both left unsaid. The silence between them pulses with tension, the weight of their words pulling them further apart. 

“Just because we do relationship things doesn’t mean we’re actually in a relationship, Megumi,” she snaps, her voice low but sharp, her hands clenched at her sides. The words feel empty as soon as they leave her mouth, but she forces herself to stand tall, even as her heart cracks.

He shakes his head, his jaw clenched tight. “And that’s your problem, Yn. You won’t let it be real. You won’t put a label on it because you’re scared. You’re terrified of what happens when it actually matters.”

She feels the sting of his words like a slap, but her pride won’t let her show it. “I’m scared?” She laughs bitterly, a hollow sound that rings out in the silence of the room. “Who’s the one practically begging for a relationship in my fucking bedroom right now?”

The moment stretches out, heavy and charged with everything they’ve both kept inside. For the first time, Megumi is silent. His mouth moves, but no words come. They stand there, across the bed from each other, like two people lost in a storm, too proud to admit they’re both drowning.

Then, finally, he sighs—a long, weary sound that seems to carry all the weight of last night. 

“If I told you I loved you right now,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper, “would you say the same?”

Yn’s heart stops for a beat, and for a moment, she can’t breathe. The question hangs in the air, as fragile and raw as anything either of them has ever said. Her chest tightens, and her throat constricts, but the words she needs to say—want to say—don’t come. She opens her mouth, but nothing escapes. The silence between them stretches, unbearable and all-encompassing.

“That’s all I needed to hear,” he mutters, his eyes downcast as he collects the last of his things. The finality in his movements feels like a wall being built, the space between them suddenly too wide to bridge.

And then, without another word, he walks out. The sound of his footstep’s fades, leaving nothing behind but the echoes of a conversation that was never meant to be this way.

Yn stands in the quiet aftermath, her body frozen, her mind racing. The weight of his words lingers in the stillness, thick and suffocating. She wants to scream, wants to ask him to come back, to say it wasn’t real, that this wasn’t how it was supposed to end.

But the room feels emptier now. And the silence between them feels like a wound that neither of them knows how to heal.

In the end, there are no answers. Only unanswered questions and heart breaking in ways she doesn’t know how to fix.

Make that two.

—

“Oh my god… so he actually put the condoms on the register right in front of you?” The blue-haired girl laughed, nearly tipping out of her chair from how hard she was giggling.

“Yeah… haha,” Yn replied, the laughter sounding forced, hollow in her ears. She hoped Miwa didn’t notice the way her smile didn’t reach her eyes, or how the pit in her stomach seemed to deepen with every passing second. The tension was unbearable. 

Miwa, still oblivious, laughed louder, her carefree amusement filling the space between them. She had no idea that Yn was carrying something far heavier than a simple awkward moment. That she hadn’t told her about the morning after. 

The words were still so vivid in Yn’s mind, like a photograph she couldn’t look away from:

“If I told you I love you, would you say the same?”

They kept playing on a loop, unbidden, repeating with an intensity that only seemed to grow with time. Each time they hit; it was like a small shard of glass piercing her heart all over again. 

The sound of Miwa’s laughter slowly faded as she caught her breath, the moment stretching long and tense. Yn could feel her pulse in her ears, the weight of her regret thickening the air around her.

The song she’d been playing on air was ending, and before Miwa could notice the change in her, Yn hit the controls in front of her, quickly unmuting the mic, almost mechanically.

“And that was Crush by Ethel Cain, up next is Love Me Anyway by Chappell Roan!” she announced, her voice smooth despite the storm brewing inside her.

The opening notes of the song filled the air, but the lyrics hit her harder than any sound could.

As the first notes of the new song filtered through the speakers, Yn could feel each word like an arrow lodged in her chest. The lyrics, so raw, so painfully accurate, seemed to speak to her very soul.

“Sometimes I forget, wasn’t always this way…”

“It’s hard to admit, I was the one to blame…”

She wanted to turn the song off, and shut it out, but she couldn’t. The truth was unbearable, but it was also undeniable. She knew what she’d done. She knew how much it had cost her. Megumi had loved her. Not in some fleeting, casual way, but in a way that she had never experienced before. He had been real with her. Vulnerable. And she had let him go. 

The weight of that mistake pressed on her like a physical force. Her chest tightened, the pain so raw, so real, it felt like she might choke on it. She could have fought for him. She could have tried harder. But instead, she’d walked away, choosing fear over something real.

The thought felt like a physical blow, one that stole her breath for a moment, leaving her feeling hollow and ashamed. She had let him slip through her fingers, let him walk away because she wasn’t brave enough to let herself love him the way he had loved her.

She hadn’t just lost him. She’d lost her chance at something that could have been everything. And now, all she could do was replay the moment, over and over, until it felt like she might break under the weight of it.

"Fuck," she whispered to herself, the word tasting bitter in her mouth. 

I fucked up. I fucked up so badly.

extras!

• megumi definitely has something undiagnosed about him….

• bpd??? autism?? ocd??? speculate your theories in the comments NOW

• oomf said 500 days of summer coded and i RAN with it

• the party girls def heard them from the kitchen and they were just silently staring at eachother while ynmegumi were arguing LMFAOOO

• when they heard yn’s door open they quickly became occupied with something else hashtag awkies

• megumi got back home mad as hell

• no he did not punch the walls.

• he instead turned on ribs in the fetal position on his bed and listened to it on loop for 3 hours (tzc☃️)

• yuji was on tiktok live and u could just hear it in the background very faintly

• yk i had forgetting about the whole maneater station until a certain oomf starting with r and ending in ee rhymes with pee commented about it.

• Thank You Ree💕💝💘💗💖💞

• i missed miwayn hours BAD

a/n: i don’t know which was worse. writing this or the after effects of consuming expired laxatives. maybe both… HAPPY SJAP WEEKEND! sorry it’s a bit later than usual but we ball. sunday AND monday posts coming still🙂‍↕️ im not bailing on you guys again. i’ve been drained af. and i think im getting sick again. and i have to be up in 4 hours. everyone comment hashtag grateful so i can wake up and not want to kill myself❤️

taglist: @shokosbunny @satoryaa @prozacprinc3ss @essjujutsu @therealsatorugojo @yeehawslap @gojodickbig @dawnisatotalqueen @j2upiters @nappingnai @lalalasillybilly3000 @totallytatum @3cst4syy @lysaray @saltypuffin1040 @aozui @makeshiftproject @kurtcobaingirlie @kokoiinuts @dashingaurries @slvttycorpse @cuupidsss @mochroialainn @tenjikusstuff4 @ichcocat @laughingfcx @sugurubabe @allthestarsarecloserrrrrrr @tyigerz @yoyo-yui @megoomies @yizmiu @jasminasblog22 @marst4rz @guitarstringed-scars @kalulakunundrum @lovefrominaya @beepbopzlorp @itsdragonius @meguemii @chilichopsticks @starantulas @1l-ynn @sluttkuna @rcveriees @solaqes @starrysho @sukunaspillow @evry1luvssm @syxoki

*if i can't tag you please change your tag settings otherwise i will remove you from the list!

[starsenha]

[24] ABOUT THE BOY - stupid

synopsis: You were the queen of Decelis University. Everybody worshipped the ground you walked on. You were used to having what you wanted when you wanted it. Until the day when park sunghoon arrived, and things changed. wc: 1,2k tw: talk about strict parenting, just some bother and sister love ig

The chandelier lighting cast a warm glow over the polished marble floors as you and Mingyu stepped into the restaurant. The maître d’ greeted them by name—one of the many perks of being part of a well-known, wealthy family. You were led to a private corner table, away from the prying eyes of the other people. You looked around, taking in the opulence, but your focus was entirely on your older brother. You hadn’t seen him in over five months, and you had missed him terribly.

“Wow, Gyu, this place is even fancier than the last one,” you commented, sliding into the plush seat across from him.

Mingyu smirked, adjusting his cufflinks. “Only the best for my little sister. Plus, I figured you’d appreciate the privacy.”

You smiled, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. Mingyu noticed, of course. He was always good at reading you.

“So,” he started, leaning back in his chair, “it’s been five months, and you’re still as stunning as ever. How’ve you been?”

You shrugged, picking up the menu even though you weren't particularly hungry. “Same old, same old. Just classes, parties, and the usual drama, and father who's been a pain in the ass like usual."

"Did something happen?" Mingyu asked, his brows furrowed with concern.

“He’s been scrutinizing every single thing I do,” you said, your voice tinged with frustration. “It’s like he’s just waiting for me to make a mistake. My grades, the people I hang out with, even the parties I go to—he has something to say about everything. I know he’s always been strict, but it’s suffocating, Gyu.”

"Damn, I'm so sorry yn," he said, his expression soft as he reached across the table to take your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"How is it with you and the company?"

Your brother sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It's exhausting. But you know how it is. Father’s been breathing down my neck even more than usual. He’s been putting so much pressure on me about the company lately, and sometimes I feel like I’m just going through the motions, doing what he expects but never what I want."

You looked at your brother, your heart aching for him. Mingyu had always been the perfect son in your father’s eyes—smart, ambitious, and completely dedicated to the family business. But you knew that there was so much more to him than that, and it pained you to see how much of his life was dictated by their father’s expectations.

“Is it really that bad?” you asked softly, knowing that Mingyu rarely opened up about his own struggles.

He sighed, leaning back in his chair as the waiter poured them each a glass of wine. “It’s been worse lately. Father’s been pushing me to take on more responsibility, and he’s made it clear that he expects me to run the company the way he wants, not the way I think is best. I’ve tried to suggest new ideas, new strategies, but he shoots them down every time.”

You frowned, your frustration growing on behalf of your brother. “That’s not fair, Gyu. You’re more than capable of running that company. He should trust you to make the right decisions.”

Mingyu gave you a sad smile, though there was a hint of bitterness in it. “It’s not about trust. It’s about control. He’s always been like that, and I don’t think he’ll ever change. Sometimes, I wonder if I’ll ever really be free to do things my way.”

You could relate all too well. Your father’s controlling nature extended far beyond the business; it seeped into every aspect of your life. You'd always been expected to be the perfect daughter—graceful, poised, and obedient. But the weight of those expectations had become unbearable.

"Enough about that crap, how was your weekend with Heeseung? How is he?" Mingyu asked, just after ordering both your dishes to the waiter.

"It was great. I really needed that, so it felt good. And he's good, same old," you took a sip of the wine.

"What's happening?"

You sighed, putting your glass down. “It’s… it’s complicated.”

“I’ve got time,” Mingyu said, his tone encouraging but firm. “We haven’t seen each other in months. You can’t expect me to sit here and pretend I don’t notice when something’s off with my little sister.”

You took a deep breath, finally meeting his eyes. “It’s about Sunghoon, you know that guy I talked to you about. We were… I don’t even know what we were. But we were close. Then I pushed him away. I told him we weren’t serious, that we weren’t exclusive. And now… I think I messed everything up.”

Mingyu frowned. “Why did you push him away? I thought you liked him.”

“I did—I do. But after what happened with Sunwoo… you know how hard it was for me to get over him, Gyu. I was a wreck for years. I promised myself I’d never let anyone get that close again.”

Mingyu’s expression softened with a mix of empathy and anger. “I should’ve beaten the crap out of Sunwoo for what he did to you. That guy was a total asshole.”

You let out a small laugh, but it was tinged with sadness. “Yeah, well, can't really argue with that. And now I’m scared, Gyu. I’m scared of getting hurt again.”

Mingyu reached across the table, taking your hand in his, once again. He knew it gave you a sense of reassurance when he did that. “I get it. I really do. But, yn, you can’t let one asshole ruin your chance at something real. Love is a beautiful thing, even if it’s scary. And from what you’ve told me, Sunghoon sounds like a good guy.”

“He is,” you admitted, your voice softening. “He’s really good to me. But I don’t know if I’m ready to let my guard down.”

He squeezed your hand. “It’s okay to be scared. But don’t let fear make your decisions for you. If you care about him, you owe it to yourself to see where it goes. Don’t push him away because you’re afraid.”

You nodded slowly, taking in his words. “You’re right. I know you’re right. It’s just… hard.”

“I know, sis,” Mingyu said gently. “But you’re stronger than you think. And you deserve to be happy.”

You smiled, a real smile this time. “Thanks, Gyu. I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” Mingyu said, his eyes warm with affection. “And speaking of happiness… there’s something I need to tell you.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh? What’s that?”

He leaned back, a hint of a grin playing on his lips. “I’ve been seeing someone. Her name’s Soojin, and… it’s serious.”

Your eyes widened in surprise. “Soojin? Wow, you never mentioned her before! How serious are we talking?”

“Serious enough that I’m thinking of introducing her to the family soon,” Mingyu admitted, his grin widening.

“That serious?!” You exclaimed, a mix of excitement and shock in your voice. “Gyu, that’s amazing! I can’t believe you didn’t tell me sooner!”

Mingyu chuckled. “I wanted to make sure it was real before bringing it up. But yeah, she’s… she’s incredible. I think you’d really like her.”

“I’m sure I will,” you said, your excitement genuine. “I can’t wait to meet her. You deserve this, Gyu. You deserve to be happy too.”

previous / m.list / next

TAGLIST: @arimiu @eleanorheartschishiya @i03jae @beomsitez @hoonatic @rep-hoon @invuzzn @naoyiie @sunhyeswife @sophi-eee @heeseungismymanz @istglevi-gotmesimping @jiaant11 @lakoya @noname-123s-things-blog @roslayy @nyfwyeonjun @aehrizone @serenadehera @starry-eyed-bimbo

[antizenin]

𑁤 VISCERAL CHOKEHOLD ⋮ HIGURUMA HIROMI

no one ever thought you would make it this far, and maybe you wouldn’t have withought higuruma’s help.

( fic demographics. ) jujutsu kaisen, higuruma hiromi, dark content & sexually mature | minors, ageless & blank blogs : do not interact & 16.3k words !

➛ law professor!higuruma hiromi & law student!reader, professor & student relationship, insecure!reader, power imbalance, large age gap, toxic and verbally abusive relationship, dubious consent (manipulation), dacryphilia, blowjob, minor finger sucking, hardcore degredation, face slaping, rough sex, choking, unprotected sex, featuring hitman!fushiguro toji, private investigator!nanami, and lawyer!shiu kong as your father, alluded character death, etc.

( dedication. ) this is for my babes @murderofravens requesting this piece. it's still my favorite piece so far !

When people talk about your father, they speak nothing but praises, saying how he’s such a beast in court. They glorify his name and how he's gotten the innocent to roam freely on the streets again. They praise him on his judgment, bringing justice to the right people and condemning the guilty in the process. His voice would boom in court as he swayed the jury’s mind, his deep and commanding tone something that had people right under his thumb. He had great relationships with the judges and made plenty of enemies with lawyers who secretly sought to be like him. When women heard his name, they were scampering in hopes to get a moment alone with him.

He often found himself perched at the bar, sitting on a stool as he leaned against the counter where the bartender would pass him a glass of sake. It was a little celebration ritual that he had whenever he won a case, which was quite often. He grabs his pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his brown suit jacket, lighting one up as the butt of it would sizzle and red sparks would light up ablaze. He’d buy a drink for himself and the man he just set free, this one being Toji Fushiguro.

“I don’t think I could thank you enough,” the man with a scarred lip smiles, taking the glass of bourbon and barely putting it to his lips. He appreciated the courtesy, but he didn’t really enjoy drinking. Didn’t find pleasure in it. Shiu could see that, noticing how the glass always rested in his hands and when he did bring it to his lips, it stayed at the same level.

“Then don’t,” he chuckled, downing his glass in one go. “Bourbon not your cup of tea? You ordered it.”

“Yeah, I did,” Toji shrugged. “Didn’t want to make you feel bad to be the only one drinking.”

“Well, I still am,” Shiu chuckles. The rest of the night goes without much conversation. Shiu drowns out the stress of today’s case, letting it dissipate with shots of whatever liqueur he was craving next and the buzz of nicotine blackening his lungs. He loved the scene a bar could give him, a chance to people-watch strangers and get their life story just from how they spend their time. His favorite person to watch was a woman around his age, always here around the same time he was, just like clockwork.

At first, he thought she was one of those women that liked to flock around him after learning that he was a well-established lawyer. However, he doesn’t quite think so. Her eyes would flicker to him every so often and they always seemed shy— not the one anyone would try to feign. She’d grow easily flustered, but never unmoving. Neither of them had taken the first step at approaching each other, only enjoying the lingering gaze when the other thought they weren’t looking. 

“For some hot shot in the courtroom, you seem pretty pathetic right now,” Toji chuckles, finally taking a swig of the bourbon in his hand. He found the scene grotesque, watching his lawyer that was so domineering in the courtroom get all shy for a woman. Watching the both of them eye-fuck each other made him nauseaus. “Just go up to her.”

“Mmm,” Shiu shuffles on the stool, eyes trailing back to the stunning woman. He’s always talked himself out of it, even now. “It doesn’t seem like the right moment.”

Toji can’t help but chuckle at that, eyes flickering from Shiu to the woman. “Right now seems like the perfect moment actually.”

However, Shiu remains still, belligerent on his choices. Considering the lengths that Shiu went to ensure that Toji didn’t land himself in jail, it seemed fair that the lad try to do him a favor in helping his lawyer land the woman of his dreams, even if it’ll only be for the night. The grazing of the chair legs against the wooden floor calls for Shiu’s attention as Toji stands up. “If you don’t, then I will. She seems to be my type as well.”

“What?” Shiu’s quick to his feet, watching how Toji sauntered over to the beauty herself. There’s no stopping the taller man, seeing how he approaches her and is quick to strike up conversation. Her eyes light up talking to Toji, and Shiu’s about to lose hope believing that the man had swept the woman off of her feet. He takes his seat back at the stool, back facing the two of them when he hears feet approaching him. He feels like he’s back in his teens again, shying away from what he wants. 

“Did you come back to gloat?” he asks, beckoning the bartender over for another glass. A soft and feminine chuckle calls for his attention, that glum feeling quickly reverting to disbelief. The fine dime herself standing right before him as she’s fidgeting with the bangles around her wrist. She’s prettier up close, her curly hair out and sporting an afro as it rises in volume. Beautiful skin that the blue lights don't do justice to her skin tone. Her lips shine under the light when she smiles, lined in a shade or two darker than her complexion underneath the gloss. 

She’s nervous, he can tell, but she bats her eyelashes cutely as she tilts her head to the side. “No, actually I came to see if you’d like to have a drink with me.” 

Shiu has come to learn that her name’s (Y/M), a foreigner from America visiting Japan for vacation, but considering moving here permanently, trying to see if she could possibly qualify to teach English. (Y/M) learns that Shiu is a lawyer who’s contemplating on opening up his own law firm at some point, and that she’s managed to captivate the eyes of someone who could potentially financially secure her for the rest of her life if she’s willing to go on a couple of dates with him to see where this will lead. Toji’s long forgotten by now, but Shiu makes a mental note to thank the bastard when he gets the chance. Toji has found his way out the door shortly after his exchange with the woman, sure that Shiu’s got the bill covered. 

Shiu brings (Y/M) to his house not too long after. Hands roaming her body as her moans make his body melt into hers. It was an unforgettable night and it created a lasting future, where Shiu never planned to start his legacy so soon. However, with (Y/M)’s announcement that she’s pregnant brings him nothing but joy the moment it falls from her beautiful lips. He reassures her that she’ll never have to worry about a thing. And he’s made sure to keep his promise for the most part, rarely being her source of stress despite the amount of disagreements they’ve had. He is always trying to appease her in every way possible. It seems like the uncontrollable slowing the both of them down, one of them being you. 

Shiu always wanted children, a legacy to carry out his name with someone he loves. While he never anticipated having a child so soon within the relationship that’s barely started, he was more than ecstatic to have you, much to (Y/M)’s surprise. Shiu had ensured that her stay in Japan became permanent, buying a ring to decorate her left ring finger and marrying (Y/M) as soon as possible. He made her pregnancy a breeze, hiring a helper inside his home to aid with the household duties. When (Y/M) finally went into labor, Shiu made sure that she had time for herself during postpartum, not enjoying how she’d curl up in a ball and cry her eyes out in his chest, believing that she’d be a horrible parent. 

The issue wasn’t that you were a difficult child to take care of. No, you were easy, and maybe that was the issue itself. You were too easy. A saint and the apple of both of your parents’ eyes. The problem came when you were older and there wasn’t anything particularly… extraordinary about you. You didn’t have anything that really captivated anyone’s eye— no talent, no hobby that you found yourself hyper fixated in, nothing that called a spark within you. You were average in your studies to say the least. Shiu made sure to hire tutors whenever you were struggling with a certain subject. You didn’t really care for afterschool clubs or anything involving sports— you didn’t like to sweat, yuck. No, you just enjoyed mundane and locking yourself inside of your room despite both of your parents’ persistence in spending time with you. 

When people spoke about Shiu Kong, it was all praise and glory. However, when they spoke about his daughter, his only child, they hesitated to come up with the right words to say. One finger on their lips as they pondered how to sound polite. You were just average. There was nothing special about you and because of that, no one saw the potential that you could possibly have. 

Unfortunately, they never took the time to realize how their constant scrutinizing would impact you. How when they whispered about you, you would take notice of their quick glances immediately. How their smiles never met their eyes when they spoke to you and their compliments were fake, their pitch a bit too high to sound authentic when you showed them something you were doing. You hated it and wished that one day, someone would tell you what they thought right in front of your face with confidence. But, that day has yet to come. 

It brings you to shame that your parents can’t even be truthful to you. How they spoke to you so lovingly for years about how you had such a bright future ahead of you, but behind closed doors, they sounded concerned for your future. 

When Shiu and your mother believed that you were sound asleep, having tucked you in and told you goodnight already, they were downstairs doing their habitual night time ritual. Sitting at the dining table, they’re next to each other with a glass of red wine in front of them. Shiu swirls it as he looks inside the bulbous glass, watching it swivel around at his motions. His wife was sitting next to him as she had yet to touch her glass. Something was plaguing her mind and he knew that he had to pry it out of her with a simple question. “What’s on your mind, honey?”

Finally does she let out the heavy sigh that’s been residing heavily on her chest, forcing her down into a slump. Her posture straightens from what you can see, peeking from just around the corner. You’ve gotten better at this, seeing how they’ve yet to catch you in a heartbeat. “I’m worried about her, Shiu.”

“About what exactly?” He knows exactly what, but he always found it better when (Y/M) spoke out her thoughts, said everything from the depths of her soul. When she couldn’t find the right words, he’d help her scour for them.

“About her future,” (Y/M) sighs, afraid to admit this. “She’s not a very bright child.”

At that, your eyes widen as you let out a gasp. You had to cover your mouth in fear that they heard you, but they’re so immersed with each other, it leaves you in the clear. Your heart starts racing as your feet move involuntarily. Your steps manage to remain gentle as you climb them back and head back to your room. Unbeknownst to them that their daughter had overheard their conversation, Shiu and (Y/M) keep talking. Shiu’s head tilting in concern at the confession as he frowns. “What do you mean by that? (Y/N)’s a very…”

(Y/M) gives Shiu a knowing look, proving her point. “See? You can’t even finish your sentence.”

“Yes, but our child isn’t a dunce,” Shiu scolds. “Sure, her reports don’t reflect positive grades from time to time, but she gets the help she needs.”

“And what happens when she can’t get that assistance, hm?” (Y/M) retorts. “What happens when she takes her exams and they don’t positively reflect on her homework scores and project reports, then what?”

“You’re being ridiculous, (Y/M),” Shiu raises his voice, setting the wine glass down at his wife’s ridiculing of their daughter. “She’s only eight years old, and she’s not dumb. She just has a hard time grasping certain concepts. It’s nothing that can’t be fixed.”

“Yes, but what about everything else?” (Y/M) rebuttals. “She doesn’t partake in the activities and events other kids want to participate in. She doesn’t show interest in any clubs or sports. All she does is lock herself up in the room all day when she gets the chance! She doesn’t even want to eat dinner with us!”

“Yes because her mother is calling her dumb behind her back!”

You’ve never witnessed or heard your parents argue, even on that same night. You immediately shut the doors and climbed back underneath the covers when you were back in your bedroom, the pillows clogging your ears and silencing everything as you sobbed yourself to sleep. The next morning your dad was nowhere to be seen, having left for work early because he couldn’t stand to be in the same vicinity as his wife. 

(Y/M) felt worse as the day went by. Shiu always made sure that the weekends were reserved for family time and for him to willingly head to work, she knew she was in the wrong. Looking over at you, it didn’t make it any better. Especially when your fork clinked against the plate as you finished your food, carrying the empty dish to the sink as the silence of both you and your mother ate at you. “Where’s daddy?”

She took your plate, turning on the water to rinse it off. “At work.”

“He’s never at work on the weekends,” you note, stating the obvious. Your mother could only sighed, “There’s a first to everything, my dear.”

From that point forward, you always tried to put in a little more effort. You took up clubs and activities that you found interesting, committing to them for the entirety of your childhood all the way to graduating high school. Though, nothing really changed as you never found anything that sparked joy within you. 

You’ve found that out of your two parents, you found yourself a true daddy’s girl, enjoying his company the most. Even if the two of you would just watch crappy television shows in silence. It brought you comfort. So, when it was time for you to choose what you wanted to major in, you had finally decided on something— that you’d follow in your father’s footsteps. 

The topic of college became more frequent once you hit high school. (Y/M) and Shiu would always ask you what you wanted to do, or what you were thinking about doing, but you always shrugged and said that you were undecided. Your father always kept such a nonchalant gaze before looking back at his phone, but you’d always see that annoying glint in your mother’s eyes. (Un)fortunately for her, in junior year, you finally made a choice. 

“I think I’m interested in pursuing law.” You said it so nonchalantly that it caught both of your parents off guard, having them stop in their tracks. You— you want to pursue law?

When Shiu said he wanted a child to carry out his legacy, he didn’t specifically mean that they had to follow in his exact footsteps. He meant he wanted a legacy where those who descend after him all end up in a decent position. Frankly, he didn’t think you were cut out for law. You didn’t have the personality for it. You weren’t timid, but you were quiet and you never really raised your voice for anything. You had to be someone domineering in the courtroom and he didn’t see you as one. However, that didn’t mean it was too late for you. 

(Y/M) didn’t see your potential. She had made that very clear all those years ago, and people always feigned brightness when it came to you. However, if you were serious about this, he’d help you every step of the way and help you where you needed to go. (Y/M) wore an incredulous look all over her face, standing in disbelief as she choked on her words, wanting to talk you out of it. However, Shiu beat her to it.

“Okay,” he spoke, reciprocating the same nonchalance you sported. “Do you have any idea which university you want to attend?”

With your father’s eyes on you now, granting you the attention you never thought you’d get, you grow shy as you squirm in place. “I was thinking about Kyoto University.”

“Ah, you wanna follow in your old man’s footsteps, I see,” he winks at you, chuckling as he straightens his posture. “Well, you work on what you need to do to apply, I’ll sort out everything else.”

“Mhm,” you hum before trotting back up the stairs. When you’re finally gone, (Y/M) finally breaks the silence. 

“Shiu, you can’t be serious,” she chastises her husband for entertaining you. (Y/M) had come to accept who you are, that you’re just an average girl and that perhaps you didn’t need to make it as big as her husband is. However, for you to pursue law? It sounded ridiculous. There was no way you’d be able to survive such strenuous studies, especially in one of the top schools for law. They had a rigorous law program.

“Oh, I am,” Shiu sits up. “If she says she wants to pursue law, then let her.”

“Aren’t you afraid that she’ll crash and burn?” (Y/M) hates how he’s been so monotone about everything. How he doesn’t even seem to be concerned for your well being. How is he so willing for you to just make a decision that seems so abrupt? Just a couple of weeks ago, you were still indecisive and today you just got up and decided that you want to become a lawyer? (Y/M) shakes her head, dropping what she’s doing as she rests her elbows down on the kitchen counter, shutting her eyes. “I can’t believe you're entertaining this.”

“You can’t believe I’m entertaining what?” Shiu cocks up an eyebrow. “You can’t believe I’m supporting our child’s endeavors? Weren’t you the one worried for her future?”

“You’re not even listening to me!” (Y/M) groans. “I’m glad that she’s made up her mind, but law? Shiu, don’t be ridiculous, you know she wouldn’t last over a month in those classes.”

“I bet she’ll last the entire year,” Shiu challenges. “And even if she doesn’t, we’ll support whatever she does next.”

“Yeah, until your bank account is drained, then what will we do?” She mutters, scoffing.

Shiu’s fist bangs against the table, frightening (Y/M) and making her jump. He points at her, a harsh glare in his eyes as his dark pupils stare back at hers. “Y’know, I love you, (Y/M). I do, really and truly. But I don’t like the person you’ve become. Fix it before we’re no more.”

—

Shiu would go through the greatest depths of hell for you. He’s come to learn this the moment he finds himself on the phone, contacting the board of admissions in regards to you. And people would question his faith for you, ask him if he really thinks you wouldn't be able to get in on your own, but he only wants to secure a spot for you. You said you wanted to go to Kyoto University, so he’ll make sure you get into it. It’s not that hard when you're an alumni who still makes monetary contributions.

It takes nothing, but a few phone calls to have everything settled. Yet, you still work on your college essays, having your father read them over for you before getting the okay. Considering the growth you’ve had over the years, Shiu can’t say he’s too concerned about you. It’s not like you never tried, using the resources he’s given you each time you needed assistance with your work. Despite your aloof attitude, you have drive. And it makes him feel ashamed that your mother can’t see that within you. 

When you get the letter from Kyoto University, you’re running to your dad first. Meeting him at his law firm and asking him. Never have you voluntarily come to the firm, but when his secretary is telling him that his daughter is waiting for him outside of his office, there’s a spark of joy ignited in him. Within your eyes, there’s glee and excitement as you jump into his arms, telling him that you got accepted. His arms wrapped around you as you jumped into his arms, letting him spin you around in this moment of celebration. A genuine smile on your face as you come to terms with your decision, ready to put in the work in getting what you want. 

That summer when you graduate, you put away your plans of leisure to spend most of your days in the office. You had packed breakfast, lunch and dinner, your dad taking extraneous hours at work. You also have your laptop and a notebook with you, wanting to gather as much information from your father as well as having to complete summer assignments for your upcoming courses. He’s proud of you, seeing you go the extra mile and taking it seriously. 

Your mother’s also seeing how you’re taking this seriously, finally convinced of your choices. She starts waking up with the both of you, preparing your meals and sneaking in extra snacks inside your lunch. Your relationship with your mother has always been something rocky, where the two of you could never truly see each other eye-to-eye. You never felt like her daughter, only someone she scrutinized under a spectacle as she tried creating you in her own image. And you never made her feel like a mother, not accepting her affection and never seeking out her comfort. 

(Y/M) remembers how when you first started your period, you’d rather talk to your father about it. You cried in his lap about the boy who told everyone in the class that you were bleeding out of your vagina. Shiu tried pushing you to confide in your mother, but you refused and forced him to go shopping for menstrual products. (Y/M) had to write down a list of specific products for Shiu to pick up while going to the store with you. Your mother never had thought about the way she treated you until seeing you going to work with your father. She never truly considered how you felt, and though she felt like it was too late, she was trying to put in more effort in showing you that she truly did love you. 

When the summer was over and it was move-in day, (Y/M) and Shiu both took time off to send you off, helping you bring in your belongings and sort everything out just how you wanted. And when it came time for them to leave, Shiu held onto you, afraid to let go. You chuckled, trying to pry your father off of you. “You’re acting like you’ll never see me again.”

“We might not,” Shiu sniffled, hiding his face in your shirt in an attempt to wipe away his tears. You squirmed in his hold until he finally let go of you, seeing how red his eyes were. It wasn’t like you weren’t going to miss your parents, you would. However, it just hasn’t settled in yet.

(Y/M) stood behind you both awkwardly as your father gave you words of encouragement, having you promise him that if you needed any help, you’d contact him — even if it’s to get away with murder. She finally intervenes when she sees that her husband won’t pry away from you anytime soon. “(Y/N), can I talk to you for a second— privately?”

“Yeah, okay.” With a cock of your eyebrow, you nod hesitantly as you step away from your father and head out of the room. She’s fidgeting with her hands, eyes failing to meet yours. She takes a deep breath, sucking in her tears. 

“I want to—” Your mother chokes up, voice trailing off before she’s clearing her voice. “Y’know what, nevermind. Just know that I’m going to make it up to you. I love you, baby, and I’m very proud of you.”

You don’t know what she means with ‘I’m going to make it up to you,’ but you accept her hug. You accept the tight grip she wraps around your body, finally finding comfort in her touch. Even if it’s just for the moment.

College is freeing to a certain extent. No longer under the scrutiny and judgment of family and around strangers, you feel like you’re open to do whatever you want. Legally an adult, where you no longer need the consent of your parents to partake in things that they’d show their concerns over. You can make the wrong choices and come to regret it later without any berating, and you can make a schedule that best works for you. 

You made the right decision on selecting your classes early, having an ideal schedule— Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Thursdays. With Mondays and Fridays off, it gave you time to study and catch up on things that you might’ve fallen behind on. Four classes within the semester, one of them being a fast-paced class that only lasted eight weeks. Two classes on Tuesday, one on Wednesday and Thursday. It seemed like something you’d be able to manage.

However, some people didn’t share your same ideologies, not planning ahead as you sit in front of those people right now— and it was more so a person. You were sitting with three other incoming freshmen, Itadori Yuuji, Kugisaki Nobara, and Fushiguro Megumi. Of the three, Nobara was the only one in the law program with you. Yuuji was undecided and Megumi was majoring in Biochemistry. The boy with the puppy dog eyes and salmon-toned hair seemed like an angel from the time you’ve spoken to them since they’ve decided to adopt you in their little crew, but not very wise when it came to decision making. Now, you’re watching him struggle to find good classes to take as all the professors left seem to have low ratings. Megumi has his face down in his phone, ignoring Nobara’s snickers at Yuuji’s stupidity, well accustomed to their banters. 

“We told you to sign up for classes early,” Nobara points out. “Hell, we even set up a date where we could do it together, so we’d have days that we can spend together.”

“Yeah, but you know I couldn’t make that day,” Yuuji pouts.

“But when we tried rescheduling, you were hellbent on us not waiting up for you.” Yuuji sighs, knowing that Nobara’s right. Groaning, he can only accept defeat as he scrolls and tries to make a schedule for himself that’s someone appeasing. “Just tell me what days you guys will be free.”

It gives you some solace that you won’t be completely alone, having Nobara in some of your classes providing you a sense of relief as you can both study alongside each other when the time comes. None of your high school friends had applied to Kyoto and some of the students from your old school who were attending weren’t people in your major or you weren’t too fond of. It makes that first day of classes more bearable the moment you step foot in it, finding a seat not too far from the front but not immediately in the back. You set your bag on the seat to the right of you, saving it for your newfound friend when she finally makes it in. 

Higuruma Hiromi— you vaguely remember the name as you could swear that he was a colleague of your father. When you had chosen him as a professor, the thought never crossed your mind until now that you’re sitting inside the lecture room and waiting for his arrival. You’re amongst five other students who’ve arrived early as they’re putting out their laptops, textbooks and a manila folder. What’s the manila folder for— Shit! You immediately slump back in your chair, eyes shutting as you hold your breath. You had completely forgotten to print out the summer assignment as it was instructed for you to do. You had it saved on a USB drive, but you don’t know if this one little slip up will be easily dismissed. So much for starting off your classes strong.

Just in that moment does Nobara walk in, spotting you in a flash and climbing up the steps to greet you. You lift up your bag, not before dropping it in front of you and wailing at your stupid mistake. Taking a seat as she unpacks her stuff, Nobara knits her eyebrows together, something evidently wrong with you. “What’s wrong?”

“I forgot to print out the summer assignment,” you groan, simultaneously as you hear a bunch of keys jingling and a set of heavy shoes clunking on the marble tiles. Lifting your head up, you can vividly remember him now. Short and dark brown hair that always looks stringy. He always looked tired or bored whenever you saw him in your youth, his small brown pupils that never gave you a look of emotion whenever you were around. He’d always give you a weak ‘hello’ out of politeness before his attention was fixated back on your father, talking about God knows what. 

Now you’re taking closer notice of him. Average height and a slender build as he walks towards his desk, letting out a heavy sigh that has all the students silent. It’s still not time for classes to start, plenty of students starting to trickle in from behind. You always thought he was paler, but there’s a tint in his skin. He dresses professionally, wearing a typical black suit and tie with a sunflower pin on his left shoulder to signify his previous status as an attorney. 

From what you can remember about Higuruma, he was a fierce attorney just like your father and he only fought for those who were wrongfully accused. Him and your father sat along the same boat of men that were greatly admired in the courtroom. You don’t remember hearing that he retired from being a lawyer and your father never mentioned him working here. You wondered if the two had some sort of falling out. You thought the two were close friends. 

“Don’t worry,” Nobara tries assuring you. “I’m pretty sure he’ll understand. You did do it.”

When class is ready to start, the room is packed with over one hundred students. People are still shuffling to take their belongings out of their bags as Higuruma is getting the projector up and running, giving the students just a little bit more time before lecture begins. You have your laptop open with your textbook set to the side as well as a spiral notebook and a pencil pouch. While Nobara’s words had given you some sort of comfort, sure that he would be understanding, it still didn’t take away that nagging sensation in your chest.

He cleared his throat, finally taking a stand and adjusting his suit jacket. His voice remained calm, yet it boomed and called the attention of everyone from the mic pinned to the jacket. “Good morning, everyone! And welcome to JGVT1101, the History of the Japanese Government.

“My name is Professor Higuruma and please address me as such,” he continues. “This will be one of your first classes with me, but surely not your last as you will be stuck with me throughout your years enrolled within the law program. I will not dive deep about my personal life, just know that I used to be a lawyer and attended this very same university when I was around your age. 

“I will not lie to you and say that each and every one of you will make it to be a lawyer, but I will say that in order to pass my class it is vital that you do everything I say and complete assignments how I expect them to. Starting with the summer assignment, everyone passes them up.”

You feel uneasy as everyone else seems to have their assignments printed out, even Nobara as she hands it to the person on her left as they all pile up into one stack at the front. You’re fidgeting with the bracelets on your hand, pulling at the elastic as you try to bring yourself to focus on anything else but it. 

“I will have the class syllabus going around,” he further announced. “Please make sure to take one and keep it somewhere safe. It has all the assignments listed down and when they’re expected to be turned in.”

The class goes by smoothly until it’s close to the end, where Higuruma sets you guys up with a partner and assigns you to discuss one of the questions viewed on the screen. Perched at his desk, he’s checking off those who have turned in their assignment, seeing that only a few students haven’t had their names marked off. He looks through the list, noticing your name— your last name specifically. Kong. He hasn’t seen that name in a while.

“Kong (Y/N),” he calls your name, pulling the mic hooked to his jacket closer. It makes your head pop in his direction, looking him clearly in his eyes. You’ve grown a lot since the last time he’s seen you. When was that? When you were a little over twelve? He can’t quite remember, but you’ve surely grown. Features more womanly and grown in. At one point you favored your mother, then Shiu the next. Now, you’re a fine mixture of the two— though whenever he did look at you, your eyes vividly came from your father. “Can you explain to me why your paper hasn’t been submitted?”

“Oh, um…” You can feel your heart stuck inside your throat, eyes deviating away from his as you're not sure what to say. You know what to say, but did he really have to call you out in front of the entire class? “I forgot to print it out, but—”

He comes to stand, the swivel chair sliding backwards as he does, cutting your excuse short. “And this class is an example of what I don’t want. How can you expect to get anywhere in life if you show up the first day unprepared?”

“Is that really necessary?” Nobara leans into you with the scrunch of her eyebrows. “He didn’t have to call you out in front of the classroom. I’m pretty sure there’s at least one student who didn’t even complete it at all.”

“Miss Kong, if this is going to be typical behavior from you, I suggest you drop out of my class immediately.”

People around you start to chatter, some siding with the professor and some ridiculing him for calling you out like that. Nonetheless, you grow flustered as you feel all eyes on you. He’s right. If you had just remembered to print out the assignment beforehand, you wouldn’t be in this damn predicament, getting condemned before everyone. You’re only grateful that he doesn’t call your name out for the rest of the class. Only until he’s finally dismissing you all, the name he’s already set for you ringing through the air once more. “Miss Kong, please stay behind. I’d like to have a word with you.”

You can only respond with a meek ‘okay’ as everyone’s trailing outside the door. Nobara hesitates to leave you alone, but you dismiss her and assure her that you’ll be fine. You don’t know what he could possibly want from you. He’s already said what he needed during class. However, you’ll take this opportunity in hopes to plead a little bit of extra time. You just needed to print it out.

Everyone trickles out quickly, leaving the enormous room just for the two of you as you shuffle in his direction, stopping not too short of his desk. He doesn’t say anything for a second, stacking the manila folders into a neat pile and setting them inside of a cart. He clears his throat, eyes flickering to yours before they go back on the task at hand. “Do you think that a judge would accept an unprepared lawyer?”

“No,” you immediately answer, your voice low and dry. 

“Then why do you think that I should accept your late paper, hm?” He pauses, expecting a response.

“Um…”

“A lawyer must always be prepared with a rebuttal,” Higuruma holds his head high. “No stuttering, um’s and uh’s in the courtroom. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Hig— Yes, Professor.”

At your slip up, Higuruma pauses. Glancing up at you with a raised eyebrow as he lets out an exasperated sigh. “How’s your father been? It’s been a while since I’ve last spoken to him.”

“He’s fine,” you shrug. “For the most part. He’s—”

“He won’t be fine if his daughter ends up a failure,” he remarks, setting the last of his stuff inside the cart, pulling up the handle as he throws you a stern look. His eyes squinting low as if daring you to challenge him. However, your mouth’s gone dry as you’re speechless. 

“I— I can have it for you in the next hour.”

“Try thirty minutes,” he rebuttals. “Anything later won’t be accepted. You’re dismissed.”

You don’t hesitate to spin on your heel, hurrying out of the class. You’re practically running out, throwing the door and letting it slam shut on the way out. Higuruma chuckles, watching you rush out of the lecture hall as he finally pulls out the cart along with him. He’ll give you the courtesy of adding ten extra minutes, but seeing the determination written all over your face the moment he gave you extra time, he’s ready to bed that the thirty will be enough. 

Unlike you, Higuruma remembered you clearly as the day when he saw your name on his roster. He didn’t believe it at first, wondering if your name was a common one. Surely, Shiu would’ve called him and informed him that his daughter had decided to pursue law at the same college both of them attended in their younger years. However, since Higuruma had called it quits, he hadn’t heard from Shiu since. 

He never planned on retiring from being a lawyer so soon. No, there was still so much fire in him that yearned to be back on the playing field, but after his last case. He thought it was best to call it quits, the scar residing on his chest being enough motivation to do so. Days that he spent in the hospital recovering as his mother cried over his wounded body. She had warned him about his strong pursuit for justice, to be careful of what he was doing or he’d anger the wrong set of people. He knew that was the case, that being a lawyer wasn’t always the safest career. However, he was passionate about it and couldn’t let it up because the unjust wanted to live freely. Shiu could let them run around freely, but not him. 

Maybe that’s why he hasn’t contacted him after all these years. Maybe there’s guilt residing on his chest after all this time. Higuruma always suspected Shiu’s involvement in his accident, but he could never find enough evidence for it. It led to Higuruma giving up his one man search forcing himself to forgive the man. He couldn’t bear the stress of being angry and having a vengeful spirit. However, seeing you really provoked that anger that he thought was long gone. 

Were you to end up like your father? Higuruma highly doubted it. You were a frail little thing, and he won’t apologize when he says he agreed with your mom. Shiu had called him up one night when they were still friends, confided in him and told him that his wife didn’t believe in you. Didn’t believe that you’d make it far in life.

He’s met you and had a few conversations with you. You were only a child, yes, but the typical child would have an answer on standby when asked what they wanted to be when they grow up. You? You only shrugged your shoulders and didn’t say anything more. He was sure that you’d find a place where you’re wanted— needed— but in law?

Higuruma scoffed to himself. Law did not need another Kong. 

—

“How dare he?” Nobara stabbed at her lunch in anger, the chopsticks ferociously dividing the apple into two pieces in one go. She seemed to be angrier than you about the entire ordeal despite the fact that you told her he had given you a second chance and you managed not to mess it up this time. “I had talked to a few other students and they had said they didn’t submit it, so why did he come after you? I hate a hardass that’s so unfair. How did he even call himself a lawyer?”

You didn’t want to voice your speculations. And you didn’t want to voice that you knew him outside of your classes. You didn’t want her perspective on you to shift, liking how the girl was ready to take up for you. Her bottom lip jutted out in anger, an adorable pout settling on her features as she shoved the piece of fruit in her mouth. 

Megumi sat beside Nobara, for once, interested in the conversation. “I don’t know, that’s weird. I would report him to the Dean.”

You scrunch your eyebrows in between your lunch, still chewing your food. “It was just the first day of classes,” you fan off the situation. “Maybe my name was the first option and he just wanted to make an example to set the tone for the rest of the semester.”

You hadn’t told them every aspect of what happened when he had called you to stay behind. That would reveal too much and surely set Nobara off in flames, seeing how red her face is with anger right now. You were really hoping that this would be a one time occurrence as you didn’t want to have a professor with whatever personal vendetta they had against you. Higuruma was vile and cruel with his words, where they felt completely unnecessary and targeted. However, you pushed your intuition back, not wanting to start the very first year of college off on a bad note. 

“Maybe,” Megumi shrugs. “But you don’t want it to turn into some big thing. Just be careful, okay?”

Later that night, your mom calls you. Picking up the phone, you hold it to your ears as your voice is low. Your roommate had already fallen asleep while you were up, starting ahead on your class readings. “Hey, mom. It’s late, why’re you still up?”

“I should ask you the same,” your mom’s voice sounds. “Don’t tell me you’ve already started studying? Have the professors already started teaching?”

“Yeah, they have,” you chuckled. “Plus, I want to stay on top of things.”

“I just wanted to call in and check on you!” She sounds happy on the other line, and you can’t help but notice the silence in the background. From the moment you got here and they had to leave, whenever your mom initiated a phone call, your dad was always next to her. “Hope you’re settling in well.”

“I am,” you sigh. “Is dad not with you right now?”

“No,” your mom yawns. You can hear the ruffling of the bed sheets move as she’s climbing into bed. “He’s working late tonight.”

“Oh, well,” you start, Higuruma coming to mind. “Mom, do you remember Higuruma?”

There’s a long pause on the other line. Your mom’s heart rating picking up a beat as she hadn’t heard that name in a long while. You have to call out her name again to snap her outside of whatever trance that she was under. “Oh, sorry, dear. Yeah, I remember him. He used to be one of your dad’s closest colleagues. Why?”

“He’s a professor at Kyoto University,” you inform her. “I actually have him for one of my classes.”

“He is?” Your mom’s attention has been called, sitting up in the bed as she’s wide awake. “He hasn’t bothered you by any chance, has he?”

Her question catches you off guard, making you wonder if your mother or your dad have set people to watch over you on campus. More so, your father. How could you possibly know if Higuruma was bothering you within less than twenty four hours? However, you try to play it cool, ready to deny her concerns. “No, I was just wondering… We haven’t seen him in a while and I wanted to know why he never visited anymore?”

Your mother loses her guard for a moment, becoming candid with you— er, giving you half the truth. “Oh, well, after his accident, Higuruma decided to quit law. And we tried reaching out, but we never heard from him again.” 

“Accident?”

“Yeah,” your mom hums. “Some guys didn’t like their sentence and once they were let out, they came after him. Scared Higuruma shirtless, I guess, so he decided to switch career paths.”

“Oh,” you gasped. “I never knew that.”

“You were really young at the time,” Mom says. “We didn’t want you to burden you with something like that.”

Shortly after, you and your mom are bidding each other good night before hanging up the phone. You’re left speechless at the newfound information that it leaves you unfocused. Shutting off your laptop and closing your textbook, you set it aside and crawl underneath the covers. Your mom, on the other hand, still sits up in the king-sized bed, pondering on what she should do next. Never did she think that Shiu’s past would come back to haunt them. 

They made sure to cut all ties with the man, their plan working as the man resigned from his position as an attorney and they never heard from him again. It was planned so meticulously that to this day, Shiu and her aren’t sure whether or not Higuruma had detected it was them. Maybe he had an inkling, but if the man really wanted to go with his gut, they’d soon end up on the floor. 

She didn’t want to burden her husband with the past, but was it really safe that their daughter’s in the hands of a man that they had bad blood with? Scrolling through her contacts before Shiu’s name popped up, her thumb hovered over the call button ready to click it. You said you were fine though, that he hadn’t done anything to bother you in any type of way. So, maybe she should trust your word. Shutting her eyes, (Y/M) throws the phone down on the bed, her face in her hands as she lets out a huff. “Fuck me.”

However, sleep riddles her mind before she can truly think about it. Forgetting her phone, she reaches for the night lamp, pulling at the metal string until she hears that click and the light goes off. When her head hits the pillow, she’s out like a light and the next day. She forgets all about her conversation with you. 

—

You thought it would end there, but Higuruma found pleasure in your torment. Where he’s no longer calling you out in front of one hundred students, but writing snide notes in your assignments, overanalyzing everything that you do down to your vocabulary and grammar. When he asks you to stay back behind class, it’s to further chastise and criticize you for every tiny mistake that you make. 

It makes you lose sleep as you’ve hours past midnight studying, the small lamp over-shining your textbooks as your upperclassman roommate, Maki Zenin, watches you with concern. Oftentimes, she’s warning you, telling you to get rest and buying you little treats to get through the day because she knows you haven’t slept. It’s become such a concern that when Nobara stops by, she tells her what’s been going on. 

It’s the middle of first semester and you’re trying to complete work that’s due towards the end, trying to stay on top of all of your classes, but especially his. Maki couldn’t take it anymore, letting in the younger girl the moment she heard her knock and letting her crash through the dorm room. You don’t even notice as you’re nose deep into your assignments, an impending migraine resting on your head. Nobara snatches the textbook, throwing it to Maki’s side of the room in a rush. 

“Hey! I need that!” 

“No, you don’t!” Nobara immediately barks back. “(Y/N), have you ever eaten anything?”

You hesitate to answer, so you decide not to at all. Since she took your textbook, you reach for your laptop, but she proves to be even faster. Handling it gently, she shuts the screen and clutches it to her chest as her shoulders drop and tilts her head to the side. “You need to quit it, (Y/N). Not eating properly, no sleep? What’s this all about because you and I share the majority of our classes together and the work isn’t as strenuous as you’re making it seem?”

You wouldn’t cave in and confide in Nobara about your worries, failing to meet her eyes. However, she had an inkling that she knew what— or whom— had provoked you to this point. “Is it Professor Higuruma?”

You had never been a good liar apparently, always getting caught in them when you were younger, but you muster up a roll in your eyes as you scoff. “No,” it sounded so convincing that it killed the girl’s suspicion. “I just wanted to get ahead of my work and make sure I’m understanding the material.”

“Well, understanding the material won’t do you any good if you drop dead from exhaustion.” Nobara sets the laptop down on your nightstand, picking up your spiral notebooks and setting them on top of it as she scoots herself on the bed, kicking off her shoes. “We’re going to sleep.”

Furrowing your eyebrows, you watch as she pulls your folded blanket from the corner of your bed and unravels it. When she tells you to move over, you do so unconsciously making space for her. “We?”

“Yes, we,” Nobara confirms. “Since you won’t listen to Maki to the point she had to stop me on the way to classes to have a mini-intervention with you, I’m going to make sure that you actually fall asleep. Now, come snuggle up. I heard cuddling helps.”

It does. You and Nobara fall asleep in each other’s hold. It was so cute to witness that Maki had taken a few pictures herself, making sure to send them to you when you wake up. Luckily for you, the next day was Friday, so you didn’t have any classes. You managed to sleep in just fine, but Nobara on the other hand? She forgot that she had a ten a.m. class and was nearly late. She had to run there in her clothes from before and the purse she had brought with her. You felt guilty for making her late, keeping her there for so long because of the mess you put on yourself. You didn’t need to put in this extra work to prove yourself. You were doing just fine in all of your classes, including Higuruma’s. So why were you doing all of this?

You tried to take the day off, to rest and rejuvenate your mind, body and soul. However, you felt an itch inside of you. An itch that berated you for the studying you’ve missed for being so lackadaisical— that time you had allotted for it now down the drain. You reached for your textbook again and opened back your laptop, ignoring the sting in your eyes as you grabbed your notebook and pen. Right back in that loop you’ve put yourself in.

(Y/N), 

Please meet me in my office on Sunday, October 13, 2024. Two p.m. sharp.

Professor Higuruma

Higuruma always prided himself in being a just man, but he knew what he was doing to you wasn’t fair. You had potential in you after all, it seemed. You turned in decent work that didn’t make him want to gag, where it was better than a quarter than the other kids. You were putting in the work surely, always trying to correct the mistakes and errors he had highlighted in red. It seemed like you were seeking his validation through the desperation and lengths you were willing to take. He didn’t need to see it and you didn’t need to say a word, it’s in all of your work. And he can’t help, but boast to himself that he’s managed to tear you down with just using a sentence or two within his “constructive” criticism. He sends the email without a second thought, the corner of his lip twitching upwards in doing so. 

You see the notification on your smart watch, an email from Professor Higuruma. You reach for your phone, swiping at the notification to open and unlocking your phone. Reading anything from him brings a spike of anxiety running down your spine, especially given the fact he wants to see outside of school hours. You don’t think about it too deeply to notice its suspicion in his request, simply replying to confirm that you will be there and playing right into the devil’s hand. 

When you meet with Higuruma, his door is open. Sitting in his seat, he doesn’t look up from his work. He’s slouched forward, small brown pupils that always look exhausted as they flicker to you finally. He fixes his posture, straightening the white buttoned down shirt he’s wearing as he motions you to take a seat in one of the chairs in front of his desk. 

From there, he takes you in. You’re not wearing anything fancy, a t-shirt and jeans shorts that he’d deem too short. When you sit, the fat of your thighs join together and make Higuruma come to terms with just how much you’ve blossomed into a beautiful young woman in his absence. He should be disgusted by how it makes him feel, rumbling something deep inside him. He wants you to feel bad for it.

“I see you couldn’t even be bothered to put on something decent,” he comments, clicking out of a tab to lean in the swivel chair. He folds his hands together, clicking his tongue on the brim of his mouth and giving you another once over. “Who’s going to take you seriously if you can’t even come to a meeting with your professor in appropriate attire?”

This guise of preparing you for the real world, for becoming a lawyer— it’s all too easy and you’re all too gullible. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t aware that this was something really important or not—”

“It’s not,” he retorts, getting up from his seat, he brings himself in front of you, towering over you in a show of dominance. His hands stuffed inside the pockets of his dress pants as he leans against the edge of his desk, putting one leg over his knee. “But, you expect anyone to take you seriously dressed the way you are? Stand up.”

You don’t hesitate, standing up quickly and meeting Higuruma at eye level. He stands tall, a few inches taller than you. He’s taking a risk putting his hand on you, but considering that you’ve let him speak to you like this, he’s willing to test the waters and see. Gentle fingers that take your chin in his hand, forcing you to look directly into his eyes. He can see every flaw within you, every mark and blemish on your skin. Yet, it doesn’t deter the way his cock stirs inside his pants.

“Your father was a good lawyer— still is one— but you…” He tsks, voice getting raspy and deeper as his fingers trail down your neck to your clavicle. Pretty smooth skin is all he feels until he’s down to the hem of your shirt. He stops, trying to make his mind up. However, he’s feeling daring today. “I don’t know if you’ll even make it through the rest of your undergrad years. The work you’ve been handing in— mediocre, at best.”

He’s done more than invade your personal space, invading boundaries and crossing lines that should never be crossed as a professor and you as his student. You should tell him to stop, but the shiver down your spine does the opposite of what you want, making you inch closer to him as your breath hitches. You can feel him— his chest pressing against your chest and something pressing against your stomach. You’re praying that it’s his belt buckle, but you feel a faint stir letting you know it’s something else. His hands travel your body, stopping to graze and draw the shape of your breast. 

“But— But you’ve been giving me good grades.” You knit your eyebrows together in confusion, your grades reflecting one thing but his words another. 

“Yes,” he agrees before his rebuttal. “But good grades won't make you far as a lawyer. Don’t you want to be just like your daddy? Taking charge of whatever case you’re assigned that no one dares question you?”

His question makes sense, making you think about it. You want to make your father proud, and Higuruma was a man that used to stand right on your father’s level. If anyone could show you the ropes and help you other than your father, it would be him. You nod, “yes.”

“Then, you have to do everything I say,” Higuruma says. “Would you do anything I told you to?”

You take a minute to process, daring to look away before his hands are back on your face, harshly cupping your jaw and forcing you to keep eye contact before he’s repeating his question. “Would you do anything I told you to?”

“Yes,” you finally respond. After all, you’ve been doing it so willingly before. Higuruma grins, appeased with your response as he slowly nods. His grip on you loosening before finally letting go. 

“Good,” he hums. “You’re to meet with me every Saturday at two p.m. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” you say just above a whisper. His back is to you as he’s gathering all of his stuff. You spend a moment right there, unsure of what you should do next until he’s glancing behind him. He chuckles to himself inwardly. You’re so easy. Were you always this compliant with your parents? “You’re dismissed.”

The next time you speak with your parents, it’s in person. You’ve been listening to Nobara a bit more, taking breaks when needed. Though, Higuruma always stood in the back of your mind berating you. Somehow, he’s gotten ahold of your personal number, sending you messages and reminders that you must be studying and always aiming high if you want to be one of the best lawyers in Japan. His voice, it’s always lingering and berating you for moments of leisure like this. However, your mom and dad had been badgering you to come home and visit them as you’ve been slowly losing contact with them because of your extraneous schedule. 

At the front door, you punch in the code before you hear the click of it opening. When it swings open, you’re immediately comforted by your mom’s cooking. The mouth watering aroma of a home cooked meal puts you in a trance as your feet make a bee line straight for the kitchen. Your mom’s standing behind the stove with her back to you as she hasn’t detected your arrival. In the pot is a meal that reminds her of home, something she made for you often as a child and still to this day. 

A simple graze of her shoulder is enough to make her jump, a high-pitched scream coming from her lips before she’s spinning around and making the hot oil splatter against you and causing the both of you to scream. She slaps your shoulder when she finally calms down, grunting in annoyance. “Don’t scare me like that!”

“I didn’t mean to,” you can only retort, grabbing the kitchen towel to wipe off the cooling oil as your nerves settle down. When the both of you are in a calmer state, your mom pulls you into a hug. 

“Oh, how I’ve missed you!” she coos, pulling away to take you in. “I didn’t expect you to come in until a bit later— are those eye bags? Have you not been sleeping properly?”

You fan away her hands that try to reach out and touch them. You groan, not feeling like talking about the subject matter. “Don’t worry about it. Where’s dad?”

The devil himself responds with, “he’s right here.” You can hear the rough shuffle of his feet pattering down the steps. “What was going on earlier? I heard screaming.”

From the small towel over his head and the wet t-shirt, it’s evident that he just came out of the shower. Your mom props a hand on her hip, side-eying you. “Oh, nothing. Just your daughter scaring her dear old mother to death.”

“It was an accident,” you roll your eyes. “I just touched her shoulder and she jumped.”

Shiu chuckles, making it to the kitchen and pulling you in for a hug. “(Y/N), you have to be careful. You know how jumpy your mother can get.”

The rest of the evening goes on smoothly as your mother finally calls you and your father over for dinner. Three plates prepared, your mother sets them down on the table as you’ve had the silverware and glasses set from before. You lean to give your mother a kiss on the cheek before sliding in your seat. “Thank you, mom.”

“Yes,” Shiu agrees. “Thank you, dear.”

“Mhm,” she chirps, finally setting down her own plate and sitting around the table next to your father. Her eyes are vibrant as she scans the area, happy to have her two prized-possessions with her in the same room again. “Shiu, can you start with the prayer?”

Halfway through your plate, your father looks over at you curiously. The bags underneath your eyes and your occasional yawns— it reminds him of his years in college. But, you’ve barely called and reached out to him as he was hoping. It made him concerned. Were you too scared to ask him for help even though he had blatantly told you he’d help you in any way, shape or form? “How have your classes been? Surely, they’re not stressing you out as much yet.”

“Oh, they’re stressing me out,” you snort. “But… nothing I can’t manage.”

“You’re not struggling with any of them, are you?” Shiu asks. “You haven’t reached out to me at all. Are you sure everything’s fine?”

“Yeah,” you reassure your father with a nod. “I’m passing all of my classes currently. And I have one of my professors offering me help outside of class hours to help me out.”

“Oh, really?” Shiu raises his eyebrows, leaning back in his chair. “Which one? I might know them.”

“You do,” you confirm. “You remember Higuruma, right? He’s a professor now, but I’m sure mom already told you about it. He’s offered to help me out with studying.”

Shiu stops eating, resting his fork gently against the plate as he knits his eyebrows together and looks at you, intaking this vital piece of information. He then glances at his wife, wondering how she could’ve forgotten to inform him of it. His wife fails to meet his eyes, forcing him to look back at you. He can’t help but repeat himself, “Oh, really?”

You nod, not noticing the scrunch of your father’s eyebrows and how heavy the atmosphere has turned. He tilts his head in curiosity, wondering the safety of his child within his old friend’s hands. “And you say he’s offered to tutor you?”

You hum in confirmation. “Yeah—”

“Honey,” Shiu stops himself, thinking about what he’s to say next. He doesn’t want to alarm you about the matter, and he’s not too sure himself if Higuruma will be a liability. The way you say it with confidence, not an ounce of fear in your mind. Is his old friend truly looking out for you for the greater good? Does he want to take this chance? “I’m not too sure about that.”

“Shiu,” your mom reaches for her husband’s hand, dissuading him from saying anything more. At the way your parents look at each other, it calls for your attention, finally aware of the suffocating tension lingering in the air. 

“Why? Is something the matter?” you ask. “Mom told me about what happened to him, and he seems fine now—”

Shiu shoots his wife a glare, a simple action that speaks so many words. “Don’t worry about it, honey. It’s nothing you need to fret about.”

Your father stands up, his plate unfinished, but he’s decided that he’s had enough. “I’ll do the dishes, baby.” 

He bends down to his wife's ear, planting a kiss against her temple before whispering, “we’ll talk about this later.”

—

Higuruma can prove himself to be a gentleman with you, in instances such as now where he has you on your knees, standing right in front of you with the door to his office locked. He’s got himself pressed up against you, his erection touching your face and forcing you to feel him. You decided to listen to him, wearing something more business casual in a button-up blouse and pencil skirt that had Maki questioning your whereabouts. You never did end up telling her just where you were going, heading straight through the door. 

He’s caressing your face, pushing away at your braids. He had undone your ponytail, pulling the clip away to see how it fell past your shoulders. You’re a pretty sight to see like this, so obedient and following every word he says. The lights in his office are dim, but they illuminate against you. It’s as though your skin is glowing, dazzling beautifully as he’s got your cheek pressed against his erection and rubbing himself against you. 

Even in proper attire, you manage to make it so sexually appealing. His eyes squinting down in disdain as he tuts out a sigh. “You just can’t seem to do anything right. I guess you’ll be one of those lawyers that sleep their way around to get what they want, huh?”

You shake your head in disagreement, making Higuruma laugh. “Oh, but yes. I’ve got you on your knees right now, looking like whore, so I believe it’s safe to assume what you’re destined for— C’mon and undo my pants for me.”

You should’ve expected it the first time you had come in for your study session, that first Saturday, he did nothing but graze his hands all over your body as he tested you on the material. Who were the most important people in the Japanese dynasty during the Heian era? When did it come to fall? He would ask you all while his hand was on your thigh, inching up and between your legs to cup your heat. You would falter and stammer on your words, feeling his hot touch embedding itself into your skin. Whenever you came close to saying a word, he’d apply pressure and glide his finger down your covered heat. 

You were ashamed of yourself. Of wanting this, not telling your parents the full truth, not telling your friends either. Nobara was no longer suspicious, though Higuruma was nowhere near being one of her favorite professors, but she backed off and was no longer checking up on you as she frequently did at one point. But maybe she got tired of your lies and no one longer deemed it her concern. 

However, the lust discarded all of that said shame, enjoying the way this older man makes you feel at the swipe of a finger and how his degrading words have created you into someone you could no longer recognize. You could only guess that you weren’t moving fast enough for his liking, feeling his hand come up to grip your jaw roughly and pulling you closer to him. “Aren’t you listening? Take off my pants and suck my cock like the filthy slut you are.”

Your hands tremble as the reach for the zipper of his dress pants, fingertips ghosting against his hard length. Your eyes move to flicker from him down to it, where you can feel that familiar feeling grow inside of you. That flutter deep inside your stomach as arousal pooled onto the center of your panties. You failed to wear a pair of protective shorts underneath, your legs squeezed tightly together as your juices seep through and stick to your inner thighs. Feeling that metal tab, pulling it down. You grow more daring by the second, hands moving to cup his length through the undergarment and fondle it. 

You can see how his chest constricts, stopping his breath as he loses himself for a moment. But only for a moment does he shut his eyes, feeling the way your hand is gentle and causing more precum to leak from his tip, before he’s bunched up your hair together and forces you away. You try to contact the high-pitched screech that leaves from your lips. “Do you think you’re the one in charge?”

Tears prickle out from the corner of your eyes as you shake your head, your voice squeaking when you utter out, “no.”

“Then, what’d I tell you to do?” He asks.

“You told me to undo your pants.” Your heart’s beating fast, squinting your eyes as you feel the tears fall before they flutter back open to stare into Higuruma’s. For the first time, he looks so alive, and you take pride to know it’s because of you.

“Did I ask for anything more?”

“No,” you sob.

“Do I have to punish you?” Higuruma hums. “Give you a good spanking and leave that good pussy soaked?”

“No,” you croak. “Please, no.”

Gosh, he can’t help but revel in this. He has you begging. He hums some more, pondering over just what to do with you. “Maybe I will leave you all high and dry, but not before I get what I want. Since, you’re so incompetent and I have to do everything myself—” He tugs down his pants just far enough where it’s right above his knees and brings his underwear down along with it, his cock slapping against his abdomen. “—Hm, suck. Don’t use your hands. Keep them where they’re at.” 

His shirt’s still on and hanging down loosely. He grips himself at the base, where it gives you a better peek up his shirt, where you can see the dark hairs of his happy trail travel to his cock. You see how’s sort of let go of himself, his pubic hair untamed. His grip on your hair is still strong, forcing your lips to touch the tip of his cock where pre stil leaks from him. The sticky translucent substance paints your lips with it. Slowly, your mouth opens and he takes the opportunity to make it wider, shoving his cock deep inside your mouth until you’re full of him. 

He’s got a set of girth to him, making your mouth stretch open widely as his tip kisses the back of your throat. The mushroom-shaped head of him basking in the feeling of your mouth wrapped around him. Your mouth hollows around his length, trying to accustom yourself to the ache that’s already beginning to settle in. With one hand on your shoulder, Higuruma pushes you further down on your knees as he presses himself into your warmth. How your eyes water so beautifully as another set of tears become to showcase themselves. It causes him to groan, having a young thing like yourself in his grasp, all for him to use and take advantage of. 

“The only thing you’re good for is to cry while you take cock,” Higuruma groans as he forces you off his length, watching you inhale deeply. He’s being kind by giving you this rest period, taking a moment to get your features like this memorized. How you already look a mess. “I can see it. You sprawled out on a judge’s desk, pleading with them to make you win. Legs wide open and your pussy begging to be fucked. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Bet you’re fucking soaked.”

Sheathing himself back inside of you, Higuruma groans. “‘M gonna fucking love this. Getting to use you just how I want and cum in that pretty mouth of yours.”

You can barely breathe through your nose with the force he’s using on you, pushing your head down so deep within him that what you can intake is his smell. His earthy cologne still lingering on him as well as his natural musk. Again, you should feel ashamed. You should feel ashamed for how your pussy trembles, your juices soaked to no salvation. You’re careful to go slowly, your hands going unnoticed when they travel in between your legs to cup yourself. You’ve imagined this plenty of times before from the moment you started these one-on-one tutoring sessions with him. You wondered what it would like to feel him, what his cock felt like inside of you— whether it was in your mouth or your pussy. 

You wanted to know how it would feel stretching you out and how good he’d fuck you. Nights where you’d play with your pussy, hoping that Maki was fast asleep and didn’t hear the toy that was trapped in between your legs. You’d conceal your moans that dared to slip out, hips bucking as you were close. You’d picture it was Higuruma— your father’s old friend and now professor— making you feel this good. And when you came, you were too scared to make a move, falling asleep in your own mess and hoping that by the next morning, the stench of your release wasn’t as potent as it was in the moment. 

Now that you’re below him and getting mouth-fucked by him, it makes you moan out as you stick your hand underneath your skirt, the fabric riding up and barely covering your ass. Fortunately for the both of you, the door is locked. However, if anyone were to come in right now, they’d see your ass on display with your hands right in between your legs and happily sucking off your professor, a man more than twice your age. It would be a pretty sight to behold, watching your pussy drool so selfishly as you play with your clit as Higuruma face fucks you.

His hand in your hair, a slight pain throbbing in the back of your head as he controls your movements altogether. Your head bobs up and down as you moan like a whore under him. He has to lean against the table every so often to get a hold of himself, seeing you like this makes him feel like he’s young again and can’t withhold himself. He pants and grunts, his chest rising and falling as his eyelids grow heavy. He sees the roll of your hips, finding that your hands have snaked in between to touch your pussy. He won’t stop you. No, instead, he chuckles as he rolls his hips into your mouth. “Fuck, you’re such a dirty little whore. Who am I kidding? You’ll amount to nothing the second I’m done with you. Look at you, touching yourself.”

He says it like it’s a sin, spitting it out with so much venom but inside you, his cock twitches. Resting his weight against the desk, he drags you along with him, making sure you never leave his length. He ignores the way you gag around his length, sputtering out in pain as you whine and mewl before his hips move faster. You have to catch air as quickly as possible with the amount of force he uses. 

The sounds of blubbering and wet skin sounding from the two of you echoes inside the office. Your pussy clenches as you grind down into your hand, a finger snaking between your walls as you can slightly bounce against it and wishing that it was Higuruma’s cock instead. Your eyes shut tight as you let the tears seep down and dry onto your skin. Your high-pitched moans reverberating against your chest and to him, his arousal pooling into the back of your throat as he hits at your uvula repetitively. All throughout, your desperation to make it through the years pours out of you, greedily taking what Higuruma gives.

It feels like he’s the only person who’s told you the truth to your face. You’re not smart enough; you have no ambition; you’ll amount to nothing. It all pours into your head, your mother’s words, the feigned feelings from family and family friends as they ultimately agree with her. Someone’s finally said it to your face, and you’re coming to accept it. And through your desperation to prove them wrong, but never Higuruma, you’ll do whatever it takes to have them biting at their own words. 

Spit pools from the corner of your lips, trickling down your chin as your head looks up at him with a look of determination set in your eyes. It piques his interest what’s made you snap, but doesn’t question it when he feels your tongue grazing the shaft as you finally put in some more effort. Your tongue tasting that vein than ran down underneath, making Higuruma take in a deep inhale. No longer does he have to force you down his length as you meet his thrusts with eagerness and his grip loosens. 

“That’s right,” he breathes. “Fuck, be a proud whore and get me off.”

You feel like, after one hit, you’ve become addicted. Fingers stuffed inside your pussy as you multitask with getting him off as well as yourself. Your chest rises and falls and you can feel yourself so close, getting so close to hitting that brink. However, Higuruma stops you before you could, a set of words that have you wondering if sorcery is real. “Don’t you dare fucking cum. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stop right now.”

And just the obedient girl you are, you stop with a whiny mewl. Simultaneously, Higuruma pulls out of you, leaving your mouth empty. 

“Let me see your fingers,” but as he says so, he reaches for the hand tucked between your legs and brings it up in the air. Holding your hand by the wrist as he sees how your index and middle finger’s coated in your slick, making them glossy as a string hangs in the air. 

“Clean them off,” he demands, shoving your hands in your face and near your lips. “Taste how much of a dirty slut you are.”

He watches as your lips wrap your fingers inside, making you taste yourself as you hum in delight. He lets go of your wrist, a firm grip around the base of his cock before he’s ejaculating. Wet and lubricated all thanks to you, he’s gripping the back of your neck and holding you still, making your head lean back. “Be a good girl and—”

You don’t let him finish, lulling your mouth open and sticking out your tongue. Shit, you’re fucking gorgeous like this, he can’t help but think to himself. Fucking his fist, he can feel himself getting closer. Holding you still with a visceral grip, his cock so close to his mouth, he feels himself twitching as that euphoric feeling returns and makes him feel young again. He spurts his seed inside your mouth, white shooting inside and some splattering on your face. You moan out without shame, opening your mouth wider as he continues to leak himself inside of you. “Fuuuck,” he breathes.

Falling from his high, Higuruma comes to his senses as he looks down at you. You haven’t cleaned yourself up, afraid to move. He bends down to pull up his pants, his cock softening as he makes his way over to his desk. Sitting back in his seat, he doesn’t make eye contact with you. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll get yourself all cleaned up and get out of my office. We’ll see each other next Saturday.”

—

Being a private investigator means constantly being at discomfort. Well, that’s what it means for Nanami because as he captures each picture of you and Higuruma in such compromising positions, he grimaces. Hired by Shiu Kong, he’s known well throughout the world of law, but also in the underground where the darkness prowls freely. Ties that follow the Zenin clan, he’s a person who’s gone untouched and will continue on remaining so in this world of dirty politics. With every snap of the camera and in such an uncomfortable position, he’s not sure how to reveal to his boss what his daughter and ex-friend have been doing behind closed doors.

Your father decided to give Higuruma some grace— sort of. He hired Nanami to essentially watch over you, see where you go and watch Higuruma’s movements. He didn’t want the blonde to immediately report to him, to simply gather up all intel on the dark-haired bastard before making a sound decision. Maybe, just maybe, Shiu could trust you in the hands of Higuruma. Never did he expect your hands to be all around Higuruma.

Nanami made sure to select the most appropriate photos of the bunch he has of you and the former colleague, watching his boss open the manila folder and take it in— take it all in. A calm before the storm settling in as Shiu looks through each and every photo before he’s at the last one. Then, when he shuts the folder closed, he throws it across the room, all the photographs flying around haphazardly. “Why didn’t you show me any of this sooner?”

“You gave me strict orders not to, sir,” Nanami reminds him, fixing his spectacles. “You made me make sure of it.”

Shiu pinches the bridge of his nose. “One thing you need to know, there’s always a time where you must break the rules— AND NOW WAS ONE OF THEM!” The seat he was in is thrown backwards, now on the ground as he hovers menacingly over Nanami. He huffs and puffs, face reddening with anger. 

“Shit,” he curses, hiding his hands in his face. He feels like he’s at the brink of tears. How stupid. How stupid of him to let his guard down. “What am I going to tell my wife? How am I going to explain to her that this—” he gestures towards the thrown down photos “—has been going on for months?”

He starts pacing around the room, hand tangling in his hair before throwing his head back and muttering, “I’m going to kill him.”

Reaching for his phone, Shiu skims through his contacts until he lands on the familiar name— Fushiguro. 

—

Months have passed now as winter break draws near. You’ve just finished your final exam, now able to gain some peace as you walk alongside Nobara as the two of you head towards the courtroom. You roll your neck to stretch your body from hours of sitting and stressing. Nobara moans as she hears the crick of her muscles, “Oh, I’m so glad that that’s over with. I’m exhausted!”

“I just want to eat something, then pass out,” you grumble, hands shoved inside of your hoody as you follow alongside her. At the mention of food, her eyes light up as she spins on her heel, grabbing you by the shoulders. “Speaking of food, you wanna go get hibachi? There’s this restaurant not too far away from campus—”

At that moment, your phone vibrates in your pocket, a message from Higuruma popping on screen, but his caller ID underneath an entirely different name. His message is simple: 7:30 pm. Be there. “I’m sorry, Nobara, but I can’t. Something just came up.”

Nobara frowns, crossing her arms. You’ve been talking to some guy, you’ve admitted it, but you never go into complete detail. All Nobara knows is that once he texts, you’re ready to drop everything to run to him. Within her fair share of relationships, never has she been so compliant towards her man’s every request. “I don’t like this, (Y/N). You’re always dropping everything to see this guy and we never have time to hang out with each other anymore. It’s like, once I get you out of the books, something else steals you away from me.”

You frown, feeling guilty, but you can’t miss this. You always tell yourself that, not wanting to go receive any form of punishment from the older man. “I’m sorry, but—”

“That’s all you can say!” Nobara grows agitated, letting you go and turning her back on you. “Y’know what? Just… Just go.”

And you do, without further hesitation. 

You body lies down underneath him so pliant, your body so willing to give and respond to him as your legs are wide open. Though it may be on your body, his pussy is displayed open for his sight only. How your folds glisten like porcelain and how you clench in desperation for him— for his cock to fill it up. Such a pretty and disgusting little thing you are, always coming back to be used how he wants and never objecting to a word he says. Never saying no. 

He finds it pathetic. He finds you pathetic. 

It’s pathetic how as time comes to pass, whenever you look at him, there’s a sense of need in your eyes. Your mind becomes distorted as you long for him by the second. How your mind has come to jumble up together to form these thoughts inside your head that he’d seek out a relationship further than this. How in the past, you’ve confessed to wanting more and while he tells you how pitiful you are, you always come back. You always come back, seemingly hoping and praying that someday he’ll give you what you want. 

However, every time he looks into your eyes, he sees your damn father and he knows he can never give you more. Not just because of the restrictions, but because he doesn’t want to. 

When you were waiting inside his house, giving you the spare key so that you could hurry inside and get out of the sight of possible nosey neighbors, you were so patient. Laying on his bed with your body sprawled out naked the moment he stepped through his bedroom door, gracing him with the presence of his living fleshlight that he’s come to use and abuse. He’s still got his clothes on, simply pulling down his pants and underwear for his cock to spring free and explore that tight pussy of yours. 

How it always manages to snap back into place, making him have to stretch you out all over again baffles him. By the many times he’s fucked you, he should have it shaped to the exact size and measurements of his cock. He barely preps you, pushing the head of his cock at your entrance and listening to the way you writhe and whine underneath him in pain. Your eyes shutting as you cry like you always do. He grins maniacally as his hand comes to wrap around your neck, holding onto it and forcing your head deeper into the soft cushion of his pillow. 

He silences you through the constriction of air, your cries now silent as he bottoms out inside of you. Your mewls cut short as you can no longer breathe, and the sting to your face always comes as a shock. With the steady rock of his hips, your pussy clenches around him and sucks him in tightly as you roll your hips languidly, feeling the oxygen return into your lungs. 

Higuruma doesn’t want to admit that you have potential. Potential to be a good lawyer. Doesn’t want any guilt to consume him for how he’s made you feel, so fucks into you until your pussy’s all battered and molded back to accommodate him perfectly. You’ve done better than most of the students on your exams, both midterm and finals. You never needed much help from him, you never did. But while your score sits at the top, he has to remind you of your place. That you’ll always be beneath him. 

“You think that a good score will carry you on for the rest of your life?” He leans down to grab your bottom lip with his teeth, biting down on the delicate skin as his grip around your neck tightens. He drills into your tight pussy, knowing that his brutal words always make it flutter. “You’ll get nowhere. You’ll always be eating the scum at the bottom of my shoe.”

He chuckles darkly, it echoing through the room as the wet sound of skin slapping against skin vibrates through the air. The stench of sex wafting through as your mixed arousals seep through. He leans down to your ears, nibbling against the skin. “But I’d bet you’d love that, too.”

He slaps you again, the headboard of his bed, hitting the wall repeatedly as the impact sounds through with everything. “Filthy fuckin’ whore.”

Deep in your mind, somewhere far deep within, it’s telling you— practically begging you— to find your way out. It’s asking you to dig yourself out of the trenches as it’s coming to suffocate you and swallow you whole, but you always push it back. Forcing yourself to accept Higuruma’s cruelty and furthermore, to enjoy it. The joy you felt when your exam grades were announced within a little over twelve hours, that sense of relief and pride that rang through your bones as you couldn’t help but tear up a little. A smile gracing your features as you tell yourself that you did it. And Higuruma’s voice infiltrates your mind shortly after to remind you that it’s because of him. 

You mewl out, your breasts bouncing with each thrust of his hips as you make sure to meet him with every one of them. Your back arching off the bed as your nails dig into his dark sheets. Your mouth is open agape, crying out and moaning out his name like a mantra. Your juices coating his cock and escaping the tight crevices every chance it gets, slipping deep into the cracks of your ass as your sweet cunt drools for him. 

His breath against your skin as he’s so close to your face, brown eyes watching your face twist and contort with pleasure. “Tell me how much of a whore you are.”

“I’m—I’m such a whore,” you manage to gasp, feeling his hands tighten once more. “S-such a filthy and nasty whore.”

“Yes, you are,” he grins wildly. “A dirty whore whose pussy loves older cock. Willing to get drilled by her professor. So, so nasty.”

“Are you…” you try to get your breathing under control. “Will you make me cum tonight?”

“I don’t know,” Higuruma hums, burying himself into you deeply as he stops all ministrations. “Do you think you deserve to cum tonight?”

“Yes,” you nod meekly. “Yes, I’ve been so good.”

“I decide if you’ve been good or not,” another sound of a slap infiltrating the air as Higuruma returns to the beatings of his cock against your walls. He’s an evil man, finding his fill within you as he’s fucked you of his load already, painting your insides white but deciding it’s not enough. When he feels that you’re close, he’ll stop and let your impending orgasm dissipate within the thin air as you whine and mewl in displeasure and beg him to let you have at least one release. It isn’t until he feels that coil in his stomach that he finally decides to be nice. 

“Fine, but you’ve got to cum with me,” he says, capturing your lips with a kiss as he holds onto your neck. He swallows your lips in hunger as you gleefully reciprocate the action, kissing him with so much fervor and passion. It’s sloppy as your pussy pulsates, it screams of your essence as you milk the older man of his. 

A milky white ring forming around his base as he continues fucking you, forcing the cum to drip out of your pussy as the drilling of his hips slow its rough and fast pace. Together, the both of you catch your breath as Higuruma finally pulls away. And for some reason, you thought tonight would be different, but when he climbs off of you to sit at the edge of the bed, you realize nothing’s changed as his voice rings out. Always the same thing, “Hurry up and get going. It’s getting late.”

At first, you always believed that it was his small show that he cared. It’s getting late, your delusions made you believe that he said that because the sky was darkening and he didn’t want you getting snatched away by the wonders of night. But every time he said it, he sounded emptier and emptier. There’s no meaning behind his words. So, you get dressed, calling yourself a lift for a few blocks down in the hopes of going undetected, never noticing the dark car that’s parked a few houses back, watching you leave. 

Shiu lights himself a cigarette, letting out a big exhale when he opens the door the moment you’re no longer in sight. He hated to have prolonged this, but he had to play it smart. Now that colleges will be closing soon for the holidays, it was the perfect time. You had called a couple days prior, saying that you’d be home in two to three days at most. The last thing Shiu had Nanami do was tap your phone, where he saw all your conversations with Higuruma. The conversations the two of you shared were always short and sweet— just what Shiu needed. While you’re on break, Higuruma won’t message you and you’ll come to believe that he’s busy. It wouldn’t be the first he’d gone days without messaging you. You wouldn’t suspect a thing. 

He felt disgust within himself, feeling like a failure of a father for letting this happen. He should’ve checked up on you more, should’ve persisted that you only sought him for help. Hell, he should’ve looked through your schedule the moment you got it, so he could’ve nipped it in the bud from then. A fool he is for putting faith in the school he used to attend. He is a fool for giving Higuruma the benefit of the doubt. However, this regret and pent up anger won’t subside the longer he mopes about it. Now that he knows and now that he’s here, something will finally be done about this. 

“You sure you wanna witness this?” Toji asks the man, hopping out of his side as they both approach the house. The lawyer had always stayed on the sidelines, never wanting to get too involved in Toji’s lifestyle. Anyone could be watching and that itself was a liability. Though, with a son himself, Toji can’t say he blames the man. But, would the lawyer truly be able to handle the bloodshed? “It can get pretty nasty.”

“Nah, I need to,” Shiu takes a long drag from the cigarette. He can feel it pulsating inside of him. If Higuruma didn’t die tonight, someone else will. “Promised my wife I would.”

“Haha,” Toji chuckles, remembering the night the two of them met. He feels pride within himself for being such a good wingman. “Yeah.”

“That’s enough talking,” Shiu drops his cigarette, crushing it with the heel of his shoe, walking ahead of Toji. “This bastard needs to die.”

Sneaking in through the patio door, the two men walk in silence. The gun that’ll be used to kill the former lawyer tucked away in the back of Toji’s pants, him reaching out to pull it out of the confines. Shiu glances at the hitman, giving him a stern look. “It better not jam.”

“My baby?” he scoffs. “She’d never.”

Shiu rolls his eyes. “Anything goes wrong and your pay’s depleting.”

“We’ll talk about that if it comes to it.” They spot Higuruma in the bedroom. Clothes still on as he reaches for laptop in the cart. Shiu tuts as he opens the door, “Your clothes are still on? Good. At least you’ll die with some dignity.”