#he knows hes repressed and hes okay with it

[livrelady]

#i love 1) kirk being blatantly charmed and delighted by spock launching his principles into the sun despite now agreeing w/ those principles#and 2) spock reversing so hard about the value of other life and cultures and scientific discovery he nearly gives himself whiplash#ngl he looks like he's trying to figure out if the tal-shaya would work on silicate life while bringing out the heavy guns w/ kirk#(calling him 'jim' of course. /represses spoilers#and this not long after the panicked 'captain. are you all right? jim? jim!')#i think it's one of those episodes where you don't get how intensely shippy some of the scenes are without watching the whole thing#like it's not going to make a top ten gayest k/s moments list but in context probably deserves to!#like. the bridge massage scene is incredible and all the more so because we have zero context whatsoever for it.#does spock... often give him massages? has he done so on the bridge before??? is it usually private and kirk is just so tired he forgets?#the world will never know! and 'shore leave' as a whole does not remotely depend on the scene apart from the general stress level#yet there it is! just to kick things off! well. okay mr. sturgeon. i certainly respect your vision and audacity#i do adore the 'no it doesn't make any more sense in context except homoerotically' scenes. but i have a soft spot for these ones too#where the scene is embedded into an episode that contextually makes it so much more !!!! than you'd guess from the clip alone#in fact some wouldn't even be recognizable as shippy except for a different part of the episode! but when you watch the whole thing#and then it's like OHHHH that happened for gay reasons. now i get it#well. those are their own delight :)#gif#star peace#star trek: the original series#james t kirk#spock#c: who do i have to be#c: i object to intellect without discipline#otp: the premise#tos: s1#tos: the devil in the dark (X)

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

THE SUNDAY REGULAR. 18+

bucky barnes x waitress fem!reader

wc. 4605 summary. you’re a waitress working at some shitty run-down diner in the middle of nowhere. and every sunday you see the same person at the same time walk through the doors. the pair of you forming a bond over time. though today, he doesn’t at his usual time and you begin to worry that you’ll have to wait another week to see him. the regular then finds out some information about you that he didn’t wish to know, and in turn, information you didn’t wish to share. warnings. 18+ only! very brief indirect drug description, reader is engaged, small moment of violence, wound tending, repressed feelings, yearning and pining bc its yummy, idiots in love, filth, pinv, premature ejaculation (he can't help it. he's wanted her a while, okay?) creampie. mdni

⎯ ☆ ⎯

Sunday, 8:26pm. 24 minutes until closing time.

40-some miles outside of Washington DC.

You peer up at the clock on the wall behind you and weirdly find yourself hoping that it was displaying a lower number — wishing it to be an hour, maybe two earlier. You would never wish to be working at the diner for longer than you needed to be, but you were a customer short today and you were starting to grow restless. 

The regular's presence becoming all the more noticeable as the hours passed you by. They were truly the only reason you began to pick up Sunday shifts in the first place. 

Your hope begins to dwindle as you watch the second hand briskly move its way around the clock. There was a very strong chance that you won’t be seeing him walk through those doors tonight and you had to start welcoming that possibility. Unless your Sunday regular shows up in the next twenty minutes, you’re sadly going to have to wait another week more. 

You rest your arms across the counter of the bar, hands stretching outwards as you slot your head between your upper arms. Using the moment as a way to ease the strain in your eyes. You hear the sound of what you know for certain is a motorcycle, his motorcycle, and your head whips up, checking if your suspicions were as true as you knew them to be.

And it was. It was him. Only several hours later than what he usually is. 

You twist on your heel to the wall of mugs behind you and reach for the cleanest one you can see. You place it onto the bar just as he walks through the doors, meeting him with one of those smiles you only show to those who mean most. 

The feeling of relief fills your lungs as you in turn fill his cup, pouring him some black coffee.

“I was starting to think you wouldn’t show,” you welcome as you turn your back to him, placing the pot back onto its spot.

“You serve the best coffees, how could I not?” Bucky smiles, taking a seat at the empty bar — dismissing his usual seat in the far left booth against the window. 

“The trick is to let it sit for hours at a time.”

He takes a sip and nods, letting the particularly bitter liquid sit in his mouth a moment. “Yeah that would do it.”

“The kitchen is closed for the night, but I can offer you some pie? I was gonna take it home but it’s all yours if you want it,” you offer, suggesting a compromise to his usual order. “It’s pecan,” you tempt, pulling the paper box out from under the counter. 

He looks at the singular slice and back up to you briefly, appreciating the rather selfless offer. But he couldn’t do that to you, it was yours.

“No no, I’m fine thanks. The coffee will do just fine.”

As you close the box, something shiny on your left hand catches his attention. He grows quiet and his eyes become fixed on your hand atop the box, focusing on an engagement ring.

You snatch your hand away and laugh dryly, hiding it like you were ashamed of it.

“I uh, didn’t know you were—” he stops himself, pulling his gaze away from the band. He swallows thickly and coughs in his fist. “Congratulations.”

It doesn’t match your other jewellery, he thought. It's the wrong metal.

“Thanks,” you smile weakly, stashing your hand into your pinny – keeping it from his view, and quite frankly your own. “It all happened kinda fast, but uh,” you pause, trying to find the words. “I’m happy.”

Such a lie.

“Good,” he forces a smile. “I’m happy for you.”

You clear your throat, and nod. “Thanks.”

You each still rather awkwardly, the announcement –or if that’s what you’d call it– making you both fumble for conversation for the first time ever. But what else could one say after that? 

Bucky stares down at the mug in his hand, mentally plucking out conversation starters — hoping to think of something to say. But frankly, he was rather devastated, heartbroken even. The sight of the engagement ring feeling like a knife to the chest. Any chance of speaking was likely to result in further heartbreak.

He really thought you liked him.

He peers up at you when he notices your silence, though your eyes never meet his — they've become rather focused on a spot above his shoulder. He follows your eyeline and sees two men by a tree swapping items from their pockets. 

Bucky’s gaze slowly finds its way back to you, moving slow like he was reluctant to see the upset cloud within your eyes. 

“That’s him, right?” he asks hesitantly.

You can only scoff, head shaking disapprovingly as you watch the exchange play out. You had already previously suspected that the quitting was a ruse, and now you have the proof. All of it happening in front of your eyes. 

“He said he stopped,” you mutter under your breath, forgetting your present company.

Though Bucky hears, he doesn’t say anything. Rather he doesn’t know what to say, and he’s quite sure he’d make the situation worse if something were to be uttered from his mouth. But in truth, he was disappointed in your choices, and while he doesn’t know you a whole lot –nor you him– he’s always had the assumption that you were strong of mind. That you were capable of making good choices for yourself.

“I need to start closing up,” you hint, avoiding Bucky’s eyes as you make yourself busy behind the counter.

Any other time you would’ve given anything to stall closing up shop, do anything to just spend a few more minutes in his company. But after everything that’s happened in the last few minutes, you could barely look at him. Quite frankly, you were embarrassed with the events of it all, mortified and ashamed even. 

You knew you were making a mistake with your choice of partners, and you could tell that Bucky knew it too. 

“I understand,” he nods. 

He stands and reaches into his pocket, pulling out a ten and placing it under his mug. He can only observe you from behind, your lack of eye contact telling him all he needs to know. And so he slowly begins gathering his things, stalling to see if you would give him anything more than the back of your head.

“I’ll see you next Sunday?” he questions as he backs away from the counter.

He prays that you would give him a smile or wave perhaps, just something before he reaches the doors, though you never do — you just continue to busy yourself with things that do not require your attention. You couldn’t bear to see the disappointment in his eyes or for him to see the heartbreak in yours, so you faked work: adjusting already adjusted cups on the shelf.

“Yeah,” you hum, your back still to him.

As soon as you hear the doors shut, you begin to quickly make your way around the diner to shut things off, finding yourself in a rush to confront your fiancé outside. You lock the front doors and head out into the back, grabbing your things so you could exit through the kitchen. 

You see and hear your partner’s truck off to the side and head towards it, walking to your fiancé in the driver's seat.

“You’re a liar,” you shout over his loud music, talking to him through the rolled down window. “You are a fucking liar!” your voice grows louder, physically expressing the hatred in your heart.

He shuts the music off with a smack to the console and turns to look at you. 

“You’re outta your fucking mind, you know that?” he returns, his tone matching yours.

You scoff, laughing at him like it was entertaining. “Wow,” you shake your head.

“Okay then, give me back that ring,” he extends his hand towards you out the window, opening his hand. “You clearly don’t trust me, give it back.”

“Oh what, the ring you found at a fair?” you scoff. You yank it off your finger and throw it into his truck. “It’s the wrong metal anyway. I don’t wear that colour.”

In the front parking lot, Bucky waits. Lingering and pretending that he was trying to fix and adjust something on his bike. He could tell something were to go down, and he couldn’t leave you on your own to fend for yourself with a man that’s off his head. He hears voices raise from the back and his ears prickle, his suspicions proving to be correct. He slowly makes his way around on foot, walking a little faster when he hears a man’s voice raise.

“Get your own way home,” your fiancé, well, now ex-fiancé yells and unmutes his deafening music, turning it up even louder.

You weren’t sure if you were able to say anything more without crying, so instead you hit his truck, kicking a dent into the rusty door. He shouts something indecipherable and opens the door to get at you, but you push on it, shutting it closed. 

And in that moment warning signs flicker rapidly in Bucky’s brain – his brisk footsteps becoming a hastened jog. He didn’t know this man or what he was capable of, and he did not want to find out. 

But before he could get there, he sees you land a hefty punch to the man’s face inside the truck, a shout and a curse following after. Bucky rushes to your side, like he was offering his assistance, but the man in the truck speeds off — the large, manly company seeming to scare him off.

“Are you okay?” he swallows thickly, heart pounding in his chest. He turns you by the shoulders to face him, a look of pure worry slapped across his face. 

You stare off into the distance, gaze detached as if you were trying to process everything. It all happened so fast. You direct your eyes to focus on Bucky and nod slowly, finally able to look at him once again.

And while one may think that you were lying with that nod, it was one of truth, because you really were okay. Maybe for the first time since you put on that ring.

All you can do is hug him, arms wrapping tightly around him as you bury yourself in his comfort. At first he’s reluctant, his own arms hanging at his sides while he debates with himself. This is all he’s ever wanted, why else would he travel forty miles for a cup of shitty coffee and dry pie? And so, he finally gives in, his arms finding themselves circulating you, hands tight to your back as if he’s trying to prolong this moment. Take it all in, in case this were to be the last. 

You eventually pull away and look down at your feet, staring at the cracked concrete beneath you. “I uhm,” you start. “My car’s in the shop and he was my ride.”

“Of course,” is all he says, understanding exactly what you were trying to ask of him. 

During the short walk to his motorcycle out front, nothing was said with words — all of the talking being said through glances and smiles, small shy looks away when gazes were to meet.

Reaching his bike, he hands you his helmet and hops on, extending a hand to help you get on behind him. You were hesitant at first, the thought of being on a motorcycle for the first time ever made you feel sick. But you knew you were in safe company, him giving you his own helmet proving so.

You reach your arms around his waist, securing yourself to him as your fingers interlock around his stomach. His eyes close briefly, the feel of having you so close to him makes it difficult to breathe. He glances downwards, wanting to curate the memory in his brain. 

He watches your hands adjust in front of him and sees a lack of shine on your left ring finger. The sight practically made his heart swell.

Conversation was non-existent on the way to your house, which one would expect while on a motorcycle, but that didn’t mean neither of you had nothing to say. Quite the opposite in fact. 

He pulls up outside yours with the help of your direction and shuts off the engine. He helps you off first, holding your hand as if to give you balance before he joins you on the ground. Standing a few short inches from you.

You pull out your keys from your bag and head to your small, quaint house — walking towards the windchimes and well attend to potted flowers on the porch. Bucky shadows you, keeping a respectful distance as he walks you to your house.

“Would uh,” you pause and turn to look at him, offering a smile. “Would you like to come in for a bit?”

He so desperately wants to, though he’s not sure if you’re in the right frame of mind to have a guest –practically a stranger– in your house. 

“I promise I make better coffee than the diner,” you playfully offer, exhausting routes to get him to come inside.

He hesitates, footing scuffing against the doormat as he battles with himself. 

“Only a small one,” he smiles and begins to take off his jacket. 

Your smile widens and you turn to open the door, making your way inside. You flick on a couple lamps and gesture him inside, trying to make him feel comfortable. Doing whatever you can to get him to stick around a little longer.

“Take a seat,” you nod to the sofa in front. “Be right back.”

You head into your room and mimic a silent scream, you couldn’t remember the last time you were so excited to have a man in your house. Undressing from your work uniform, you put on your pyjamas from the night before: mismatched oversized tee and plaid bottoms. You didn’t want any exaggerated effort in your appearance to be known in case it makes him flee, so you opt only for a few spritzes of deodorant.

In the other room, Bucky shares a similar feeling. He chews on a mint from his pocket and adjusts his hair, suddenly feeling a sense of pressure in the way that you might now perceive him. 

You join him in the main room a few moments later and head to the kitchen, making a start on the drinks. 

“Can I ask you a question?” you call out to Bucky and he turns to follow your voice.

“Anything.”

“Do you even black coffee?” you ask, a lively tinge in your voice.

“I do,” he mimics your tone, nodding a singular time. 

“Okay, let me rephrase,” you pause and reach into the freezer, pulling out several large ice cubes. “Do you like the diner’s back coffee?” you smile, heading towards him as you twist the ice into a dishtowel, securing it.

His lips form a straight line as he thinks about the weight of the question. Either way, his answer would contain a lie of some kind.

“I don’t,” he answers truthfully.

“I knew it,” you smile and plonk yourself down beside him. “No one likes our coffee.”

He twists slightly to look at you, watching your grin widen as your eyes fall to your lap. You’ve begun icing your hand from the punch earlier, holding the cold compress to your knuckles. His eyes fall to your hand, watching you struggle to hold the awkward shape in your non-dominant hand.

He once again battles with himself, mentally weighing it all in his mind. He wanted to help you, but he didn’t know if he could go without not being able to touch your skin ever again. But as he continued to watch you struggle with the shape, he thought that surely one touch couldn't hurt. 

“Let me,” he whispers, moving closer.

And so his hands reach for yours hesitantly, holding your hurt one carefully within his left, metal hand as the other presses the compress to your skin. Your eyes flicker up to his, silently appreciating how attentive and gentle he’s being with you. And how he seems to be doing it all from the kindness of his heart — no other ulterior motive following.

It made you realise how much of a mistake you made by saying yes to that proposal earlier this week. How much it’s complicated things if you would have just been honest with yourself from the start. You only wanted security, and you’ve grown to realise that what you were getting with your now ex-fiancé, wasn’t safety. It was fear. Fear of being alone and for admitting you had deeper looming feelings for your regular than you had first realised.

And while Bucky could only speak on his behalf, he always had a feeling there was something more between you. He wouldn’t have travelled eighty miles every Sunday if he didn’t think there was a possibility that you could in fact like him too.

So, he enjoys this moment, eyes transfixed on the kindling of your fingers atop your lap. It’s all so casual, so intimate. The feeling in person far better than what he’s imagined.

You wanted something more. You wanted it to progress into something you weren’t yet quite sure of. So, you place your free hand atop his, holding the back of his hand as he attends to the swelling on your knuckles.

He meets your eyes to see that your focus was already set on him, gaze soft and trusting as you watch him tend to you. The ice beginning to melt between the warmth of your touch.

You move your hand from atop his and extend it outwards, slowly reaching for the side of his face. You hold him there as you lean forward, pressing a kiss to his cheek as if to show your thanks. It wasn’t originally the placement you had in mind, but truthfully you copped out at the last minute — far too afraid to be the one to ruin things.

He sensed that. 

And so, he took the pressure off you by being the assertive one: guiding you back in for a kiss to the lips before you were to get too far. It was clearly what you both wanted, the prolonged contact of your lips a physical declaration of that. 

Setting the ice towel on the coffee table, you bring your other hand to his face, holding him within your palms. And in turn his hands slip up to your waist, grip tight like he was afraid that if he were to let go, you’d disappear like you’ve done in all of his dreams before.

The kiss grows deeper and you each move closer, both eager to make this moment last. But it has to end at some point and Bucky parts away first, forehead resting to yours briefly. The tips of your noses rubbing against one another.

“You’ve had a tough night,” he catches his breath, speaking quietly between the close distance. “You shouldn’t rush into anything.”

“I’m not,” you pull away, shaking your head at him sternly. “I have wanted this for so long,” you finally admit, your hands falling to rest on his shoulders.

He just simply stares at you, head tilting as his lips open to speak. 

“You’re the reason I started picking up Sunday shifts,” you whisper, trying to persuade him that your feelings about progressing with him could not be swayed. And that this is what you wanted.

His eyes lower bashfully and his head shakes. You were the reason he would drive that distance every week.

“And, I…” you cut yourself off, pausing as if it had all become too real. So you change what you were going to say, thinking it may be too soon to proclaim such wild, outlandish feelings. “And I made a mistake… I didn’t love him.”

Bucky places his fleshed hand to your cheek, holding you dearly while you speak into existence the things he too feels. 

“I couldn’t have what I wanted… so I settled,” you divert from his eyes, suddenly aware of how little he’s speaking and how much you are..

He itches closer and closer, mouth ghosting yours once again. “And what did you want?” he whispers, speaking against your lips. It was like he was trying to pry it out of you for his own validation, tease it out of you almost.

All you can muster in response is a small, “You.”

And that's all he needed.

He directs you to lay lengthwise across the sofa, his body joining yours mere seconds later to over atop — the weight of him supported so as not to crush you. You wrap yourself around him as quick as your own body could allow it: bent knees lifting to hug at his sides, arms wrapping around his neck. Hips winding up against his desperately, keeping him close. 

The deepened kisses divert, and the trail of his mouth moves across your face, heading for the skin under your ear. He litters a few flutery kisses into the patch before lowering, peppering open-mouth kisses down the side of your throat. 

He wished that this moment could last, that he too could last. But he was fairly certain his stamina would fail him tonight, the way you look and smell and feel and sound all hindering his self-control. The sheer fact that this was all finally happening makes him feel like a very weak man indeed.

And suddenly the panic settled in for him. He had nothing. He wasn’t expecting this to happen, especially not tonight.

You sense a sudden worry and pull back, lusty heavy eyes flickering across his face. “What is it?” you ask breathlessly.

“I don’t have anything,” he hints, waiting for you to fill in the blanks yourself.

“Don’t worry about it,” you reassure, wandering hands moving down his sides. “I do… I’m on something,” you reassure.

He looks quite visibly relieved.

Your fingers slink into the hem of his long sleeve and you tug on the fabric. And while you’re eager to get him out of it, your pace remains slow. Like you were savouring it all. Your fingers skit over his skin as more of it becomes exposed, the top almost all the way off by now. He helps you help him out, alternating the anchoring of his hand so that you could pull his arms from either sleeve.

You drop it to the floor and in turn he starts to undress you from your t-shirt. His knuckles skim your stomach and the slow lifting begins to feel tortuous, the presence of him growing overwhelming.

And when your top half is finally bare, he adjusts himself over you, itching down your body. He presses a trail of kisses around each tit and down your stomach, moving hesitantly to the waistband of your pyjamas. His lips halt in place, searing white hot warmth to just under your belly button.

Your hands follow with him, fingers weaving through his dark hair as if to offer an ounce of the pleasure he’s giving you right now. His movements are slow and teasing as he starts to undress your lower half — removing both your underwear and bottoms with the same motion.

He stills for a few seconds, taking all of you in. How surreal that it is that you’re lying there completely naked on the couch before him, your gaze intently following every one of his movements. Sealing a final kiss to your upper, inner thigh, he sits back on his heels to unbuckle his belt and unzip his pants. Tugging them both down to pool at his knees — saving the trouble later on.

Bucky moves back up you to resume his prior position. Chests close, faces even closer. He reaches between your bodies and to his rock hard cock, carefully wrapping a hand around himself as he guides his aching dick towards you. Touch faint to ensure things don’t end prematurely for you both.

He presses his head to your folds, coating himself in your arousal and you both gasp at the sheer contact of the other. You were both virtually at the edge already, despite not having touched each other properly yet. It was as if this has been building for months and months and months. And now that you’re finally touching skin, it’s nearly impossible to contain yourselves. Control yourselves.

He taps his head at your cunt a couple times, swirling it around briefly before lining up with you, tip of his cock resting perfectly against your entrance. Stilling for a second, he simply allows a moment to soak all of this in, take it in that this really is happening. But he can’t leave you waiting too long, especially when you’re looking up at him so keenly.

And so he leans in to kiss you, lips locked with yours as he simultaneously feeds himself into you, cock worming its way inside your pussy. You gasp into his mouth and the noise vibrates on your tongues, the sound becoming a strained muffle. He mirrors you with a groan of his own, unable to keep himself quiet from the way you feel wrapped around him.

Bucky retracts his hand from his dick and places it on your cheek, holding you as he sinks more of himself inside, moving slowly so as to allow you time to adjust. Eventually easing the entirety of himself in you. Balls pressing firmly to your folds from the depth of him. 

You feel even better than he imagined. So warm, so snug, so safe. And he has to pause, halt any further movement so that he doesn’t explode right now and then. 

Your fingers grasp at his hair, using it as something to hold onto — something to pour your intense want into. You break the kiss and your head falls back against the cushion, weight of it growing far too heavy to hold up. 

“I can feel you in my stomach,” you whine in a whisper, eyes half lidded as you peer up at him.

He shakes his head and his brows furrow, the utter filth you whispered seeming to strip him of his control, and he wasn’t entirely happy about it either. He’s wanted this for seven months and it was over in as many seconds. He groans faintly from atop and strength vanishes from his neck; forehead resting against yours as he empties himself into you. Muttering indecipherable nonsense

“I'm so sorry,” he murmurs, clearly embarrassed. 

You’ve grown rather engrossed in the lewd display above you and you find yourself smiling, head shaking sweetly. “Not at all.”

He kisses the underside of your jaw and the crown of your head tilts backwards, exposing the full length of your throat to him. His mouth linger on the base of it and you begin to speak, your words vibrating against his lips.

“Well,” you pause. “I think…”

“Mhm?” he hums, head lifting to look you in the face.

“I think you should stay the night,” you start, eyes honing in on his, emphasising your severity. “And I think you should make it up to me.”

Who was he to object such a request?

“Yeah?” he smiles lazily, speaking softly between the close distance. “Lead me to your room.”

And who were you to object such a request?

⎯ ☆ ⎯

[skull-faced-fruit-cake]

listen i get why some of yall want eddie and buck to have this honest, open moment of communication bc they keep fighting and eddie never apologizes or whatever yall are moaning about but like. eddie diaz is the most classic, textbook case of acts of service. buck is grieving throughout the whole episode. he's lost. he's stuck in orbit without the gravity he needs to be pulled back in. and eddie SEES ALL THAT. KNOWS ALL THAT. cannot communicate it properly because 1) he's so emotionally repressed the catholic church envies him 2) he's guilt-tripped about bobby and grieving and spiraling himself. and even though his instincts are telling him to run, it's always so much easier to just run, he Knows what buck needs is for him to stay. and he stays. and he brings chris to buck and buck to chris because he Knows. and with this, eddie is saying: "i know you're lost. i know you're scrambling for something to hold on to. im here. i've always been here. this is where you belong. this is where you will always belong." AND BUCK KNOWS. BUCK KNOWS OKAY. BECAUSE HE NEEDS SOMEONE TO STAY AND EDDIE STAYED!

[fgojous]

love wins all | chapter five ( satoru g. )

from childhood summers and petty high school banters, to the endless college lectures—med school and the chaos of residency, you've been through it all. you've built everything together. you're each other's home—everything. but what if your relationship breaks beyond repair? what if the one thing you couldn't save was each other? can your love still win it all?

neurosurgeon!gojo x trauma surgeon!reader

warnings. romance, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, hurt no comfort, fluff, medical au, established relationships, high school sweethearts, unresolved feelings, unresolved issues, grief, emotional repression, mutual pining, emotional trauma, childhood trauma, explicit sexual content | eighteen plus only!

chapter warnings. death, grief, marital problems, struggles with infertility, explicit smut (p in v, making out, public sex, handjobs, fingering, idk if this is all hahsahjas)

word count. 7.3k

masterlist.

note. hi... i wrote this for days because... this chapter hurts me so much :<

CHAPTER FIVE: I BET ON LOSING DOGS

─── SEPTEMBER, 2023 ───

“Nice work, everyone.” 

That was the last thing you said before pushing the door open to the OR, peeling your gloves and gown in the process. Your feet dragged you to the sink to scrub out, your back hunched as you scrubbed off—there’s this familiar ache blooming in between your shoulders but you were used to it ever since med school.

It was not like you have a choice, you’ve been doing this since forever. Your job is tiring but you love it. It’s a love-hate relationship, really.

You walked out—removing your scrub cap, tugging your mask away and the sharp whiff of hospital antiseptic greeted your nose as you walk through the hallway—you cursed mentally because you remembered that you still have to do the post-op notes. God, can the time freeze for just an hour? You reached for your phone in the pocket as you walked towards the workroom checking if they had paged you or anything but one text caught your eye.

Satoru | 2:15 PM

The new interns are at OUR hang out place.

You | 2:19 PM

Because they’re interns lol they’re supposed to be there just like we were.

Satoru | 2:20 PM

Still. Annoying. I'm outside the ER. Please come and grace your husband with your presence.

A smile tugged on your lips as you walked through the elevators down to the emergency room—you’ll just go see him for a little while before starting on the notes. Just for a moment though because your husband could be so dramatic if he really wanted to. 

The automatic doors hissed open as you walk through, you search for that white hair and you instinctively smile when you see your husband leaning on the wall just outside the emergency room—his hair a mess, mask pulled down on his chin while he’s sipping on his juice box—that’s been his hyperfixation these days, you don’t even know why. 

He looked up, hearing your footsteps. A grin adorned his face as you stood beside him, “You’ve been working yourself so hard these days, the next thing you know you’re the chief of trauma surgery.”

“Ha-ha.” you say, reaching for his juice box to see what the fuss is about this drink—well, okay, it tastes really good for something that sits in a hospital vending machine. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be poking brains in there?”

He laughs, “Needed to take a break. And I’d like to annoy my wife.”

You snorted out a laugh, handing him his juice box back. “Well, congrats. You’ve done it.”

Both of you stayed like that for a while—backs leaned on the wall, looking at a distance. Just enjoying the solace of being together before going back to the intense reality of your jobs. 

You took a deep breath—it was a mix of exhaustion but mostly relief that Satoru is right beside you even if you’re not saying anything. His presence is enough to make that dull ache in your shoulder and the cramping feeling in your legs dissipate into the air like sand thrown in the wind. 

Satoru moved, circling his arms around your shoulder before pressing his cheek against the side of your head. “My poor wife, so tired.”

You chuckled, snaking your arms on his waist in return before leaning into him. “Yeah, well. It’s not like we can do something about it, huh?”

Satoru was so glad you said that. 

Without a warning, he removed his arm from around you and pushed off the wall. Holding your wrist in his hand before dragging you back inside. “Come on.”

“Satoru,” you protested a bit, but your feet were following him anyway. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.” you groaned, and you can see that you were heading for the elevator. “I promise it’ll be worth it.”

“It’ll be worth it to let you drag me around the hospital with my sore feet?” 

He just gave you a sheepish smile and just brushed the hair stuck to your forehead as you both waited for the elevator. You pursed your lip because he isn’t really saying anything until you get there. 

So, you followed him, through the hallways—then you both took a turn, your eyebrows raised as you read the signage just above the door.

Pediatric Wing.

“What are we doing here?”

He didn’t answer and just walked ahead of you, you huffed a breath before following him. You don’t even know what your husband has up his sleeve—

“Here.” his soft voice cuts through the fog in your brain, you look at him—a gentle smile on his lips. 

You raised an eyebrow, “So, is this what you do?”

“Ssh. Watch.” he places his hand above your shoulder before turning you to the glass.

And there they were, a handful of newborn babies lined up in their hospital bassinet. Your heart warmed up instantly at the sight. You chuckle lightly watching the tiny hand raise into the air while yawning. Then another one bursted crying before the nurse soothed it. 

You stood there in silence—basking in the glow of the tiny humans. This isn’t what you expected when Satoru dragged you around, but you’re glad he did. Because looking at their tiny little faces makes you forget that you’re exhausted.

“Suguru brought me here yesterday. Said this is what he does sometimes.” he says, almost whispering. “But it works, right?”

“This is crazy,” you say, chuckling. “They’re so small.”

“Yeah.” he places a hand on your shoulders, “And so cute.”

You both stood there with smiles on your faces, watching the babies squirm—or stirr, or whatever cute stuff they do. 

“Hiii.” you whispered, waving your hand a little as if they’d understand you. You hear Satoru chuckling, you look at him—smiling as you scrunch your nose.

“I want one.”

“Tell me which one then I’ll put it in my pocket.”

“Satoru!” you swatted his arm lightly, and he laughed at your reaction—you just huffed, gazing back at the babies.

“But I’m serious,” you say quietly—your eyes hopeful, then your husband stops laughing, “I want one.”

He looked at you—really looked, and realized that you were serious. His gaze softens, “You do?”

You answered, without hesitations. “I do.”

You’ve always talked about having kids… someday, or in the future. But this was the first time that he’d seen that specific sparkle in your eyes—you weren’t joking, you weren’t teasing.

And it all felt surreal to him. He was still processing—you’ve thought about it, you didn’t throw it into the air like it was some silly idea. 

“Yeah?” he asks again, this time his voice was softer, like he was making sure that he really heard you right. 

“Yeah.” you nodded, still smiling at the babies.

Satoru lets out a breathless laugh, you feel his arms circle around your waist from behind, his chin propped above your shoulder. He whispers, “Okay.”

You leaned onto him, your hand brushing his arms that was wrapped around you. 

“We’ll make it happen.”

And just like that, all of it seemed in place. Just the two of you, standing there seemed like a quiet promise that you were going to try. That you’re stepping into a new chapter in your lives—together.

He was right. There was something that you could do to make this exhaustion you’ve been feeling for years fade away. 

And it was this moment, right here.

─── OCTOBER, 2023 ───

You’ve only been waiting for probably seconds but it felt like an hour. You were tapping your foot on the bathroom floor, waiting for the test line to appear.

You took a deep breath, bringing yourself down to the cold bathroom floor, so that you couldn’t see the test strip sitting on the counter. You press your knees to your chest, your fingers twitch slightly as you tap them over and over your legs.

You look at the timer on your phone and up at the counter—then at your phone again. You huffed a small breath from your nose, this is intense.

It’s just a test to see if you’re ovulating but why is your heart pounding so much?

Then the timer rings, a finger hovers over the stop button. You compose yourself before standing up. 

You can’t look. You can’t look. You can’t—

It’s positive. Your eyes sparkle as you look at those two lines.

You stepped out of the bathroom—Satoru stirred, his eyes adjusting from the sunlight seeping through the windows. He looks at you, eyes half-opened, “Morning?”

“Morning!” you greeted, you climbed into bed with him—specifically, on top of him. 

“What?” he asks, his voice groggy from sleep. “What happened?”

“I’m ovulating.” you say, with a smile. You leaned forward, pressing a kiss on his lips. His hands travelled across your back, fingers tracing your spine.

You pulled away, pressing your forehead against his. “You’re ovulating?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Okay.” he simply says before flipping you over in a swift motion, your back hits the mattress with a soft thump, you anchor your arms around his neck, giggling.

“Okay?” you let out a teasing smile, he looks at you, his messy hair falling carelessly on his forehead.

“Okay,” he repeats, fully awake—pressing soft kisses on your jaw, down to your neck, “Let’s do it.”

You laugh, a little breathlessly. Letting your hand wander to his bare back, down to the waistband of his boxers, tracing it with your fingers. “Hot.”

“I know. So hot.” he murmurs against your skin—he looks at your face, a grin etched on his lips before biting your lower lip. 

You smile into his mouth, pulling him closer just so you could calm the butterflies in your stomach—the arousal creeping up on you along with this feeling of excitement and… hope.

Hope that you never let yourself feel too much.

─── NOVEMBER, 2023 ───

You heard a small ding! from your phone. Even if you didn’t reach for it you know what it meant.

It’s the last day of your ovulation.

You look at the watch—you have rounds to do, patients to check up on. And probably a new consult was coming. 

You sighed, you couldn’t miss your window or you’ll have to wait again next month. But considering your job, you don’t have all the time in the world.

Then another sound popped out from your phone. You settled the chart down the counter and reached for the phone in your pocket.

Satoru | 9:47 PM

got time?

That was all it took before you’re pinned against the wall of the storage room, his tall stature looming over you while his lips are devouring you whole.

What? The on-call room is occupied.

Satoru’s hand travelled to your nape, pulling you closer. His tongue slips past your lips, swirling and sucking on your tongue. His other hand pushed past the waistband of your scrub pants.

Your heart was pounding—not just from the adrenaline or the thrill of doing it in the storage room where you’re surrounded by boxes of gloves, IV kits—but also by the way your husband is holding you. 

You whimper into his mouth when his middle finger rubs your clit, you pull away—gasping, he kisses your neck, “Can you keep quiet for me, yeah?”

And before you could even formulate words, he was pushing two fingers in—scissoring his fingers before curling it up, “Mhm—Satoru!”

His hand travelled to your mouth, his dark eyes glisten under the dim light—like he’s warning you to stay quiet or you’ll get caught. 

You gripped on his arm, while your other hand traveled down his pants, pushing it down along with his boxers just below his ass. 

His hard cock springs free, you wrap your hand around his length, moving it up and down—twisting your hand every now and then, your thumb brushes over the tip, smearing his pre-cum.

Your vision blurs as you watch Satoru’s lips part—his gaze holds yours as he pumps his fingers in and out, your movements in sync. Your breaths were ragged—stifled moans to keep quiet.

He removes his hand from your mouth, you bury your face on the crook of his neck as you try not to moan out loud, hand still moving on his cock. “Sa—toru. Mhm—fuck! ‘m gonna… shit.”

You could hear the  muffled—distant, bustle of the hospital just outside the door but it seemed like all the care in world flew out the window while your husband finger-fucks you—you could hear his ragged breathing, biting the skin of your neck as you pump his dick harder. 

“Take off your pants.” he says, voice low—almost a growl. You whimper as he removes his fingers—obligingly, you push your pants down along with your undergarments, letting it pool on the floor. 

His fingers gripped on the back of your thigh to hoist your leg up, he teases your folds with the tip before aligning himself—slowly, he pushes in—you bite your lip hard, you can’t not moan when he’s stretching you so deliciously. 

You’ve been with him for years, but the feeling was just the same—maybe more. God.

All you could do was bury your face on his shoulder, your fingers slipping on his hair as if you’re gripping all the last drop of wits left in you. 

Satoru’s breathing was shallow, his hands gripping on your hips as he tried to compose himself—he’s getting insane with the way you’re clenching around him, but he willed himself to move, slowly—deliberately, trying to relish in the way you wrap around him.

“Hah—fuck,” his breath ghosts over your ear, “I’ve got you, baby.”

He presses a soft kiss on your temple, his pace fastens—your back, slamming on the cold wall as he slams himself into you. The pleasure lit every nerve endings in your body, spreading like wildfire all over your skin. 

His lips finds yours again—pressing wet, sloppy kisses on you. A little saliva stringing out as your part, “Sat—nggh! So good—mhmm—”

“God, you’re so fucking beautiful,” he rasps out, his movements fast—deep, hard. 

You look at him with heavy-lidded eyes, breathless moans escaping your mouth as you part your lips, your grip on his shoulder tightens. “I love you—Ah—I fuck—ngghh… love you.”

─── DECEMBER, 2023 ───

You were five days late. 

Five days. 

You stare at your phone again, the big ‘late for five days’ from the period tracker that you downloaded on your phone were screaming at you. You could feel the heartbeat in your chest along with the pounding in your head.

It’s not… could it be?

You didn’t know what to do. You couldn’t move from where you were standing.

Your fingers ghost above your belly, your heart thudding unmistakably in your chest as your brain evokes some ideas in you—your hands were shaking as you pulled the drawer open, reaching for the pregnancy test just sitting above the pads that you were hoping not to use.

But as you’re about to lift it up, that familiar cramping shoots up on your lower belly and tugs down on your lower back.

You froze.

Instead of the pregnancy test, you pick the pads from the drawer.

And your heart clenched, too tight.

“Hey,” Satoru turned his head from the television as you sat beside him on the couch, “You okay?”

You smile but knowing your husband, he could see right through you. “Got my period.”

You can see this shift in his demeanor, but nonetheless, he smiled at you. He wraps his arms around your waist before pressing a kiss on your shoulder, “It’s okay. We’ll keep trying.”

─── FEBRUARY, 2024 ───

The coffee would’ve boiled if you had the power to do it just by staring at it.

You just came from a three-hour surgery, it was messy—a lot stressful, but it was a success nevertheless and all you wanted to do right now was to sip a cup of coffee, maybe have a few minutes of silence.

You were too exhausted. Your arms feel like it’s about to fall off, your legs feel like jelly, and your brain felt like it was almost giving up on you.

Just a sip. It wouldn’t hurt, right?

You were about to reach for a cup of coffee when your husband’s voice entered your mind. Satoru would always remind you to refrain from drinking coffee because it wouldn’t be good for you—because… you were trying.

You have been trying.

You’re doing all that you can. 

You’re doing everything from not drinking coffee to taking a lot less stressful cases and avoiding night shifts—taking supplements, vitamins, hormone boosters to even tracking your ovulation and periods—even as far as scheduling sex.

It was so exhausting and all you wanted was just a sip of coffee.

It has been, what? Five months since you’ve started trying but you were still here.

Still stuck in trying. 

Before you even knew it, you were holding a cup of coffee in your hand and was about to take a sip when it got snatched from your hand.

“Nice try, Dr. Gojo.”

You huffed, looking at your husband—you didn’t utter a single word and just tried to reach for it, but then he raised it above his head. 

“Are you a kid?” you shot him a look, “You’re so insufferable.”

Satoru just grinned, pressing a kiss on your temple before dumping the coffee into the sink, making you groan—loudly. He reached for something in his pocket.

“You should be taking this.” he says, placing the blister pack in your palm.

It’s your vitamins.

“Fine.” you say, taking one from the pack and then he handed you a water. He watched as you popped it in your mouth—as if he’s checking if you really swallowed it. “Happy?”

“Very much.” 

You rolled your eyes but chuckled anyway, you took a deep breath before stepping closer to him, then you leaned onto him—his arms circled around you without any hesitation.

“Tired?”

“Very.” you could feel him tapping your back gently. You looked up at him, your eyes searching his. 

“It’s going to work, right?”

He smiled, pressing a soft kiss on your forehead. “Yes. It’ll work.”

─── JULY, 2024 ───

“Dr. YN Gojo?”

You looked up from doing your post-op notes. You immediately fixed your posture and smiled nervously when you realized who it was who called you.

“Dr. Yamada. Hi—uhm, I mean, good afternoon! How may I help you?”

How may I help you? What in the lame ass is this YN?

How can you not get nervous when it’s Dr. Yamada in front of you?

Dr. Emi Yamada, the top cardiothoracic surgeon in the hospital—and in the country, is talking to you and you don’t know what for. 

You’ve read her papers. You probably watched one of her lectures when you were in med school—and you know she had been invited to several conferences to speak, she’s even mentioned in different journals for cardiothoracic surgery.

So, yes, you’re kind of spiraling.

“I’m not going to beat around the bush,” she says with a small smile, “I heard you’re the primary for the thoracoabdominal case last week.”

What… did you do something wrong?

Did she not like your work—

“We have an opening for a fellow. I’d like you to consider.”

Your eyes widened, almost choking on your saliva. “M-me?”

She nodded, putting her hands inside her pocket. “I read your charting. You work fast but precise. You’re very meticulous. I’ve heard your name more than once and they say you’re very good. Well, I could say… that I agree.”

Your jaw almost bore a hole on the ground.

Dr. Yamada is not big on compliments. She’s a bit of a terror as they say. 

“I thought they’re just talking big because your father is the chief of surgery. But you’re really good. I’ve read the paper you published when you were a resident.”

And she’s blunt—and she read your paper. Your paper that you published. 

“I’m honored but I’ve been on trauma—”

“Since residency, right?” she hummed, “That’s good. But I think cardiothoracic is a good match for you. Hearts are complicated. You know? Complex, demanding. But I could see that you like challenges. We could use someone like you.”

You couldn’t move. Your lips were tight and you didn’t know what else to say. 

How could you respond to something like this—not even your father praised you like this.

“I’m… honored.” You don’t even know how you managed to get words out. 

“You don’t have to answer now, Dr. Gojo. Just think about it.”

And with that she left you—with a heart pounding so loud in your chest, your pulse was audible in your ears. And as you stood there in that hallway, one person just came into your mind.

Satoru.

Your plan. 

Taking this would mean you’re sacrificing the other. But it doesn’t have to be like that, right? You could still try. You could do it.

“Ah, fuck, no.” you whispered, determined not to take it.

But you know—deep inside your heart, something was stirring.

—

“Are you going to eat that?”

“Huh?”

“Your food.” Megumi says before taking a bite, “You okay?”

You stared at Megumi across from you—he texted you saying was here because he said something about his application, and now you’re eating lunch with him because your husband was in surgery.

“Something wrong?” he asked again, brows furrowing when he noticed your staring at him. “You’re acting weird.”

“Do you think it’d be okay if I take a cardiothoracic fellowship?”

“You’d be studying again.” he says and you chuckled, well, you’ve been studying your whole life. It’s nothing new. 

“Dr. Yamada offered me the fellowship. She talked to me five days ago. Said I’ll be a good fit.”

He paused, dropping his utensils, “Dr. Yamada…? Dr. Emi Yamada…? Then it’s a big deal.”

You know that.

That’s why you’ve been thinking about it since. It’s not just something you can pass on. It’s a big deal. A career in trauma and cardiothoracic surgery? Soon enough, you’ll be a big deal yourself.

You huffed, leaning back. “I know that, Megs. But..”

“But what?”

“I’m thinking about Satoru. We are trying to have a baby… or were. I have no idea if we still are.” you paused, “And a fellowship like this means more hours. More work, responsibilities and… stress.”

Megumi paused for a while, pondering about what to tell you. “You’re always telling me to always go for what I want. No hesitations. You say it’s better to look at yourself and say you’ve made it even when it’s hard, and not look at yourself and wonder what could’ve been.”

You smiled at him, “I did say that, huh?”

“Yeah.” he almost smiles, “Do you want it?”

You looked away for a bit, staring at some people leaving and entering the cafeteria then you looked back at him. 

“Yeah.” you took a deep breath, “I think I do.”

—

You hated how quiet the room is, because you could actually hear your heartbeat inside your chest. You hated how you noticed the flickering of the lamp beside you—the hum of the AC unit—just… everything.

You hated how you couldn’t just talk about it to your husband because you’re afraid of hurting him, of disappointing him more than you already have. 

You turned your head, looking at Satoru who’s already half-asleep beside you, his arm carelessly slung above his eyes. 

You watched how the breath tumbles out of his lips, how his chest rises and falls with every breath that he takes. 

“Satoru.” you whispered.

“Yes, love?” he asks, voice already a bit groggy.

You sighed, sitting up slightly. The sheets fiddling in between your fingers. “Dr. Yamada talked to me.”

He blinked, sleep slowly fading away. “Hm? Dr. Yamada? The Dr. Yamada? About what?”

“She offered me a cardiothoracic fellowship—no, uhm, she suggested I should take a fellowship.”

Satoru pushed his arm off and looked at you with a creased brows, and the look in his eyes pricked your heart in ways you didn’t even know it could.

“Fellowship?” he repeated, confirming. “Are you going to take it?”

“I’m… I— I’m just thinking about it.”

There was silence for a bit. The tension was palpable. “Nevermind—”

“You want it.” he says, you notice the change in his tone. “Just say it.”

“And what if I do?”

He sat up fully, “Jesus, YN. You’re the one who said you wanted to slow down. No more night shift, complicated cases—you said all that. Do you know what this all means? You’re going to do more work. More responsibilities—”

“Don’t you think I know that?” you sat up, taking a deep breath. “But I can do it. We can still try—”

“No, we can’t!” his voice was louder than he intended it to be, the frustrations finally seeping in. “Do you realize how big that is? That’s another late night studying, YN. I’ve seen you burn yourself out. I’ve seen you cry in the goddamn bathroom—ha, fuck, you think we could still try with you going all through that again?”

“Satoru—”

“God,” he laughed bitterly, dragging his hands through his hair, “Take it. Just fucking take it. Seems like you already made a choice, right?”

You could feel the tears falling from your eyes but you wiped them hastily. “I didn’t make a choice, Satoru. I’m just so tired of feeling this way! This fellowship? You know it’s the first thing in ten months that I’ve felt that I could finally do something without feeling like a failure? For the first time in months I could still feel like I was something!”

The look on his face says everything—you’ve hurt him. And you have no way of taking it back.

He stood up, getting out of bed. Looking away from you.

“Where are you going?”

He didn’t answer, instead, he grabbed his pillow out of the bed. 

“Satoru.”

“I’m going to sleep on the couch.” he muttered, slamming the door behind him.

And you just stayed there. Not because you didn’t want to stop him—but because you knew if you did, you would’ve said more things you would regret.

─── OCTOBER, 2024 ───

The months passed by in an agonizing blur. 

You started your fellowship two months ago—and that was the last time you had a decent conversation with your husband. Since then, you’ve been buried in rotations, surgeries, research and a lot more you couldn’t even count.

You were still sleeping in the same bed but with your backs facing each other. You still eat at the same table but only the clattering of the utensils could be heard. 

There are days that he’ll ask if you already ate and you’ll say yes. You’ll ask him if he had slept and he’ll just smile. You were like ships, just passing by each other in the vast ocean.

And the one thing that he did all those months that breaks your heart the most was—he left you coffee.

Coffee.

Because he used to take it out of your hand. Because he used to scold you when you said you wanted a sip. Just a sip and now, he’s letting you drink a whole cup.

And now, your heart is breaking because you know he surrendered. He stopped trying—you both stopped trying.

You know it was your fault. You just didn’t know how to fix it. Because you think it’d be better this way—you didn’t want to loop him in and then give him another hope then disappoint him in the end.

You stared at the cup for too long, not even sure if you wanted it anymore until your phone rings in your pocket and steers away the fog in your brain.

You almost dropped the phone when you saw Suguru’s message. You didn’t even know how but you were there in a matter of seconds.

The ER was in chaos when you arrived. 

“Male in the mid-sixties, cardiac arrest on the scene, possible internal blee—”

You shoved the nurses and paramedics out of the way, your heart was wailing inside your chest. Your whole body was pulsating.

Then you saw him, Satoru’s father.

Move, YN. You need to move.

But you couldn’t. He was pale—too pale like life was slowly drowning out of him. There was blood everywhere.

You didn’t even know how you got here—knees already bumping on the gurney, how you got your gloves on—you just know logic went out the window the moment you laid your hands above him.

“Move! I’m taking over compressions! Get the crash cart ready.”

“YN. You can’t—” you hear Suguru’s voice. “I’ll take over—”

“No!” you yelled, already moving, “I—just get the paddles ready! Suguru, please.”

You pressed your hands down his chest—you counted, over and over. “Push one of Epi. Charge to 200—clear!”

You watched as his body jerk above the table, you could already feel your hands trembling but you continued, you couldn’t stop. You won’t.

Stay with me, please. 

“Again—Clear!”

Nothing.

“Again!”

“Clear!”

“Again!”

You never stopped moving. You didn’t know how long it was. Minutes? An hour?

“Again!” you yelled, but they weren’t moving—and you, refusing to hear the shrill beeping of the machine in front of you, just continued. “Again—”

“YN.” Suguru says gently, “You’ve been at it for almost an hour.” 

But you don't stop. Your arms were sore—but that was never your worry, you wouldn’t do this.

You wouldn’t let this happen. 

No.

He can’t lose his father.

“YN.”

You could feel your tears falling as you continued the compressions. “Let go, YN.”

You feel Suguru’s hand above you, “I’ll take over. YN, you need to take a break.”

“No.” your voice cracks, “No. No. No.”

Suguru takes over and you stand there frozen, watching as his hands slowly move until it stops. 

“Time of death, 5:46 PM.”

Your hands fell to your side, your gloves soaked with blood—your hair all over the place, but you didn’t move. 

You can’t move. 

How do you tell his mom?

How do you tell him?

You don’t know how long you stood there—staring at your bloodied gloves when you heard your father’s voice.

“Dr. Gojo! Are you listening?!” he was shouting, “You know it was against protocol! He was your family! What were you thinking?!”

“He was dying…” you whispered, “I was the only trauma attending there… I…”

“That’s not the point—”

“She didn’t have any choice,” Suguru says beside you, “She was the only one there. The interns couldn’t have done what she did. Dr. Gojo only did what she thought was right—she did everything she could.”

You didn’t know what else your father said. 

All of it was a blur. 

You know you have to talk to Satoru and his mom. 

God, your husband. How do you say it to him? How do you tell him that you did everything you could but you couldn’t save his dad?

—

“YN?”

Satoru called for you—his heart dropped when he saw you sitting on the floor, back leaning on the wall just outside the emergency room.

You were still wearing your gown and gloves. You weren’t moving. You were just staring at the pavement like you’ve lost your mind.

He stepped towards you, slowly crouching to your level. 

“I’m here,” he whispers, “I’m here, love.”

But you didn’t move, you didn’t look at him because you didn’t know how to. Or if you could even.

“I… I tried,” you whispered, your voice cracking, “Satoru, I tried. I’m sorry. I’m sorry—I can’t save him. I didn’t—I’m sorry. I did everything. Everything. I tried, baby, I’m sorry—”

Your body trembled with every word that you uttered, your fingers twitching as if you’re still moving. Still compressing.

His chest tightens, he pulls you close—his figure slowly enveloping you until you feel small. “I know you tried. I know you did. You didn’t let him die alone, love. I know…”

He stutters, tears falling slowly as he pulls you closer, his words tangled into your skin.

“He would’ve been proud of you, YN. You were there for him when I couldn’t…”

─── DECEMBER, 2024 ───

It’s your husband’s birthday tomorrow. 

It’s the first one without his father. It has been almost two months since he died, but Satoru never really talked about it. He never cried in front of you again after that day, he never brought it up.

And you did not push. You didn’t want to say anything, because honestly? You don’t know how to—and there’s a selfish part of you that doesn’t want to open that wound.

So, you just stare at him. At his back. While he pours water on the glasses until he’s aware that you were staring at him. 

“What?” he asks, forehead creasing and you chuckled at his reaction. “Why?”

“You know I love you, right?”

He paused, just for a fraction of second before putting the pitcher down. He smiles, “I know.”

You stare at each other, eyes flickering the unspoken words that you couldn’t say. You never talked about it again, trying—not after months of silence, it was too painful for the two of you to even bring it up. So, you just let it sit in the back. 

Not knowing how to bring it up. Not knowing what to say.

But there’s one thing you both knew for sure. 

That you still love each other and that’ll never change.

He walked towards you—the couch sank beside you as he leaned closer, pressing a soft kiss on your lips.

“I love you more, YN. Always have. Always will.”

You smiled, cradling his face in your hands, brushing your noses together. 

“Can I have my birthday sex now?”

You pulled away, then you shot him a look. “What?”

“Seriously?” you blinked, you glanced at the clock. “It’s still 11:58 PM. You have two minutes left.”

You shrieked when he carries you up, “Satoru—”

He grins, kissing the side of your lips. “Then advance happy birthday to me then?”

─── DECEMBER 26, 2024 ───

You were scrolling through your phone, eating whatever fruit you had left yesterday, your body sprawled at the couch. Your husband was at the hospital because he got called in and you got left alone at your apartment.

Well, that’s the reality of your job, right? Even if he wanted to stay in with you, he begrudgingly went to the hospital while you just laughed at him for being called in.

Satoru | 3:45 PM

I know you’re still laughing. Mean.

You just rolled your eyes, taking a picture of yourself lounging on the couch so you could rub it in your husband’s face. 

You | 3:46 PM

I love you <3

Satoru | 3:47 PM

K

You laughed at his response. Your poor husband, working after Christmas—

Wait.

“It’s the 26th.” you murmured, “What?”

You stood up from the couch to stare at the small calendar sitting atop the shelf.

It’s almost a month.

A month. 

You should’ve had your period by now… right?

You almost sprinted to the bathroom, hastily opening that one drawer—where you had stored the forgotten test kits, the hormone boosters, the vitamins—your hands were shaking when you reached for that one box.

And you think it’s about an hour before you had the guts to open it.

You were sitting on the bathroom floor again. Trying not to stare at the three tests that sit heavy above the counter. 

You didn’t want to hope. Not after a year of trying. Not after all the pain and silence.

But your heart betrayed you, it was screaming at you, roaring with hope that you might be—

The alarm causes you to jolt from where you were sitting. 

You couldn’t look. 

“YN?” you hear the keys clattering on the side table. “I’m home! It was just a consult.”

Then you heard his voice. 

You stood up instantly—still not looking at the test, grabbing one before you emerged from the bathroom.

“There you are!” his voice lit up, but then he frowned seeing your glassy eyes, “Hey… what’s wrong?”

You stepped forward, the test still hidden inside your palm. “I can’t look. You look.”

“Huh?”

You reached for his hand, turning his palm up then you placed it on his hand without even looking.

He blinked at you, confused until he looked at what you placed at his palm. 

His heart stopped. The air in his lungs was punched out of him.

Two lines.

Two.

“Is this…” his voice cracked as he stared at it—and you couldn’t help it anymore, so you looked, “Love—this is positive. You’re…”

“I am?” you say, tears falling at the side of your eyes, you swallow thickly, “I really am? Is this real?”

He smiles—the kind that eats up his eyes, he pulls you close, embracing you tight. Then you break—sobs wracking out of you, a big one that you almost couldn’t breathe. 

“I thought we couldn’t—ever.” you cried, clutching on his shirt as you buried your face on his neck. “I thought something was wrong with me. I thought…”

“No,” he sighs, the one that clears all the sorrows buried deep inside him—a sigh of relief, joy. “No, there’s nothing wrong with you. You’re perfect.”

You looked at him, smiling albeit tears were falling. He cups your face with his hands—it was warm, comfortable.

You giggle as he presses a gentle kiss in your face, everywhere his lips could touch. “We’re having a baby.”

“We are. We’re having a baby.”

─── MAY, 2025 (PRESENT)  ───

You’re having a baby.

Again.

After you’ve gone to the comfort room—where you felt like all your guts were butchered out of you, your feet dragged you to the storage room where they hid all the kits.

You took five.  Five kits. 

And now, you’re back at the comfort room—staring at the kits that were taunting you. 

All of it has two dark lines.

You press a hand on your belly, slowly brushing it—clutching like it was anchoring you to the ground.

This is real. Isn’t it?

You had no idea how you left the comfort room. All you knew was how heavy the steps that you were taking—the five tests, shoved into your pocket. 

You knocked into her door, slowly opening to see Ieiri on her desk. “Hey! I heard Megumi’s surgery is today—”

And that’s when you broke.

You didn’t mean it. You weren’t supposed to cry again. Not like this. Not in front of her but you couldn’t help it. 

Shoko was up in an instant, holding onto you before your knees buckled. “Hey—hey—it’s okay. Come here.”

She wrapped her arms around you as your loud sobs echoed around her office, your wails replacing the atmosphere.

You weren’t saying anything. 

You couldn’t.

—

“You want to tell me what happened or do you just want to sit here?”

It took a while for you to calm down, and now you’re just sitting quietly on her couch. Your eyes were swollen—knees pressed against your chest.

You took a deep breath before reaching for your coat pocket, laying all the tests in the space between you two.

All five of them. Each one unmistakeable.

You could see how her gaze softened, she placed a hand above yours, taking a deep breath. “Okay. Lie down. Let’s check.”

And then, there you were, lying while Shoko puts the cool gel on your belly—the paper on your back crinkles slightly as you shift, Shoko sits beside the machine, clicking on some buttons.

“You ready?”

“Yeah.” you whisper.

You flinched a bit when she pressed the transducer against your skin—her hands were steady, and you tried to  focus on the screen or even her voice.

But your heart was pounding. Unsure of what to feel. 

“There.” she says with a soft smile on her face, “That’s your baby.”

Then you saw it. A small figure.

It’s tiny. But it’s there. It’s real.

Your baby. Yours and Satoru’s.

The air was caught in your throat.

You chuckled—or cried, maybe—or something in between, wiping the tears falling from the side of your eyes. “That’s… that’s my baby?”

“Yeah,” she pats your hand, “You’re about six weeks. I’d say.”

Your eyes fluttered shut.

You’re six weeks. 

Just like when you first lost her. But this one… it’s going to stick, right? You’re not going to lose this one too. 

Please.

“Hey,” you hear Ieiri’s voice, you opened your eyes and she was smiling at you, “It’s okay. I know you’re scared. But this is a good thing. Okay? I’m going to keep an eye on you. We’ll have you checked regularly. I’ll make sure everything is okay.”

“Thank you.”

She just smiled and handed you a tissue box. You wiped the gel off your skin and then you sat up, “I haven’t told him.”

“Do you want me to tell him?”

“No.” you say almost immediately, “Not yet. I just want to be sure.”

Your fingers latched on the edge of the bed, gripping it a bit tight. “It’s just that… we’ve been here before. And I gave him hope and I took it away. I just wanted to make sure that this is it. That I wouldn’t just give him another disappointment.”

“I get it,” she nodded, “You’ll tell him when you’re ready.”

—

Satoru was hunched on his desk, typing something on his computer when you came into his neuro lab. He didn’t even notice you came in—he looked so exhausted, like there’s a large weight on his shoulders. His white hair was disheveled a bit, his specs perched on his nose.

You looked around—the lab was dim, there’s a lot of papers stacked and scattered around the table—and there’s a model of the brain just near his computer.

But your eyes flicker to the other side of his desk—it’s a frame, with your picture on it. 

You huffed a small breath before walking towards him and that’s when he noticed you. He hoisted his head up—eyes a bit wide from surprise.

“Hey.” he says softly, “What’s wrong? Are you okay? I haven’t seen you since—”

He stopped when you climbed on his lap, without saying anything, your arms slung around his neck, cheeks pressed on his shoulder.

He paused for just a second, then you could feel him relax, leaning you both on the chair while circling his arms around you. Gently tapping your back when he heard you sniffle.

He didn’t utter a word. He just let you—even if he wanted to ask, to know. He just let you in the fear of pushing you away. So, he just stayed quiet, giving you the comfort you clearly needed.

You weren’t sobbing like you were earlier. But your breath hitched, you clutch his coat with every breath coming out of your lips. 

But he didn’t say anything. And you wanted to tell him right there and then. But you stopped yourself, you needed to be sure first. You can’t give him false hope.

In a little while, your breathing steadied—getting in sync with him. And you just stayed there, on your husband’s lap, because this is the safest place you know. 

Then you pulled away just enough to look at his face. He gave you a smile, tucking your hair behind your ears.

“You’re not going to ask me to sign something again, right?”

And then you broke—laughing, not hysterically, but you laughed at how ridiculous you were, filing for a divorce when you knew you were never going to leave him. 

Satoru blinked but then he chuckled. 

Then you both sat there—laughing, “God, this is so ridiculous. We’re so stupid.”

“I know.” he mumbles, “This is so dumb.”

Your laughter slowly dies down, you smile at him before pressing a soft kiss on his lips. 

“Satoru.”

His arms tightens around you, resting his head on your shoulders. “Hm?”

“Throw the papers away.”

taglist. @haliyarobin . @anofi . @coffeeluvr96 . @sadmonke .

[notashadowbutawave]

I felt like this all could have been arcing TOWARDS something for Eddie in terms of the long view of the show (from his introduction until roughly the time of 7.04 let's say).

until the Kim arc happened and ever since then the vibes have been very off, like there's a dead body in the room and no one knows what to do with it but they definitely can't speak of its existence ...

im actually willing to give a lot of leeway to 911 and other shows for that matter regarding stuff happening offscreen, like sometimes I think showing everything that happens in a character's life is unnecessary and it gives actors the opportunity to really inform their performance with nuance and implication, it gives writers an opportunity to make really beautiful choices about what we see and what we don't see, whatever. But with Eddie it feels like that's become a crutch for his story, or what little story we have for him.

I often see people in the fandom say that 911 is the "no consequences" show but I think the way that consequences and disasters were framed in the earlier seasons (pre season 7/ the move to ABC) was quite different from a writing perspective. It's BAD in season 8 but Eddie might have been the canary in the coal mine for this problem.

The implication was always that "things will be okay if you talk it out" -- not that there were no consequences, but 911 is not a realistic show, and it's propagandistic for the audience. It's doing relationship modeling and social norms modeling. People often resolve conflicts in the show by talking it out or the contours of a bigger conversation that happened or would happen offscreen was defined. This used to happen SO MUCH. Michael and Bobby. Hen and Karen. Bobby and Athena. Hell, Buck and Eddie. Chimney and Maddie. Tommy and Chimney! Buck and Bobby. It worked because it always seemed like the route out was kindness.

I feel like Eddie has always missed the mark on that and for whatever reason it has become kind of part of the ethos of the whole show. It's bizarre. I'm willing to play the long game with characters (I really am) and I have definitely been an Eddie apologist because I felt like I was given time to get to know him as a character with a lot of different aspects and it's like yeah - he's repressed. He's been through A LOT and it's been hard for him to let himself get help and accept that he's worthy of love. Much like Buck in earlier seasons. But why doesn't he EVER start reaching out ? Why doesn't he ever open up ?

As much as we are all desperate to see Buck find happiness in a relationship I think we are also desperate to see SOME kind of character progression for Eddie. and I feel like the Eddie problem is like a piece of baggage the writers can't figure out how to get unpacked and I don't know WHY THAT IS because there are soooo many directions you could take him in. Why this one ?

genuinely, the way Eddie treated Buck in this episode kinda scared me and made me uncomfortable in a bad way and I'm .... fascinated to see what this leads to for him in the finale

Here’s the thing of it all: despite what certain fans will have you believe every time an episode doesn’t center him, I do believe Eddie is Tim’s favorite character. No one else really gets away with what he gets away with no one else gets the coddling and the lack of real consequences that Eddie gets when Tim is at the helm. His kid finds him cheating and the kid forgives him without ever talking about the incident, he buys a new house and it’s fine and any worry about the financials of it is handwaved as being passive aggressive by putting it in the mouth of his overbearing mother. He lands easily in El Paso despite there being some bumps and there’s a possibility he gets to just jump back and make his “best friend” homeless and if his best friend has a problem with that well he’s being unreasonable. His best friend goes above and beyond to teach him how to father his own kid and he comes back just to tell off said best friend for being sad and then shoves his son in his face to keep him from being mad about it. He’s canonically been a shitty boyfriend three out of three times and hasn’t really learned from it at all. If he’s violent it’s because he’s hurt and so it’s okay, if he’s a cheater it’s because he’s grieving and it’s okay, in fact the other woman wants to help him grieve! His parents try their best to take care of his son and he gets to waltz in and take him back and tell of his mom without ever addressing why Chris wanted to live with his grandparents. He’s never ever wrong even when he fucks up and it’s a detriment to the story telling.

[twilightsumu]

drunk running | s. geto

prologue: good time

synopsis: flashback: the night suguru let his feelings take over and yn repressed hers even further down.

warnings/genres: modern au, smau, smut - oral (f!receiving), fingering, alcohol use, cursing, kys joke, mdni

a/n: okay first smut piece and istg it almost killed me. but anywho, sugurito i would’ve said i love you back! #malewifesuguru

the two tequila shots are swimming in your bloodstream locked in battle with suguru’s mouth over what could make you feel more drunk. the taste of the beers he keeps tucked in his mini fridge is adding to the ever growing cocktail you’re swimming in. 

your senses are dragging, everything happening in slow motion. suguru’s cologne smells stale, like it’s been invading your nostrils for a couple days. the dim light from his desk lamp looks like it’s fighting to become brighter, losing the battle like a sun loses to an inevitable eclipse. 

you’re not sure if it is healthy for a kiss from suguru feel like days. 

the ceiling fan above the bed doesn’t help with how hot you are under him. even that seems to be moving slowly. your eyes are able to follow its rotation without getting dizzy. 

your shirt and jeans are already off, strewn over his desk, along with his forgotten textbooks. the corner of one sits right under you, something solid to bring you back down from the lightheadedness. something that doesn’t feel like days. 

suguru is in those grey sweats he wears when he’s feeling lazy and just wants to be in something comfortable. but nothing about his hand on your waist and his lips trailing down your jaw are lazy. 

the kisses feel more charged than usual. his hand softer than ever before. you almost shake your head to get rid of the tequila shots, suguru’s beer, the feeling that this is a little different than usual. 

you want it to be normal. fun and easy. getting what you came for and leaving with nothing more. but with the way he is kissing you, you ignore it.  

especially when you feel like you haven’t had him between your legs for weeks even though it’s barely been a couple days. you refuse to miss his body on yours, even if you lose a sense of what you stand for in the midst. 

“don’t you have to study, genius?” you huff out. suguru’s lips finding their way down your jaw to that sweet spot on your neck. your back arches, pressing you closer to his hovering body and you feel the ghost of a smirk on your neck. it’s slow growing. it's known.

“i told you where i study best, smartass,” he whispers, as his mouth starts to trail wet kisses from your neck to the valley on your chest. “also, i could multitask. unlike you,” his fingers are ghosting over hip bone and his lips continue their descent. 

your breath catches as one of his fingers hook into your thong, allowing some air to seep through where you’re so hot. so hot for anything of his to be. 

“fuck you,” you scoff, a laugh leaving your lips. your hands are in his hair, slightly pulling him closer to your chest. feeding into the heat of his body and the tequila shots still fighting for some dominance in their battle. 

you feel a smile creep on his lips, engraving themselves into your flushed chest. 

“yeah… yeah, right after this i’m all yours,” he says, his teeth grazing over the top of your bra. you shiver at the closeness of his teeth sinking into your chest. 

“and you didn't come here to watch me study,” one of his hands reached around your back, grabbing at the clasp of your bra. and instead of the hurried movements that usually happens, his fingers linger. softly grazing the spot in between your shoulder blades, before dipping down to rid you of your bra. 

you want to ask what that was, why his fingers feel more like a confession than a come-on.

and before you voice anything, your mind is fighting for an answer that you’re sure you don’t want to know. your bra is completely off and he is sucking a nipple into his mouth. warm tongue rolling over and you almost melt into the bed. 

he groans, as your hand tightens its pull in his hair and you want to push yourself closer. 

“suguru,” you gasp, low and hungry. his hand on your hip is moving so slowly towards where you need him most. you buck your hips wanting him to be closer, needing him to be a part of you. just for the night. just right now. 

“why are you taking so,” you sigh, his long trained fingers finally hooking your thong completely off, “…long?”

his lips are trailing down your stomach, his long hair tickling you as he crawls down. the bed dipping with his weight. your hands leaving his hair to grip through your own. you send him an eye roll. 

“i am studying,” he whispers, his breathing fanning over your wet cunt. you shudder at the feeling. 

“she’s so pretty,” he purrs. he is so close, you almost inch your hips up yourself to meet his lips. too aroused to care about how desperate it may seem. 

you could buck your hips in desperation. and suguru could continue to softly trace his finger along your hip and down your trembling thigh. and you’ll ignore his softness. as you have been doing lately. 

maybe you had more than two shots at the bar. and maybe he had more than one beer, the haziness growing in the air above you both.  

you throw your head back on to the flat pillow, the fan mocking you with its weak air exhaust. suguru’s head is perfectly lined up with your wet entrance. his broad shoulders pressed into the bottoms of thighs, grounding you a little more than this textbook under you. 

a fluttery kiss on the inside of your thigh. one hand holding on to your hip, like he's grounding himself to you. and the other one has his fingers pressing so tightly into your thigh, you’re sure his fingers would be bruised onto you for much longer than you’ll like.

your chest heaves, you just need him to meet you. right at your core. his mouth wet and hungry and your core open and allowing him to live there, willingly. no judgment. 

a kiss that turns to a long stripe of his tongue, leaving little room for you to gasp, even though you were waiting, even though you knew he was close. 

he licks into you, his own fingers tightening even more around your thigh. achingly. like he wants to keep you glued to this bed. right under him. you feel a little seasick and you have to swallow it down because he licks right on your clit, making a moan leave your dry mouth. no time to think about the bruise of suguru on your body. 

his tongue continues to work you open, slow and deep, like he’s learning you by heart, like he’s memorizing every sound you make. like he’s going to eat you, literally. the sounds escaping your parched lips mixing in with his heavy breathing and groans; like he’s getting more out of this than you are. like he’s finally appealing a craving he’s had for a month. 

his mouth is messy and the sounds of your slick and his tongue lapping are so loud. louder than the papers from his textbook flapping on the desk a foot away. louder than his neighbor’s tv playing some reality tv show a few doors down. 

his jaw is moving so slowly, but his tongue is doing its own dance. moving a pace that you’re sure is not out of drunkenness but his own furious hunger. and you feel that burning hot sensation right in the pit of your stomach. 

his tongue works along your slit, as if it was made for you. he hungrily pushes it inside of you and you slightly clamp your thighs, hiding his head between your legs. making him breathe you in. 

his hand that was lazily on your hip is now lower, reaching for himself in his grey sweats. the sight of his bulge making you even more excited than you are right now.

“suguru,” you gasp, your hands moving from being threaded in your own hair to his. his soft hair curling easily along your fingers as you grasp. “hurry up,” you wiggle your hips. 

he chuckles, his tongue not leaving your clit and the sensation speeding through you. you involuntarily yelp. 

“you’re a horrible study partner,” he hums, his mouth quickly moving to the side of your thigh. the lamp dimmed on the desk lightens up your slick on his hard jaw. you want to grab him and kiss it clean. 

“you’re going to fail if you don’t do something more,” you huff, wiggling your hips some more. impatiently. 

his face is still buried in between your legs, his plump lips ghosting wet, soft kisses and you want to move your thigh out his way. but his fingers are attached to you, no space or strength could get you out his grasp right now. it makes you feel small. weak, almost. 

the hand that was finding its way into his own sweats is crawling up to you. one of his long fingers sliding easily into your wet core and you arch your back. your chin on your chest as you stare down at him. 

he is drunkenly clinging onto your thigh, his tongue now trailing where his lips left those wet kisses. his eyes closed, cheeks flushed, breathing hard, a furrow in his eyebrow. 

it’s almost too much. you need him to not be so flustered with his fingers in you. they’ve been there before. they know their way around. 

he opens his eyes when you let out a moan, not out of want, but warning. a plea for him to stop being different. 

his eyes are taking you in, watching your chest fall, watching the distance that you want, trying to wedge itself between you two. 

you moan out his name, like a silent prayer only you two could hear. it’s almost embarrassing how you call out to him and he leans in. 

“don’t look at me like that,” you gasp, he adds another finger and he smirks. your hole clenches around him and you almost try to wiggle away.

“like what?” he shrugs, his usual indifference sparked with something more. like he’s nervous to let it slip like the way his fingers are so easily slipping in and out of you. 

“like you’re going to say…” another kiss on your thigh, his eyes not on yours anymore. “… something stupid,” a shudder runs through you, his thumb has found your clit. 

two fingers curled into you. a thumb rubbing small circles on your bunches of nerves. wet sloppy kisses trailing along your thigh. 

it’s almost too sexual. even for you. but your body reacts happily to it while your brain rages a silent war. 

you shouldn’t have gone out drinking tonight. maybe you’ll have your usual control over the intimacy that is engulfing you two. 

“okay,” his finger glides out of you and you feel like you could breathe again. but, he lines his face there once again. his cool breath sends chills down your legs. a pressure building in your stomach and chest. 

you notice his eyebrows furrow; like something is on the tip of his tongue, that isn’t you, and it wants to escape. escape into your heat and stay warmed there. 

“i,” he leans down, another stripe of his tongue and you fall back. your hands still in his hair. still gripping. he shudders at the grip you have and he almost leans into your palm. like he wants your hands on him regardless if they’re pulling at his hair or not. 

“…love you,” and with that, everything chills and your hands quickly escape out of his hair. the pressure in your stomach is gone but the one in your chest intensifies.

and his tone is normal, like he is wishing you a goodnight. 

a croak, a gasp and laugh getting mixed together gets stuck in your throat is the only sound heard. 

what the fuck?

you try to pull back, to breathe. but his fingers press in, holding you like the words you can't say. you’re frozen under his body, under his stare and you hate it this time around. those two things usually bring a good time. 

his breathing fanning over your aching core. it's so warm, contrast to the coldness wrapping around your legs on top of his warm shoulders.  but you don’t want him there right now, despite how you’re leaking for him. 

you feel so weird. you can’t explain it and you almost want to look around the room for any hidden cameras. to make sure you're not getting pranked. 

the room is so quiet, you don't think you could hear yourself breathe. 

“how many beers did you have?” you whisper and you hate how soft your voice is right now. this is a joke, and he is going to tell you that in a minute. you know it. 

“why does it matter?” his voice is as soft, a twinge of something you thought you'd never grace suguru’s prowling voice. regret. but you catch on to the slurring at the end, something your drunk mind missed. he has to be drunk too. or maybe the only one drunk right now. 

you humorlessly laugh, your eyes trained on the ceiling fan. you feel the bed shift below you but you don’t want to look. you don’t want to see your slick on his mouth and the burning emotion in his eyes.  “don’t do that,” you roll your eyes. you ignore his question and the way he's staring at you. the bottom half of his face is still hidden between your legs. just his hooded eyes watching you. a softness in them that's making you feel sticky, along with the slick sweat starting to drip down your back. 

“do what? say that i love you?” he rests his cheek on the inside of your thigh, laying his head for your body to take. like he's never wanted anything more than to die between your legs and wake up next to you. 

“make this mean more than we agreed too,” you ignore it the second time. not wanting to give it attention, because it will become more real. and you’re barely recovering from the first time he said it. your voice is raw, tired. you're almost begging him. 

you feel like you're wearing an itchy wool sweater and you need to get out of it. 

“why not, yn?” he sighs dreamily, like he has this all figured out. something glimmers underneath the casual look in his eyes. like a flicker of hope. and you feel like a super villain knowing you’ll crush that hope. most likely tonight. 

“because,” you shrug. you need to leave. the same conversation, but this one is going to hurt. the first time it would ever. and you feel like crawling under his bed and sleeping off your drunkness. even though, you’re sure this sobered you up. you could probably drive home if you had a car. 

“i know you love me, duh,” you try to bring that playful tone back in your voice. you don’t think it’s working. “we’re friends. friends love each other,” you hear him breathe through his nose. 

“they don’t fuck like we do,” he says. a little more slurring. just how many beers did he have? but his eyes are still hopeful. 

“that’s where you're wrong,” you throw your hands into your hair, wanting it to shield you. “We are proof that they do,” you don't sound too convincing. 

you’re trying to ease up on him. you’re trying to get in control again. control of everything. it’s just the beer talking. you two are going laugh it off tomorrow and fuck like normally. you’ll run out as he tries to play with your hair to fall asleep. like normal nights. 

creating space. the space you’re desperately trying to create now. but his hands are caging you to his bed. caging you to him. 

“i don’t expect you to say it back,” his voice is soft and low and you want to look at him so badly, but the fan seems like it deserves to be watched the way suguru is watching you. “but i am sure you feel it too,” he places a chaste kiss on your thigh. he almost looks like he is about to fall asleep, right here in the comfort of your legs and the intensity building in your bones that you're sure is going to keep you up tonight. 

he’s ignoring your discomfort. his voice steady, despite the slurring of the last word of each sentence. no tremble in the fingers etched to your thigh. but you catch the way his breath trickles on your heat, a little stutter, not a simple in and out breathing cycle. almost like he’s counting his breaths. 

you shake your head, and it feels so heavy. like a gallon of water has been put into your brain and it's swirling around. “well i'm glad you didnt expect that,” he tenses. “..because i wasn’t planning on saying it at all,” you cringe at the tone of your voice. hard. regretful in a way. that pressure must be what impending doom feels like because you think suguru’s dorm room is about to cave in on you, and you alone. “you know i can't feel the same way.” 

“i cant give you whatever you think you may want,” your voice is low and aching.

the words feel weird leaving your lips this time around. and you swallow a knot. did it feel weird because you don’t believe it? or because suguru is staring at you so intently, that you feel like he’s trying to paste you to his bed. 

but then he moves. quick and graceful. you ignore the way you miss his absence as he sits up. still between your legs but his breath is missing from your core. his fingers on your thighs aren’t as tight anymore. a ghost of how tight they were just a few seconds ago. just before he said things he can’t take back. 

“or do you just not want to?”

the room is quiet with nothing but your heavy breathing. it’s so quiet, you think you could hear suguru’s blinks as he stares down at you. and because you’re part coward and a strong contender in knowing who you are, you don’t meet his eyes. especially when his question is scratching up your back. 

you don’t want to look a him. you don't know how to answer his question. 

“this situation,” you close your eyes. your hands pointing between your naked body and suguru’s tense one still above you. “…was supposed to be easy. i'm sorry if you felt that it was becoming something more,” you hate how small your voice sounds. it’s usually strong during this conversation. overpowering at times. 

once again you’re met with silence. and now, the uncomfortableness of suguru’s confession is mixing with an annoyance. one, that despite suguru knowing the implications, you feel guilty about. 

and with the tequila creeping up your throat, you finally open your eyes and stare back. he’s sitting back on his heels. his chest bare and pale in the dimmed room. if you train your eyes hard enough you could see his heart beat.

and then his eyes; they're heavy and searching. like your naked body has the answer he was hoping to hear. the words he knows won’t leave your mouth.

however, his facial expression is its usual cool one, it’s just missing the easy grin that lives on his lips. instead it’s a straight line. little dips at the corner, like he’s fighting a pout. 

he shrugs. an easy action, but you pick up on the shiver he’s hiding. especially with eyes filled with an emotion you don’t even know and the impending end of this situation crawling between you. you eye his books on the desk, not having the guts to look back up at your friend… suguru geto. 

“i should go,” you huff out. taking your eyes off his things, looking for your own belongings. 

once again no verbal answer. but a huff of breath that wheezes out his nose. like an old man pulling his body weight to sit up. and somehow, that says more than anything either of you could say right now. he crawls back a bit, giving you more space. 

“good luck on your exam. we could talk tomorrow?” you say over your shoulder as you tuck out of his bed. his body not moving. your limbs slightly brushing his and you wonder if he feels that weird static too. 

not bothering to hear his answer but also knowing, you weren’t going to get one. you don’t even bother putting your clothes in his line of sight. running off to the hallway, to get out of the room caving in. 

you didn’t even get to cum and it scares you that that is the last thing on your one track mind right now. 

taglist: @re-tired-succubus, @luvvcho, @iluvujt, @smolcooki33, @candy-s72, @starmapz, @shokosbunny, @emlient, @loveyislost, @whatismatildethinkingabout, @shibataimu, @11thlife02, @se-phi-roth,

[elliespassagerprincess]

stateside- abby anderson x reader

this story is based off the song state side by pinkpantheress, if you can please listen to the song as you're reading:)

Pairing: abby anderson x fem!reader

requests are open, send me your ideas:)

Warnings: Jealousy, emotional repression, post-situationship confusion, cursing, mentions of hookup culture, kissing, emotional vulnerability

Summary: After months apart, Abby finally comes home—but the distance hasn’t only been physical. As old feelings resurface and tension brews, you’re both forced to confront what was left unsaid before she left.

Setting: Modern College AU

Masterlist

You weren’t her girlfriend. Not officially. You weren’t even sure what you were.

Somewhere between a secret, a comfort, and a goddamn heartbeat.

Late-night car rides. Unspoken rules. Her breath at your neck when the world went quiet—but no hand-holding in public, no posting you on stories, no “this is my girl.”

You told yourself you were okay with it.

You weren’t.

So when Abby left for her out-of-state internship with no real goodbye—just a message that read:

“Headed out. Don’t wait up.”

—it cracked something open in you. And three months later, you still hadn’t sealed it shut.

It wasn’t just the photos (though they burned.)

The ones where she stood beside that medical student—Isla. Bright smile. Tank top. Hand on Abby’s shoulder like it belonged there.

It was the silence.

No texts. No late-night calls. No “I miss you.”

And yet every time you closed your eyes, you could feel her:

The weight of her hand on your thigh in the car.

The way she pulled you close but never close enough.

You tried to move on.

Hooked up once with someone too sweet and too soft.

But it wasn’t her. And the silence only got louder.

You found out she was back from some guy at a party.

“Didn’t you and Abby Anderson used to mess around?” he asked lazily, red cup in hand.

You froze. “What?”

“She’s back in town. Thought I saw her near the gym.”

The air shifted around you. Your ears rang. You left the party early.

Buzzing with resentment and longing, palms sweaty from the weight of things unsaid.

You didn’t text her.

But you stared at her contact all night, whispering to yourself, don’t be that girl. And then you were.

The next day, she was just there—in the café near campus, hoodie loose over her frame, head bent over her laptop.

You froze when you saw her. She looked up. Blinked. Took an AirPod out.

“Hey,” she said, like no time had passed. Like you weren’t breaking.

You sat across from her before you could change your mind. “You’re back.”

“Tuesday.”

You looked at your hands. “No text?”

She winced. “Didn’t think you’d want one.”

“You left without saying goodbye.”

“I didn’t think I deserved one,” she said, softer.

That shut you up. Because deep down… maybe she was right.

You left together. Neither of you said it out loud—but somehow, you ended up in her car. The way you always used to.

Same quiet roads. Same faint music.

Same ache in your chest.

You turned to her. “You seeing someone?”

She hesitated. “No. You?”

You shook your head. “Tried. Didn’t work.”

The air between you pulsed.

“Why didn’t you call?” you asked.

She tightened her grip on the wheel. “Because I knew if I did… I wouldn’t stop.”

Silence.

You stared ahead. “I would’ve answered.”

She pulled over.

“I missed you,” she admitted. “More than I should’ve.”

You didn’t know if it was closure or a beginning. But you kissed her anyway.

You slept in her bed that night.

She didn’t touch you—not at first. Just handed you an old hoodie, let you curl under her blanket, and sat down next to you like she was scared to break something fragile.

You wanted to ask her what this meant. If this was her way of coming back.

Instead, you whispered, “I missed your room.”

And she whispered back, “I missed your voice.”

That was enough—for now.

Over the next week, you kept pretending it was nothing.

Texts. “Wanna grab food?” “You still awake?” “Need a ride?”

But it wasn’t casual. Not really.

Not when she looked at you like that.

Not when her fingers brushed yours and lingered.

Not when she flinched every time someone else mentioned Isla.

You weren’t hers. She wasn’t yours.

But you were still something.

And that something was slowly burning the both of you alive.

The breaking point came on a Friday night.

You were at a mutual friend’s place, trying to play it cool. Abby walked in late—messy bun, grey t-shirt, muscle memory and heartbreak wrapped in denim.

And Isla was there too.

They didn’t touch. But she stood close. Laughed too loud. Looked too often.

Your heart fell into your stomach.

Abby caught your eye across the room. You held her gaze for one full second before walking out.

You didn’t even make it halfway down the street before she caught up.

“Wait,” she called.

You spun on her. “What are we doing, Abby?”

She blinked.

“I can’t keep pretending we don’t matter,” you said, voice cracking. “I can’t keep acting like this is casual when it never was.”

Silence.

Her jaw clenched. “You think I don’t want you?”

“I think you’re too scared to admit you do.”

That hit something deep.

She stepped forward, crowding into your space. “You’re wrong.”

“Then say it.”

She grabbed your face in both hands. “I want you.”

Your breath caught.

“God help me, I want you,” she said, forehead pressed to yours. “I left because I thought I’d ruin it. Because I’m not soft, and I don’t know how to be good at this—but I never stopped thinking about you.”

You kissed her like you were drowning.

And this time, she kissed you back like she meant it.

They don’t fix it all at once.

But they start over—this time with honesty. This time with intention.

No more hiding. No more maybe.

Just two people learning how to love each other out loud—even if it scares them.

[mia-can-yap-too]

synopsis :- You can only see colors after meeting your soulmate. You saw it. He did, too. He just walked away like an emotionally repressed cryptid.

warnings :- this is more crack than fluff, reader almost breaks in the boys locker room, canned coffee, parking lot confessions

a/n:- okay fine i inserted myself as the best friend SUE ME

@uzmacchiato for dividers

png by me dont steal pls

You were not asking for a soulmate.

You were asking for iced coffee and peace and a day where it didn't feel like the world was personally out to get you.

Your umbrella broke in the rain, you stepped in some gum, and your coworker tried to mansplain email folders to you again. You were already at 'burn the world down' levels of tired.

You came into the convenience store, hoping that maybe some cheap canned coffee would help. And then you touched hands with some guy that was reaching for the same thing and—

— the world exploded.

Color.

So much of it.

Your eyes blew wide. His did, too. You locked gazes.

The world blazed into reality.

Bright red fire hydrants, silver glossy soda cans, electric pink gum on the bottom of your shoe. And the stormy teal in his eyes that felt like a punch to the throat.

You opened your mouth to say something soulmate-worthy like "hi" or "Are you actually my fine shyt?" or perhaps the might, "Woah, shawty, can I get that number?"

He blinked.

And then, he walked away.

The cashier tapped the counter. "Ma'am. He left. Are you gonna pay, or do you need five more business days?"

You stared, stunned, at the exit.

Then, at your coffee.

Then, your hands.

"What the fuck just happened...?" you asked no one.

"Girl, I felt that," the cashier whispered. "Why'd your soulmate ghost you like a Netflix show that never got a season two?"

You left the store wet, confused, betrayed, and in full color. It was worse than heartbreak. It was rejection in high-definition lighting.

You spiraled. Just a little.

You even told your friends about him.

"He just left?!"

"He looked you in the eyes and then fled the scene?!"

"Was he hot?"

"Okay, but like, worth chasing down hot?"

"Maybe he's colorblind?"

"Maybe he's emotionally blind.."

You spend the next week checking every street, every Instagram story tagged 'Shibuya' like an obsessed Victorian widow. Nothing.

He just vanished.

You moved on. Or well, tried to.

The world stayed in color. Unfortunately, teal was everywhere. On street signs, on product packaging, on the Clavin Klein underwear ad featuring this super hot model named Leon Kennedy. Ugh, he wouldn't leave you alone (in memory).

You nicknamed him in your head. The Cryptid Bastard. My Ex-Husband. Pinkie Pie, too, ironically.

You tried Googling him (nothing).

You tried asking the cashier for CCTV footage (denied).

You even started writing passive-aggressive soulmate poetry like :

roses are red,

violets are blue,

I saw color,

and so did you,

so why'd you run,

you stupid shrew.

It didn't help.

Rin's POV

Okay. So.

He accidentally met his soulmate.

Saw color.

Felt a weird amount of chest pain.

And left.

Like a normal person.

It's fine. It's fine.

You probably didn't even notice. Maybe you thought it was a weird lighting trick. Maybe you don't know what he looks like. Maybe you've forgotten all about him.

He tried to focus on football.

Football is good. Football is safe. Football doesn't judge you when you meet your literal other half and then run like she's a debt collector.

He tried to bury it all in a mental soulmate box titled 'DO NOT TOUCH EVER'.

It doesn't even pretend to work. He opens the box everyday.

Because now everything is in color.

And it's the worst.

Green grass? Annoying.

Sunsets? Emotional terrorism.

The concerning brown of the canned coffee he keeps buying? It gives him heartburn now.

He doesn't even know your name.

All he knows is that he saw you once, made solid eye contact, and chose violence via disappearance. Now he's living in 4K Ultra HD regret like a clown in high-definition.

If fate ever brings you back, he's going to say something normal this time. Something not insane.

Like "Hi" or "Sorry I ghosted you, I have the emotional depth of a teaspoon" or "Please don't press charges".

God, he's doomed.

Also, has Isagi's hair always been that horrid blue?

Your POV

Months later, your best friend, Mia, forced you to come to a Blue Lock match with her. Something about needing to bag a guy named Isagi or something.

You weren't particularly fond of football. Too many rules. Too many men running around like angry toddlers with a ball fixation. Personally, you'd share the ball, but maybe that's just your opinion.

Then, he walked onto the field.

Number 10.

Black hair.

Stormy-teal eyes.

Rin Itoshi.

Your brain short-circuited.

It must've been obvious because Mia asks you if you're okay.

You stood up. You point at him. "THAT'S HIM! That's Ex-Husband! That's Pinkie Pie! That's–OH MY GOD, MY SOULMATE IS AN ATHLETE?!"

Rin didn't look at the crowd once. Of course, he didn't.

He played like his life depended on it. Sharp, controlled, aggressive. He scored two goals, and he didn't even celebrate. He looked as emotionally open as a bank vault.

You were left staring. Woah, that's your man?

After the match, you were unwell.

"I have to confront him."

"Girl, he's in the locker room."

"I'm breaking in."

"PLEASE, don't get arrested over a man who literally ghosted your existence," Mia begged.

You ignored her. While you didn't break into the locker room, per say, you waited by the players parking lot like a perfectly normal, not-at-all deranged person.

He came out looking well....HOT. Alone. Hood up. Earbuds in.

You stepped in front of him.

He blinked. "You..."

You gawked. "THAT'S ALL YOU HAVE TO SAY?!"

"I figured you would be mad."

"Mad? You triggered a soulmate moment and then VANISHED. I went full K-drama for three months!"

He didn't move. Just stared. "You still remember that."

"Oh, I remember it, Rin. I remember your stupidly symmetrical face, what's your secret? Gua Shua? AND, I remember the canned coffee too! AND, the color coming into my life on full blast before you ran away as if I was the plague!"

He scratched the back of his neck. "...I panicked."

"You... you PANICKED?!"

He nodded. "Didn't expect it. Didn't know what to say. Didn't want to ruin it by being...me. But I suppose I did anyways..."

You blinked.

"Oh my God, you're an emotionally repressed idiot."

"...Yes."

"I can't believe I fell for a hot wall of internalized issues."

"I play football for a living," he said flatly. "We all are."

You huffed at him. "You owe me coffee. A good one. And three months of therapy."

"...Okay."

You paused. "That's it? Okay?"

He shrugged. "I saw color. So did you. I wanted to run. But you're here now. You tracked me down. You yelled. You're terrifying. You...win."

You narrowed your eyes. "Is this you asking me out?"

"I'm asking you not to leave. Or yell anymore. I'll buy us coffee. We can talk."

A pause.

"Can we not walk in the rain, though?" he asked. "I associate you with weather-based trauma now."

You blinked. And then, you laugh.

Hard and loud. Not lady-like. The kind that took you both bt surpirse.

"...Fine. But you're paying."

"I already said that."

"And if you ghost me again, I will commit crimes."

He smirked. "Noted."

Ah Shit! Here We Go Again — Masterlist

[fall0utmind]

hey i am back!! with more a/b/o sick fic ideas because its just my fave thing at the moment. i sent that long ask previously with alll the angst & why marc had to leave honda? but now i was wondering - saw the ask about alex feeling/not feeling the gap in the pack - and i was thinking do the rookies etc sort of gravitate to him?

like, not just rookies maybe - he’s a really calming influence on the pack, and to them it feels like he almost fills a gap that they don’t know they have? because for all that betas can’t scent things, they can def be scented, and there is no way marc is letting his little baby brother go out without being scented (for all that he is repressing his omega side, i do think that a/b/o fics tend to approach scenting as a cultural thing not gender specific thing, if you also want to approach it that way?)

and so - whenever alex sits in the pack room, people gravitate toward him, because subconsciously they think marc should be pack omega, and alex is covered in marc’s scent. almost like they’ve taken a vote of confidence as to who should be pack omega, which means none of the other omegas become pack omega in marc’s absence and when marc is able to come back, he steps straight into the role. it could also be quite overwhelming for alex, leading him to be mildly uncomfortable in the pack room, which is immediately healed by marc stepping into place? idk i’m rambling

also!! key thing - how does the order for marc get reversed, and when? does it involve valentino having to use his alpha voice on marc again? or is it a silent willpower thing? does vale reverse it as soon as he realises what he’s done, or is it done slightly further down the line when marc can be awake for it? does it happen in the hospital, with all of marc’s family staring vale down and only not kicking him out immediately afterwards because marc needs to be around pack?

i’m so hyped for this i can’t wait honestly

hi!!!!!

Iconic how I have spoken so mcuh about this au and have yet to consider how the alpha voice order (to stay away from Valentino's pack) actually gets reversed - becayse clearly I'm an idiot

Okay so I feel like maybe it's a bit of an in-between. So valentino has to be like

"No, you can be near my pack, you are my pack, marc i love you"

Directly to marc - not necessarily using his alpha voice but it's kind of like the release. Does that make sense.

Also, it happens when marc has collapsed at the race, and it all becomes known to the riders what has happened. Maybe when marc is in hospital and Valentino visits - yes, I like that. I reckon Marc's family is very reluctant to let him in, but relent becayse they know he's the only one who can fix it and it's terminal!!!

Hopefully that clears it up

In regard to alex!!!

Very very interesting idea. Even if it's not directly related to scenting, I quite like the idea of Alex almost being fixated on by some of the younger grid members in Marc's place. I need to do a little bit of thinking about the logistics. Because pre-2020 ish, the plan is that Marc is very isolated from the whole grid, I.e. no one is seeking him or his scent out, and realistically, before that time, marc is no where near the oldest on the grid etc so although maybe he's the only (or one of) omegas on the grid, it almost isn't natural for him to head the pack - so people aren't counsciously mourning the absence of a pack omega? Definitely possible that there are subconscious dynamic shifts and an urge for an omega in the pack from 2015-2020. I reckon the real change comes with new generation coming in + Valentino leaving the grid.

Anyways, so, intrigued by Marc scenting Alex, etc. I definitely love the idea of Alex often smelling like Marc + something clean, neutral, and fresh (beta). I think that draws people to him. However, i need to consider the idea that Marc goes on incredibly strong scent blockers and omega suppression (2018ish). I haven't decided yet whether yhat would mean that he ALWAYS smells neutral or if it's more of a whenever he leaves the house... I really am not sure, but I do love the idea of people flocking to Alex because he smells like/is the closest connection to marc. And then that when marc comes back, it provides Alex with relief. Especially since he feels guilty, because marc never goes to the pack room (cause of Vale), and when Alex sneaks off, people are a bit all over him, which makes him feel horrible when he goes back to Marc.

So yes, thank you for these wonderful questions and thoughts 🫶🏼

[mostlikelyshutup]

newsflash assholes, everyone in the butcher shop is repressed!

[soultiio]

how funny it is that you are the first to crack

[the-stage-manager]

I'm so sorry, this is going to be an essay, I just saw this post and it got me really excited. I'm a yapper, and this got kind of personal because this is a topic that really excites me.

I'm a gay!Eddie truther, mostly because he reminds me so much of myself and my own story. I'm a lesbian who grew up as a Utah Mormon. I want to make it very clear that these are just my opinions and headcanons and it's all based on my own experiences.

Please feel free to ignore this and not read it if it's too long. I'm a yapper and I talk in circles, and I'm so, so sorry this turned out so long. I have no friends in this fandom to talk to about stuff like this, and this is just a topic that really piqued my interest, if you don't jive with it, that's okay, these are all just my silly opinions, and again, if it's too long, feel free to skip it and ignore it, it won't hurt my feelings.

Firstly, it's important to remember that sexuality is fluid. Rarely ever is anything absolutely "all" or "nothing".

There's a phenomenon called "compulsory heterosexuality" that's found in a lot of deeply religious cultures. It's exactly what it sounds like: your culture forces you to be straight. I've experienced this firsthand: EVERYBODY around me was Mormon. My doctor, my dentist, my teachers, my peers, all of them. Every sunday, I'd see everybody I went to school with. And Mormonism is a very community based culture. You used to go to 3 hours of church on every Sunday (it's changed, now it's only two hours), visiting teachers from the Ward come and visit you once a month, kids between 5-12 meet every Monday for "Activity days", teens between 12-18 meet every Wednesday for "mutual", there were additional fireside lectures every couple of Sundays, the word would plan community activities at least once a month, I'm telling you: Mormonism is a fucking lifestyle. It is constant. It is CONSTANT. I used to have school teachers, SCHOOL TEACHERS, hold me aside after class to ask if everything was okay, because they didn't see me in church on Sunday. Everybody knows everybody, and they're always in your business.

Can you imagine what coming out would be like in that kind of a culture? It makes you ostracized. Everybody looks at you different. Everybody. And they really drill it into you, from the time that you are born, that being gay is a sin. You can't be a Mormon and gay. If you're in a gay relationship, you can't take the sacrament on sunday, you can't go to the temple. Mormons don't technically believe in hell, but they're absolutely is retribution for sinning.

That's what compulsory heterosexuality is. Being gay isn't even conceivable, it never even crosses your mind, because it would mean losing everything.

So, you end up experiencing a really warped version of sexuality. You develop crushes on people of the opposite sex, who are "safe". "Safe", because they're unavailable. I had a crush on Peeta, on Steve Rogers, on the Doctor—but I never fantasized about having sex with them. They were pretty to me, handsome, so I labeled that feeling as "love".

I was obsessed with this boy in my grade from 5th grade to senior year. I was adamant that I was in love with him, that I would marry him. He was traditionally attractive, pretty like Captain America, he was a theater kid like me, so he was part of my friend group in a way, and he was safe—completely unavailable, always in a relationship with other girls, and I was absolutely not my type. It was so obvious that he was not, and would never be interested in me.

After graduation, he took me on a couple of pity dates. On the last date, he kissed me. It was my first kiss. It was something I had dreamed about since I was 12—the love of my life kissing me on the lips. And I felt nothing. It was one of the most shameful things I had ever experienced, and it became a memory I completely repressed, because I couldn't make sense of it. I was obsessed with this boy, and I kissed him, and I felt fucking nothing. It's difficult to explain how devastating it was. I mentioned I was a theater kid, I was really into shakespeare, I'd read all of his plays and all of his sonnets by the end of senior year. He talks about love like it's something transcendent. People have waged wars over love. And I thought to myself, "This is it?"

But I continued to date men, because there were no other options for me. Being gay meant being an abomination in the eyes of god. It meant destroying the relationships I had with everybody who was important to me. So I just... Wasn't. I got good at repressing my feelings, and focusing on other people's needs instead of my own. When I dated boys, it was performative. I knew exactly what to say, I knew how to push all the right buttons.

I came out as bisexual first because it was easier. I convinced myself that I had found the right man, and I wouldn't ever have to tell anybody that I liked girls too. Except, I started realizing that the thought of kissing a man made me feel kind of repulsed, but the thought of kissing a girl always made me smile. My longest relationship lasted for 3 months—he was kind of pathetic and very feminine, but he was VERY into me and that was a turn off. It made me panic. Every time I kissed him, I felt kind of repulsed, but I ignored it until I couldn't. I convinced myself that my repulsion to men was because I had daddy issues I needed to work through.

The craziest part about all of it is that there's still some part of me that's hung up on that guy from high school.

I had repressed my feelings so deeply, that my therapist literally had to POINT OUT to me that every time I imagined kissing a man, I felt repulsed, but every time I imagine kissing a woman, I smiled and couldn't seem to help it. My therapist literally had to drag it out of me.

(sorry that this got so personal, anyways here's the part about Eddie)

Eddie is the most emotionally repressed person on the show. It's easy to imagine that, just like me, he latched onto one girl. He probably found her safe. He probably dated her, because dating a man never even crossed his mind. They had sex, he got her pregnant, obviously abortion is a huge sin in catholicism, that wasn't an option, so he did the "honorable" thing, and married her. And he was fine with it, because she was pretty, and safe, and they were friends.

Except, then he joined the military. He probably thought it was the best way to financially support his new wife and child. The fact that it forced them to be separated from each other for months at a time was just a coincidence. And he couldn't back out, because he had a contract with the military. He convinced himself that all the time he spent separated from his family, was for their own good.

Except, when is contract was up, when he had the opportunity to return home and be with his wife, he signed up for another term. And then that tour ended, and he finally came home, and Christopher barely knew him—that's how you know just how little time he spent with his family.

When Eddie returned from war, he and Shannon immediately started having martial issues. (Although, let's be real here, I can ABSOLUTELY chalk this up from PTSD instead of being gay. War fucks you up.) Either way, Shannon felt overwhelmed and isolated, and Eddie was clearly putting all of the emotional labor of raising their child on her. She got overwhelmed and left.

So the total amount of time Eddie actually spent with Shannon was minimal, and when they were together, things weren't great.

Please don't get me wrong, I think Eddie absolutely did love Shannon, I think he loved her with his whole heart. I genuinely did love the boys I dated, especially that kid I was obsessed with in high school. I genuinely did care about them, but there was just... Things I couldn't give them, and it's easy for me to imagine that Eddie felt the same way—he loved her with his whole heart... But love wasn't enough. There were things he could give her.

Despite how good everything was between them during season 2, Shannon clearly still felt that she and Eddie weren't compatible. She asked for a divorce before she died.

And Eddie took that rejection out on Buck, just like I took my feelings of rejection out on my mission companion. When Buck sued the station, Eddie's meltdown in the station felt a LOT like a martial argument. He basically accused Buck of being a deadbeat parent, which was WILD. And obviously, that could be chalked up to grief. His wife died after asking for a divorce, so he took it out on the next person who rejected him, which was Buck. But it's also easy for me to imagine that those feelings of rejection were exacerbated because Buck makes him feel something that he never felt with Shannon.

The episode where he starts dating Ana 4x06 is WILD. She flirts with him while he takes care of her burned hand. And he.... Kind of? Flirts with her? But mostly, it just feels like he's doing his job. Yeah, he gets down on his knees to take care of her hand, and she absolutely SWOONS over it, but he doesn't really flirt with her.

For the rest of the episode, the team REALLY pressures him to date her. I mean, they lay it on THICK. And he keeps making excuses as to why he can't. Eventually he admits to Bobby that he still isn't over Shannon. WHICH IS TOTALLY VALID. I literally cannot emphasize this enough, it is totally okay to take this scene at face value. He probably is just grieving. But the way he feels pressured into dating her, the way that he resists, the way that he blames it on the fact that he's not over Shannon... It's just a really familiar feeling to me, making up all of these excuses because I can't explain why I don't want to date somebody of the opposite gender, who is clearly into me.

At one point, he describes dating women as feeling "performative". Obviously, made me feel a certain way. Because holy shit, if that doesn't describe my entire dating life. He even breaks up with Ana because he realized that he isn't into her, he's only dating her because he thinks it will make Chris happy.

Literally, every girl in the show, he dates because he feels pressured to. He dated Marisol because Tia Pepa set him up with her, and they kinda connected at the hardware store, but he literally doesn't call her, until Chris asks her to.

Then the whole Kim thing happens. And, again, you could totally take the show at face value, and say that Eddie really is just THAT hung up on his dead wife.

But also, I was hung up on that boy from high school for YEARS, because I was so convinced I was in love with him. And the only reason I was so convinced I was in love with him, was because the idea of dating girls was completely unacceptable. It didn't even cross my mind. That's what compulsatory heterosexuality is—and that's why I think Eddie was so hung up on his wife.

I left the Mormon church when I was about 23. After serving my mission, I came home and just felt... Angry at God. I felt cheated, like I hadn't received any of the blessings I was promised. I felt like I had wasted a year and a half of my life. And that anger led me to question a lot of things, and when I really looked into the church... Yikes.

But the thing is, that shit is ingrained in me. I spent 19 years steeped in this culture. Then, when I turned 19 and went on a mission, I literally gave up my life and devoted 18 months to the church. From 6:00 a.m. to 9:00 p.m., every single day, I was out on the street knocking doors. I had no access to the internet. The only "break" we had was from noon to 6:00 p.m. on Mondays. Those were called "p-days" or "preparation days", and those 6 hours were the only time when we were allowed to contact home, and we were only allowed to contact home through email. We were allowed to call home for 1 hour on Mother's Day and Christmas Day. Everything else was God and Jesus and Mormonism and "preaching the gospel". We did not get holidays off. We were still knocking doors on christmas, on New year's, on easter.

And when you're that indoctrinated, even after you leave the church, even after you question god, and maybe even stop believing in god, it is so hard to shake those internalized beliefs. It is so hard not to feel guilty about being gay, even now.

I doubt Eddie was as indoctrinated in his religion as I was. But still, when you're surrounded by one kind of culture, that stuff seeps into your bones. It is so easy for me to imagine that Eddie denied his homosexuality, even after questioning God and abandoning his religion, because that indoctrination is so deeply ingrained. It doesn't bother him if other people are gay. It's okay for other people to be gay. That's how I feel too: love is love, trans rights are human rights. It is okay for other people to be themselves. But for whatever reason, it's not okay for me to be myself. I'm too ashamed. And it's easy for me to imagine that that's how Eddie feels too.

He can't pick the juice. He has to pick the water because he doesn't deserve the juice. He still feels ashamed to drink the juice. It's okay for other people to drink the juice, but not him.

So he keeps on pretending, he keeps on performing, he keeps on doing what he thinks is best for Christopher and what he thinks will make other people happy. And when he sabotages the relationship, because there's some part of himself he just can't seem to give to these women, he blames it on the fact that he's still not over his wife. Because what other reason is there?

I'm not gay, I've just got Daddy issues. I'm not gay, I'm just not over that kid from high school. I'm not gay, that's impossible, that's inconceivable, that's wrong.

I’m not in this fandom on here but I watch the show and I have to get this off my chest. Bisexual Eddie Diaz makes more sense than gay Eddie. I do believe he genuinely loved Shannon romantically. He obviously likes women sexually. And BI4BI buddie goes so hard. But on another note do ppl think bisexuals just don’t have Catholic guilt lmao. Everytime the Catholic story line gets brought up it’s like oh he has to be gay because he’s Catholic and repressed . He can be bisexual and be repressed too. Ok that’s all carry on

Yes, personally, I also think Eddie being bi would make a lot more sense for him than him just being 100% gay.

I think he does enjoy women but I also think he’s 100% curious about men too.

What do y’all think? Thoughts? Comments?

[presumeddeaddie]

we really had evan ‘buck’ iconic-line-of “well, uh, wish i could help” buckley. newly realized bisexual buck talking to his sexy male best friend about his sexy male best friend’s sex life and about how pent up said sexy friend feels, while this same sexy bff aggressively uses a bench as a prop to… “squat” quickly, up and down, and buck’s only response to all of this is “well, uh, wish i could help”??????? i—

[leonardalphachurch]

okay i made that joke but i don’t know if i think the director actually ever came to terms with his bisexuality. like maybe he did some experimenting but i don’t think he really ever identified himself as bi. especially not after meeting allison and having that become his Whole Thing.

[lesbiansforeddiediaz]

Where my Eddie meta differs from the popular fanon is I don't think all his problems are because he's gay and I don't think kissing a man would heal him or really benefit him much at all. (He is gay but that's not important right now)

[lucabyte]

transfem loop + siffrin... you agree

i does agree.... i does in fact ... write a 7k word essay on the subject..... if you would like to perhaps click that link and read it if you were not already aware...... kisses u on the forehead......... sorry its that long but i had to cover all of my bases you know how it is with textual analysis when you're trying to draw a distinction between "headcanon" and "reading of the text" because those are different things.... to meeeeeeee.......