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megamindsecretlair · 18 days ago

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Make Me Weak, Part 1

Pairing: Sex Therapist!Terry Richmond x Sub!Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. Cursing, mentions of depression, anxiety, and description of sex acts and sexual issues. Power imbalance, Shy!reader. Dark!Terry. Dom!Terry, AU Terry, all consensual. Sorry if I missed some. I'm not a therapist and while I do not make light of therapy, this is purely for my own fun. Please seek real medical attention when necessary.

Summary: Desperately at your absolute limit, you decide to see one last therapist to try and help with your condition. After one session, Dr. Richmond manages to put you at ease, giving you enough tools to start you on your journey. As the exploration continues, your true hope is that you don’t get burned.

Word Count: 4,648k

AO3 Link

A/N: Don't judge me for this chile. I saw that beautiful man in a black turtleneck with glasses and lost my marbles. I had TOO much fun writing this and you will not hurt my feelings if you don't want to read this one. However, I must tag to keep my taglist updated. Forgive me, my loves. Toss a coin to your blogger by leaving a comment, gif, or unhinged ask.

You

He came highly recommended. That was the only reason you were here. You’d stared at his pictures and read all of the available posts recommending him but you couldn’t get over the fact that he was so damn pretty. And intimidating.

But after going through nine different therapists, most who ended up as creeps or couldn’t help you, you were at your wit’s end. It was already embarrassing enough starting over with a brand new therapist, but this had to take the cake.

The hallway was quiet, with muted browns and reds. Supposedly academic, soothing colors. As if the darker the color, the less likely you were to think about anything sexual. You stared at the imposing brown door with his name embossed on a placard. Dr. Terry Richmond.

You bit your lip and stared at the slip in your hand with the referral scrawled across it. He took on special cases. Pathetic cases.

“Fuck this,” you said to yourself. You turned on your heel and stepped down the hallway. The door opened and the man himself looked down the hallway.

“Are you my two o’clock?” He asked. His deep baritone was unexpected. Soothing. Calming. Unnerving.

“Uh,” you sighed.

He continued to stare so you continued to stare back. He wore an all black outfit, right down to his black tennis shoes. He wore a long sleeved black T-shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. Black, form fitting pants that only highlighted how tall he was. He had to be 6’1. Hell, possibly 6’3.

He cleared his throat, looking for an answer. Light refracted off of his frames, temporarily hiding his eyes. You gripped the straps of your purse and squared your shoulders. “Yes,” you said.

Dr. Richmond nodded his head and waved you inside. You walked behind him, feeling like you were walking to your doom. Inside his office, it was just as drab as outside.

Bookshelves lined the walls, stuffed with medical texts and non-fictional books on powerful Black figures through history. The office was small, but clean, with a golden brown sofa pushed against a solid wall of taupe. He had a painting above the sofa, showing a serene ocean view with a boat out on the water.

Natural light filtered into the room from a window showcasing the cityscape outside. His office was high up in the building, letting you look down on all the people living their normal lives.

The door closed behind you and you jumped, whipping around to see Dr. Richmond leaning away from the door. He raised his hands. “I’m sorry, would you like it to remain open?” He asked.

You shook your head. Closed was preferable. You watched Dr. Richmond take his seat behind a massive desk, everything in a neat stack and in its proper place. He rolled forward and then opened a black folder, picking up a pen.

“Please, have a seat. Tell me about yourself,” he said.

“My thick ass file didn’t give me away? Sorry, I shouldn’t say ass. Sorry,” you said and winced after cussing so much. You pointed to a thick file on his desk and you knew without a doubt that it was yours.

It was crazy how you had a full record of your insanity, detailing how you started down this deep, dark path. Cataloged every doctor, every note, every nasty thought in your mind. Okay, you were being a little dramatic, but this was just so…embarrassing. And it didn’t help to have someone who looked like that hearing what you had to say.

“There’s no rules here. You want to say ass, go for it,” he said and shrugged.

You giggled, feeling more at ease. You nodded and took a seat on the sofa. There was a clear coffee table in front of it that held a zen garden complete with little trees, shiny rocks, and…were those Lego figures? You looked from it to him and he smirked, drawing your attention to his full, lush lips.

“Some people find it easier to occupy their hands during discussions. You can give it a try if you want,” he said.

You sat back on the sofa. Maybe later. You felt too awkward as is. Like you were some alien visitor testing out your disguise on the human population. You rubbed your sweaty palms on your leggings and shook your head. “What, uh, did my file say about me?”

Dr. Richmond shrugged and leaned back in his seat, fixing his thin gold glasses on his face. “Those are words and opinions from other doctors. I’d rather hear what you have to say,” he said and leaned back in his seat.

He was so…disarming in a way that allowed you to release the ironclad control you held on to. You picked at your nails and focused on that, rather than his stormy eyes. “I think I’m broken. And I’m not entirely sure why I’m even entertaining this,” you said.

“Why are you then?” He prompted.

You shrugged your shoulders. “Tired of feeling like a freak,” you said.

“A freak? Why would you use that term?” He asked.

You snuck a glance at him. He no longer held the pen. He rested his hands against his stomach, clasped, and just looked at you. Even that was different from all your other therapists combined.

“Because that’s what it feels like. Like I’m in a freak show. I–,” you stopped and licked your lips. But you were here now. May as well rip the bandaid off. “I can’t cum! And I know, it’s normal. I know plenty of people experience it. I know that women especially have a hard time doing it. But no matter what I fuckin’ try, I just can’t. I feel it coming, I know it’s coming, but then it sort of…goes away? And then I’m sitting there embarrassed that I can’t and when I’m with a partner, they pretend that it’s cool, but then I never hear from them again.”

You clicked your teeth shut as you realized you were rambling. You picked at a stiff hangnail, tugged at it until it started to hurt. You continued flicking at it, egged on by your awkwardness. And realizing you were being awkward was only making it worse. So you picked. And picked, until the hangnail tore and hurt worse.

“Why is it important that you cum?” He asked.

“What?” You asked. You looked at him, expecting to see pity. Disgust. Curiousness. Dr. Richmond held none of those things. His face was a pillar of stoicism, balancing the perfect mix of professionalism and empathy.

“Why is it so important to you? If you know that it’s normal and plenty of people experience it, shouldn’t the journey matter more than the destination?” He asked.

Your mouth fell open on a silent gasp as you looked at him. Your mind emptied of every single possible answer to that question. It was important because…it was. Because you never got anything else right either. You were always a step behind, slow on the uptick, feeling like you were taking up too much space in the world even after shrinking yourself to the smallest possible point.

Not easy to do considering your size. You loved your body and wouldn’t trade it for the world, but it wasn’t exactly easy to hide. You were unassuming, sweet, kind, and a great friend. But beneath all of that, you wanted desperately to fit in. This was a basic human release. It was part of the big three things that humans needed. Food, safety, sex. And you could only achieve one of those things.

But how did you word that without sounding like a pathetic kook? You pulled at the hangnail, felt the burn as it ripped, and shrugged your shoulders. Might as well tell the truth. “Because I feel like a freak when I can’t. Like I waited too long. To have sex, to experience life, to explore what I’m into,” you said.

“Do you think there are goal posts for life?” He asked. He may as well have been a statue for how often he moved. He retained his position, chair turned slightly towards you, as he looked at you like you were a puzzle.

“Isn’t there? That’s why we call them milestones? Reach your 18th birthday, yay you’re an adult. Find the love of your life, yay you’re married. Pop out some kids, yay, you’re continuing the bloodline. I feel like now, at my age, I should know what one fuckin’ orgasm feels like,” you said.

“How do you know you haven’t had one already?” He asked.

“I know my body. There’s nothing. There’s the build up, there’s the excitement, there’s everything leading up to it. But I never get over that peak. It just…goes away,” you said.

Dr. Richmond nodded and turned his attention to the pad. He wrote down a few sentences and it was so quiet in his office, you could hear a clock ticking nearby. You also heard his pen scratch against the paper. He must be using some fancy, fountain pen. He looked the type.

“What do you hope to achieve through therapy?” He asked.

You shrugged. “If I knew, you wouldn’t be my tenth therapist,” you said with a heavy sigh. When you first thought about going to therapy, you thought it wasn’t truly for you. There was nothing that really bothered you outside of life’s stress. Everybody had that.

But you ended up finding some that encouraged you to dig deep and find the woman within. The one comfortable in her skin. Encouraged you to explore your sexuality and think about it in depth. You crawled through so many forums, so many health websites, so many articles that you had a great idea of what ailed you.

“There has to be a reason you keep trying,” he said.

You leaned back into the sofa with a huff. “You definitely ask the easy questions. What happened to the intake and whatever?” You asked.

Dr. Richmond chuckled. He tapped his pen against your folder. “You’ve done plenty of that, don’t you think?”

Your lips twisted with a smile. Okay, maybe you were starting to see why he was so highly recommended. He was comforting without being condescending. Soothing without being smarmy. He treated you like an adult and for the first time, you had a little beacon of hope.

“I keep trying because I want it. I don’t have the words right now to describe why I want it. I want to know the hype. I want the relief. I want to know what post nut clarity feels like,” you said.

Dr. Richmond chuckled and you chuckled with him. It sounded funny, but you were so serious. It was exhausting at this point. Pretending like you knew what the fuck you were talking about when others asked you. Your group chat blew up with your equally single friends who were less discerning about who they took to bed.

Every other night, there were stories about dick sizes, oral, and a whole treatise on the lack of finesse these guys had. You almost snorted thinking about your best friend, Brooklyn, and how she said that no wonder men were trapping women in marriages in the past. It was the only way they could get women to be with them. It certainly wasn’t because of their pornographic sexual prowess.

“What’s been your journey with sex so far?” He asked.

You took a deep breath and told him all about it. The way that you picked up a book one day with sex in it and never looked back. In a lot of ways, that book probably shaped how you viewed sex and your sexual kinks. Before long, you were searching for more and more books with the exact same tropes. A sexy, semi-asshole alpha male that was too big to be real. 7’8, long dick, and a short attitude. Typically bad boy types with tattoos and “touch her and die” vibes. The kind to only be soft with the female main character.

You could wax poetic about why it appealed to you. Blah blah blah, you had a terrible childhood where you felt invisible. It was all there in the file if he wanted to take a gander.

“I know I’m submissive, that I want to be dominated in bed. But, whew, the game out here is ridiculous,” you said. “The men I wouldn’t mind submitting to are too damn weak to take control. The men I would never submit to act like I’m their pet already and can speak to me however they want.”

“Do you think you’re being too picky?” He asked.

You were startled into a laugh. “What gave me away, Dr. Richmond?” You asked.

Dr. Richmond chuckled. “I have a process, bear with me,” he said. That ain’t all you wanted to do. He was fine as hell. You mentally shook your head. No, you could not go there. Not at all.

You continued to discuss how you led to certain conclusions. Yes, you were picky. But why shouldn’t you be? You weren’t seeking perfection. You just wanted something normal. Something healthy. Something toe curling, mind numbing, sickeningly disgusting and sweet. Was that too much to ask for?

Dr. Richmond asked more questions and you relaxed fraction by fraction, getting right to the core of why you were seeking professional help. You told him about some of the partners you had. Some who were sweet and really tried. You had a long term boyfriend at one point who was attentive and caring. But he fell short of making you cum.

He ate you out long enough to get you wet and going and then jumped straight to sex just so he could cum. You often lied about cumming until it got too exhausting to keep up with. He promptly got mad, hurt that you lied, and possibly embarrassed that he wasn’t God’s gift to sex. His loss.

It was awkward at first to discuss such intimate details with Dr. Richmond but you often forgot he was even there. Until he asked you to expand on something you said or ask a clarifying question. Even the scratch of his pen faded into the background as you spoke about how you arrived in his office.

Dr. Richmond finally finished and leaned back in his seat once more, squaring his broad shoulders against the high back of his chair. He crossed his leg and looked at you and you briefly wondered what he’d look like without the glasses.

“We’re nearing the end of our session but I think I’m getting a clearer picture of why you’re here. After hearing from you and looking through your file, it seems like your perception of what sex really is has been skewed. Either through these books, these movies, or even porn. It’s perfectly okay to consider what you like in bed or what you prefer in a partner. But most people’s foray into their sexual journey starts with themselves. What’s your relationship like with your body?”

“I love my body,” you said, immediately. Why wouldn’t you love your body? You were gorgeous. Sure, you struggled with your weight, but you didn’t want to be thin anyway. You just wanted to roll out of bed without being out of breath sometimes. Or cut your toenails without having to stop every few minutes for air.

Dr. Richmond licked his lips and your eyes dropped immediately to it. He rubbed the corner of his mouth with his thumb and it drew your attention to his big hands. Too damn bad you hadn’t met him under better circumstances. You bet he could make you cum. Often.

“What else?” He asked.

“What else is there?” You asked, clearing your throat, and drawing your attention away from how drop dead gorgeous he was. Your thoughts ran wild still, picturing him in all sorts of nasty scenarios. If nothing else, your imagination was always there to show you a good time. Your own perfect world where you experienced back to back orgasms.

“What has your personal sexual journey encompassed besides you loving your body? Do you touch yourself?” He asked.

You fought every urge you had to squeeze your thighs together. How the hell did this man end up in this profession? He missed his calling as a phone sex operator. Or an erotic audio content creator. Good lord, he could have people eating out of the palm of his hand if he so wished. Swimming in a tub full of money earned from hundreds of thousands of horny bitches who could cum to his voice alone. Lucky bitches.

You shrugged. “Of course I touch myself. I can’t cum that way either,” you said.

Dr. Richmond chuckled. “This only works if you lower them walls you try so hard to hide behind,” he said.

You kissed your teeth and rolled your eyes to the ceiling. The hell did he know. So what if he had fancy doctor diplomas behind his chair. So what if he had a MD in this field. What the hell did he know?

After cursing him out two ways from Sunday in your mind, you deflated. “I know I’m not relaxed when I masterbate. I lock my door, I put on headphones, and I still feel like I’m…”

“Like you’re…?” Dr. Richmond prompted.

“Being watched? Being judged? You can probably guess I grew up religious. It’s not like I had enough time or space to explore my body. My room was directly next to my parents’. If I so much as sighed too loud, my mom was banging on my wall telling me to fix my attitude,” you admitted. That had been oodles of fun. Growing up, you couldn’t even roll your eyes without someone telling you to fix your face.

“What does relax you then?” He asked.

“When I find out, I’ll tell you,” you said.

Dr. Richmond smiled, showing off a dazzling, mega-watt movie star smile that made your knees weak. If you weren’t already sitting down, you’d fall flat on your face.

“I believe I can help you, but you have to be willing to do the work. I need total, focused commitment from you. Do you think you can do that?” He asked.

“Yes,” you said instantly. There wasn’t even a question. You wanted this more than breathing, more than eating. And that was saying something because you would happily drive far and wide for a good meal.

Dr. Richmond nodded. “Good. I’m giving you homework. I want you to spend the next week exploring your body. Nothing sexual. Spend time in your body and with your body. Touch yourself, but no masterbating. When you shower, acknowledge your body. When you lotion up, pay attention to every mole, every scar. This is the only body you’ll ever have so it’s time to think beyond simple body maintenance. Admire your body. I also want you to keep a journal. You won’t share it with me unless you want to, but this exercise is to get you in tune with your body. Rewire how you perceive sex and sexual completion. Does that sound doable?”

You nodded, not trusting your voice at the moment. He must not know the effect he had on those around him. He had to be completely clueless. Batshit fucking oblivious. The wreck he was having on your libido was absolutely insane.

Joking aside, you were taking this seriously. In just one session, Dr. Richmond managed to give you a tiny spark of hope. That maybe you weren’t a lost cause. You immediately tempered your thoughts. Hope hurt. You’d been hopeful so many times in the past, with different therapists, who seemed like they had a plan to help you.

Only for them to diagnose some other problem. You had anxiety, duh. You had depression, shocker. You had a laundry list of diagnoses from doctors and therapists who just thought you were obsessed with sex. That was like saying the sky was blue. Who wasn’t obsessed with sex? Besides asexual people.

“I’ll do it,” you said.

“Good,” he said. He went over your schedule, working out a time to see him once a week until you would eventually graduate to fewer sessions. That bummed you out. Not seeing his gorgeous face ever again? Could you fake another issue and continue seeing him?

Dr. Richmond dismissed you and you left his office feeling a smidgen lighter than when you entered. Maybe this would actually work out. Maybe.

Terry

Terry finished with his last client of the day and went over his notes, inputting his clearer thoughts into the patient portal on his laptop. When he ran across your file, he paused and opened it once more.

Your case fascinated him. He couldn’t stop pouring over your files, doctor’s notes, direct quotes. There had been plenty of therapists before him, all trying to help the beautiful woman who entered his office earlier in the afternoon.

He wasn’t immune to his patients. Some were beautiful and charming and all tried to flirt their way into his bed. He never crossed that line. Never. Yet…when you discussed your story, the rawness of it captivated him. He held onto your every word like you were a theater production right before his eyes.

He hardly took notes because he was so fascinated with the dichotomy of you. On the outside, you were a bit shy. Perhaps too self-aware which led you to shrink, hide who you really were. He got the sense that there was an entire universe wrapped up in your mind and he began asking deeper questions than he ever had on a first session.

The hour had gone by too fast for his tastes. He wanted to hear more. Learn more. Know more. He hated to admit it, he even got semi-erect as you told your tale. He was understandably disgusted and it wasn’t the first time; occupational hazard. But it was the first time he’d ever cursed his medical degree.

You were perfect. Absolutely perfect. When you admitted to being submissive, his dick even twitched. Ached. Why couldn’t he have met you somewhere else? Surely, fate hadn’t been so cruel as to put the perfect sub within reach and then ensure that he could never have you? Never touch you?

Describing your previous lovers actually made his chest boil. You had been subjected to ignorant men who wouldn’t know what to do with a woman like you. And they had you believing that you were the problem. It was laughable. It was maddening. It was cruel.

He frowned at your file. He had gone over it so many times in preparation for the session. He didn’t know what would walk through the door. A file this thick? He thought he’d have a sex-obsessed, delusional fiend on his hands that he’d have to contend with.

Your wish of cumming was almost cute. Terry sighed. He shouldn’t be thinking it was cute. If anything, he should be passing your case off to his colleague down the hall. Dr. Crawford was as capable as Terry was, their ideas often aligning in regards to treatment.

He preferred a holistic approach. Most problems could be resolved within a few months, once people began to shift their idea of sex and their role in it.

“Everything is about sex, except sex. Sex is about power.” That was one of his favorite quotes, said so many times that no one truly knew where it originated.

It was a quote he often repeated to his patients at the right moment. When they were beginning to discover a part of themselves previously unexplored. He wondered how long it would take for your moment? That dawning realization.

He was only sad he couldn’t see it in real time. That moment when you let yourself feel. Let yourself relax and sink into that subspace you so desperately needed. Terry grunted and closed your file.

He was about to crack you open like an egg and watch a brand new woman emerge. He was about to hand you off to the first man who pretended to understand your needs. He took out his fresh notepad, every patient got one, and scribbled some more notes. He’d have to make sure you understood the difference between a real dom and a little boy playing dress up.

His eyes scanned across his earlier notes, little things he jotted down while you spoke. Areas you skipped over, areas you expanded on. They were only a sentence or two long, something to kickstart his memory. Because at the time, his eyes were focused on you. On your face, your voice, your mannerisms.

It was both a curse and a blessing to notice so much. See so much. Understand so much. But it worked when necessary. You deflected about your sexual partners, retreated when he tried to push further about how you reached these conclusions. What methods you tried.

Usually, Terry did a whole song and dance to ease patients into talking about sex. Sex was taboo until it was time to have it. Now everything was awkward, unbalanced, and led to too many instances of abuse.

But between your file and how skittish but determined you seemed, you didn’t need a song and dance. You needed someone to give you guideposts. You didn’t truly need therapists. You just needed a nudge in the right direction. A nudge to someone else.

Terry pursed his lips and looked at your name on the file. He had to be careful. If he wasn’t, you would end up being trouble in more ways than one.

He finished up the last of his notes and then scanned through for anything he might have missed. He wrote down what your homework assignment was. He hadn’t truly known where that came from.

Perhaps it was the look in your eyes. Perhaps it was the helpless, frantic twist to your mouth that had him going from zero to one hundred where you were concerned. But the more he described it, the lower your eyes went. The way your mouth slackened just a bit. As if you were caught in some picture in your mind that he couldn’t see.

Terry leaned away from his desk and looked outside of his window. The tinted glass showed the sun in the distance, sinking lower towards the horizon. A bird flew, twisting and turning with the hot currents it found.

He ought to do the right thing. There was no way to remain objective in this manner. Not when he was strangely drawn to you, drawn to your file, and drawn to the unique challenge it presented.

You could very well end up a case study in some medical textbook or journal, name changed, but the presentation exactly the same. He didn’t relish the thought of being the one to put you there. But your case could end up helping someone else. It was the way the world worked.

He only hoped that he had enough self-restraint to walk away if he found himself compromised. If he couldn’t reign in his personal tastes and habits to help you. If he found himself looking at your lips as you spoke, your smile as you made self-deprecating jokes, or the shy way you licked your lips.

“Shit.” He took his phone out of his bag and hit up his on again, off again submissive play partner, Tasia. Perhaps it’d been too long since he took care of his own needs. Perhaps what he needed was to release the pent up tension he carried around all the time.

How long had it been? He didn’t know. But even as he set up the details with Tasia, he couldn’t help wondering if you were following his directions to the letter.

I said don't judge me! LOL. Thank you for reading, truly.

The Secret Terry Richmond Files

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aliyahwritings · 30 days ago

Text

PROTECTIVE INSTINCTS.

Summary: Rafe Cameron gets into a fight, and Sassy!Kook!Reader helps him clean up his wounds.

Warnings: childhood friends, overprotective!rafe, alcohol/coke mentioned, blood, dumb ahh inlove, annoying mf.

Words Count: 3163

A/N: my first 'official' post ohmygawwddd!!!! i hope you will all like this. u can imagine this out of the obx plot bc in this universe sarah and rafe lowk get along and she's not w topp*r. i imagine rafe being 20/21 and reader is js a year younger

Getting an invite to Topper's party was supposed to be the highlight of your week—a chance to let loose, drink, dance, and maybe sneak in a smoke or two. You were determined to have fun. You and Sarah had been buzzing about it for days, thrilled at the idea of a night out after what felt like an eternity of being buried under schoolwork. It had been ages since either of you had gone to a party, and with all the stress piling up, you needed the break.

But, of course, Rafe had to go and ruin it by reminding you that he existed and was going to attend the party.

As the night of the party arrived, you spent way too much time getting ready—your reflection in the mirror repeatedly checked as you perfected your messy dark eye makeup. Black heels on, strapless mini-dress in a black fabric. The waist is drawn with a thin, satin black ribbon into a neat bow. The skirt flared out slightly, you knew you looked stunning. Sarah had already sent you a dozen texts about how she couldn’t wait to hit the party, and you were just about ready to go.

When you arrived at the party, it was even more packed than you'd expected. Music thumped through the house, bodies swayed on the makeshift dance floor, and the smell of coke, smoke, and alcohol lingered in the air. Sarah grabbed your hand, pulling you through the crowd as you both laughed. That was exactly the chaos you both needed.

"God, I've missed this!" Sarah shouted over the music as we moved to the dance floor. You smiled, matching her energy, the rhythm pulling your bodies into a sway.

For a while, it was easy to forget everything—school stress, drama, even Rafe’s looming presence at the party.

That is, until you saw him.

Rafe Cameron, leaning against a wall with his usual arrogance, a bottle of beer in his hand and his eyes scanning the room like he owned the place. It wasn't long before his eyes landed on you, and as usual, he didn’t look away. His eyes tracked you from across the room. He always watched you—like it was his job to make sure you were okay, even though you made it clear you didn’t need him playing bodyguard.

You groaned inwardly.

“Just ignore him,” Sarah whispered in your ear, sensing your mood shift. “Come on, let’s dance.”

And you did—letting the music take over as you moved with your friend, blocking out everything else. For a moment, it felt like maybe, you could enjoy the night without thinking about him. You walked away from your friend to get both of you a drink but as you arrived at the bar, a guy who you didn’t recognize walked up to me, his breath hot and alcohol-laced as he leaned in too close, his voice low and crude.

“Hey there, gorgeous,” he said with a smirk growing on his face. “You look stunning tonight. That dress—damn, it’s doing wonders to your body.”

You raised an eyebrow, trying to ignore him as you focused on getting your drinks. “Thanks, but I’m not interested,” you replied coolly, turning slightly away from him.

“Oh, come on now,” he pressed, undeterred. “Don’t be like that. I could make your night a lot more fun. I know how to show a girl a good time. I could take you somewhere private, just you and me. I bet I could make you feel better than any of the other guys ever could.”

You felt your stomach churn, irritation rising as you glanced around for an escape. “I really don’t think so,” you said firmly, your patience wearing thin. “Just back off, alright?”

But he stepped closer, invading your personal space even more, a cocky grin plastered on his face. “Why're you playing hard to get when we both know you’re a slut. You don’t gotta pretend with me, baby—”

You rolled your eyes, about to insult him but the sound of a bottle smashing to the floor before Rafe’s fist collided with the guy's face.

“Say that again,” Rafe growled, his voice deadly calm as he grabbed the guy by the collar, pulling him close. The crowd around you froze, the music blaring in the background as Rafe’s knuckles bled from the punch he’d just thrown.

The guy stumbled, trying to mumble something that sounded like an apology, but of course, Rafe wasn’t done. His jaw was clenched, his eyes burning with a fury that sent chills down your spine.

“Rafe!” you shouted, pushing through the frozen crowd to get to him. “Let him go!”

But he barely heard you. His focus was locked on the guy, like he was two seconds ago from throwing another punch. It took Topper and Kelce rushing over to pull him off before things escalated any further.

The guy backed away, rubbing his jaw, his eyes wide with fear. “I-I didn’t know, man—”

“I don’t fucking care. Get out of here!” Rafe yelled, cutting him off, his chest still heaving with rage.

You watched as the guy walked away, his tail between his legs. Your attention shifted to Rafe, who turned on his heel and headed towards the stairs. You followed him with your eyes as he ascended until he disappeared into one of the rooms upstairs, shutting the door behind him.

You glanced around, searching for Sarah. When you spotted her you waved to catch her eye. She looked over, and you mouthed, “I’m going to check on Rafe.” Sarah gave you a quick nod.

With a deep breath, you pushed your way through the crowd and made your way upstairs, the noise from the party fading into the background as you reached the top. The hallway was quieter, the air heavier. Without hesitation, you headed straight for the door you saw Rafe disappear behind. You didn’t even think to knock; there was no need for formality between the two of you. It wasn’t in your nature to tiptoe around Rafe, not when you’d known him your entire life.

He was sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees. He glanced up when you entered, surprise flashing briefly in his eyes before it was replaced with that familiar guarded expression.

He opened his mouth to say something, but you cut him off, “What the hell is your problem, Rafe?” you told him, crossing your arms on your chest. “You can’t just go around hitting people!”

He stood up, glaring at you. “He deserved it,” he shot back. He turned away from you, pacing the room like a caged animal. “Did you hear the shit he was saying to you? You think I was just gonna stand there and let him talk to you like tha?”

You sighed, frustrated but not entirely surprised. This was Rafe—impulsive, overprotective, and always ready to throw a punch when it came to you. “Yeah, I heard it, Rafe—he was talking to me. And I could’ve handled it. I don’t need you acting like my knight in shining armor.”

His head snapped up at that, and he took a step closer, his eyes narrowing. “Really? You think you could’ve handled him? Because from where I was standing, he wasn’t taking no for an answer.”

You huffed, shaking your head. "That’s not the fucking point! You always do this. You’re always trying to play the hero when no one asked you to." You met his gaze with a hard stare of your own, refusing to back down.

Rafe’s eyes darkened, his jaw clenching as he stepped even closer, closing the distance between you. His voice dropped lower, almost a growl. "Maybe I’m not playing. Maybe I actually give a damn when some asshole thinks he can talk to you like that."

His proximity made the air between you feel charged, and you had to fight the urge to step back. Instead, you held your ground, your heart pounding in your chest. "And maybe you should learn to pick your battles instead of flying off the handle every time someone so much as looks at me the wrong way," you shot back, your voice just as sharp as his.

His lips twisted into a smirk, though there was no humor in it—just frustration. "Pick my battles?" He echoed, his voice low and dangerous. "Like you would ever let me. Every time I try to protect you, you act like it’s some kind of personal offense. Like I’m doing something wrong by giving a damn about what happens to you, Y/N."

You scoffed, crossing your arms tighter across your chest. "Because it’s not about me! It’s about you needing to feel like you’re in control of everything. You can’t just punch your way through life, Rafe."

"It’s not about control. It’s about not letting anyone treat you like that. I’m not gonna stand by and watch it happen. Not when it’s you."

For a moment, the room was silent, the weight of his words hanging between you. You sighed, the fight slowly leaving your body. “You’ve always been like this, you know?” you said, your tone softening just slightly. “Even when we were kids. You were always ready to defend me.”

His expression softened, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Yeah, well, some things don’t change.”

You shook your head, biting back a smile. “You’re impossible, Rafe Cameron.”

He let out a low laugh. “Yeah, I’ve heard that before.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no real bite behind it. The anger between you was fading. He infuriated you, but deep down, you knew his heart was in the right place—even if he had a habit of making things way more complicated than they needed to be.

Rafe’s eyes lingered on yours, the tension still there but different now. He stepped closer again, but this time, there was no anger in his movements, just something more... deliberate. His voice dropped, barely above a whisper. "You looked good tonight, by the way."

Your breath hitched, and before you could stop yourself, you met his gaze with a smirk of your own. "You’re just now noticing?" you teased, though your voice came out softer than you intended.

"Trust me, I noticed the second you walked in."

You cleared your throat, breaking the intense moment between you two. “Let me see your hand,” you said, trying to refocus on something else.

Rafe raised an eyebrow, his usual cocky smirk creeping back onto his face. “What? Worried about me now, princess?”

“Hardly, but you’re a mess and someone’s gotta clean you up before you bleed all over Topper’s sheets.”

He grinned, stepping back slightly and letting you grab his hand. His skin was warm under your fingers, and you tried to ignore the way your pulse quickened as you turned his hand over, inspecting the damage. His knuckles were raw, a few cuts oozing blood.

You glanced around the room, spotting a small bathroom attached to the guest room. “Sit down,” you ordered, nodding towards the bed. Rafe didn’t argue—surprisingly—but the amused smirk never left his face as he sat down, watching you with that intense, unblinking gaze of his. You walked over to the bathroom, rummaging through the cabinet until you found some bandages and antiseptic wipes.

When you returned, Rafe had leaned back against the headboard, legs spread slightly, his arms resting on his knees like he was waiting to be entertained.

“Hold still,” you said firmly as you sat on the edge of the bed beside him, gently taking his injured hand in yours.

"Careful," he teased, his voice low and husky. "I might start thinking you actually care."

You shot him a quick glare, your eyes narrowed. "Or maybe I just don’t want to deal with your whining if this gets infected."

He chuckled, the sound deep and almost... seductive. "Trust me, I’m not the whining type. You, on the other hand, love getting under my skin."

You ignored his comment, though the corners of your mouth twitched in amusement. “Here you go, telling lies. Unlike you, I am responsible—something you wouldn’t understand.”

Rafe’s smirk widened, his blue eyes locked on yours as you worked. “Yeah? Is that why you spent half the night trying to avoid me?” He tilted his head. “You’re terrible at it, by the way.”

“Maybe I was avoiding you because I knew you’d do something stupid. And look, I was right.”

“So, you were watching me all night, huh? Didn’t realize I was that distracting.”

“More like I could sense the chaos coming from a mile away,” you shot back, the corner of your mouth twitching despite your best efforts not to smile.

“Admit it, you’d miss me if I didn’t cause a little chaos.”

You snorted, playfully nudging his good shoulder. “Miss you? I think my life would be way more peaceful.”

He gave a dramatic sigh, clutching his chest with his uninjured hand. “Wow. You really know how to wound a guy. If I wasn’t already bandaged, I’d need another one for my heart.”

You smirked, shaking your head. “Please, Rafe. You’ve got an ego the size of this entire house. I think your heart’s just fine.”

He chuckled, eyes twinkling with amusement. “Maybe. But you like me this way.”

“Oh, do I now?” You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “And what makes you think that?”

Rafe leaned in just a little more, that teasing grin still plastered on his face. “Because, no matter how much you complain, you’re always right here. Taking care of me. Telling me I’m an idiot. It’s kind of your thing.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, though the sass in your voice was playful. “It’s called charity work, Rafe. I should be getting paid for dealing with you.”

He laughed, his gaze dropping briefly to your lips before flicking back up. “Oh, I’ll pay you back. Trust me.”

You tilted your head, giving him a sly smile. “Yeah? And how exactly are you gonna do that?”

Rafe’s grin widened at your challenge, his eyes gleaming with mischief. He shifted a little closer, the air between you growing even more charged. “Oh, you’ll see, princess. But you’ll have to be patient. I know that’s not your strong suit.”

You rolled your eyes, scoffing as you leaned back on the bed, crossing your legs. “Patience? With you? That’s asking for a miracle, Cameron.”

He chuckled, his hand resting just beside your thigh. “Miracle? More like a blessing. I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to you, and you know it.”

You shot him a look, narrowing your eyes playfully. “Best thing? Don’t flatter yourself. You’re like a stray dog that keeps following me around, begging for attention.”

Rafe smirked, leaning in so his face was closer to yours, his voice dropping low. "And you love the attention. Don’t act like you don’t.”

“Please, the only thing I love is the peace and quiet I get when you’re not around.”

He let out a mock gasp, putting a hand over his chest. “Ouch. Again.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head. “Dramatic again. Besides, you can dish it out, but you can’t take it.”

Rafe raised an eyebrow, that cocky grin never leaving his face. “Me? Can’t take it? You must be thinking of someone else, sweetheart. I can take anything you throw at me.”

You leaned in a little, matching his energy. “Anything? That sounds like a challenge.”

He tilted his head, his blue eyes locking onto yours, full of playful intensity. “It is. Go ahead, try me. What’ve you got?”

You pursed your lips, pretending to think for a moment before smirking. “Alright. How about this? For starters, you’re predictable. Every time something doesn’t go your way, you throw a tantrum or a punch, like you’re still a spoiled little boy.”

Rafe’s smirk didn’t falter, if anything, it grew. “Predictable? That’s rich, coming from someone who’s always acting like she doesn’t care when we both know she does.”

“Oh, please,” you scoffed. “I don’t care. I just know how to deal with your dramatics.”

“Right. That’s why you followed me up here, bandaged my hand, and now you’re sitting here flirting with me,” Rafe said, his tone smug.

You blinked, caught off guard for a second. “Flirting? Don’t confuse taking care of your stupidity with flirting, Cameron.”

He leaned even closer, his lips just inches from yours now, his voice a low, teasing whisper. “Oh, so this isn’t flirting?”

You bit your lip, fighting the heat rising in your cheeks. “No. This is me being nice because you’re too dumb to take care of yourself.”

“Sure it is,” he murmured, his voice dropping to that husky tone that always made your heart race. “You’re really bad at hiding it, you know.”

You raised an eyebrow, challenging him. “Hiding what?”

Rafe grinned, his gaze flickering down to your lips for a split second before meeting your eyes again. “How much you like being around me.”

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “You’re delusional. I’m just here so Topper doesn’t kill you for bleeding all over his stuff.”

“Uh-huh,” Rafe replied, his thumb lightly tracing circles on your thigh, the gesture casual but full of tension. “And I’m sure you’d leave the second I’m patched up, right?”

You blinked, but your voice didn’t waver as you answered, “Absolutely. As soon as I’m done here, I’m out.”

“Really?” His eyes sparkled with challenge, his breath warm on your skin. “Then why haven’t you left yet?”

You faltered, trying to keep your cool, but his proximity was intoxicating. “Because... You needed help for your hand and I couldn't let you be miserable.”

Rafe chuckled, his eyes never leaving yours. “Always gotta get the last word, huh?”

“Someone has to,” you shot back, but your voice was quieter, less sharp as the tension between you both thickened.

He watched you for a long moment, his gaze intense but soft at the same time. Then, with that infuriating smirk still on his face, he leaned back slightly. “Alright, I’ll let you win this round. But don’t think I didn’t notice how close you got just now.”

You rolled your eyes, standing up from the bed. “I was checking your hand, not getting close to you.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, princess,” he teased, watching you as you walked toward the bathroom to put away the bandages.

You turned back to him, shaking your head with a smile. “You’re annoying.”

“And yet, you keep coming back,” Rafe quipped, standing up and stretching.

And he was right…

tags: @glors3 @mattyskies @cutiebuety @sumlovesjude @dilfluvr4ever @cooper8224 @octaviareina @imawhoretho @drewscoquette @cutiebuety @gracelynnmarielester @amourfolklore @gillybear17 @rafestaurusgf @meekmillsfrenchfries @auriellawp @urdreamgirl12 @katie-the-author @love1deandra @rafecameroninterlude @stargrltara @stupendousturt1e

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k4g3hika · 1 year ago

Text

CONSUME ━ imagine!

suna rintarou x fem!reader

summary: suna rintarou was hard to love, you knew this from the beginning. but when you overhear him admitting how he truly felt about you, it hurt to decide whether to let him go, or let your love for him continuously consume you.

genre: hurt/comfort

wc: 6.2k

tags: this is the longest imagine that i’ve ever written 😭 it was a pain in the ass to write but i hope you guys like it :)

Sometimes, you think it’s hard to love Suna.

Suna is calculating and quiet, the reasons exactly why you find it difficult to continuously pine for him. Though, you already knew he was going to act like this. You’ve gone to school with Suna since elementary, and have even lived in the same neighbourhood since childhood, but you don’t think he knows that.

The thing is, you know Suna, but you don’t think he knows you. Every morning since you were six years old, you’ve seen him make his way to school, but you’ve never had the courage to walk up to him and say ‘hi’. For years, the only parts of Suna that you were able to truly admire were his back and his hair, from behind. The both of you have never been in the same friend group, class, or extra-curricular activity, until your second-year of high school.

You precisely remember the moment you stepped into the gymnasium to introduce yourself as the new manager of the team. It was a rainy day and you were excited, albeit, a little nervous, but irregardless, excited because you know and love volleyball. The sport connected with some of your childhood memories, as you recall playing it with your older brother. Too bad your physical skills weren’t up to par with the school’s expectations, or else you would’ve been on the team. Their loss though, because you found your strategy and knowledge of the sport to be your strongest feature as a player.

As a result of the girl’s team already having a manager, the coach recommended you to try signing up for the role of manager for the boy’s team. Now, you didn’t mind being around boys. Your older brother was enough for you to build up the courage against the challenge that is the hygiene and personality, or well, lack thereof, of boys.

However, the courage built over the years was not enough to stop your surprise at seeing none other than Suna Rintarou, from the front.

He looked completely different from what you remember him looking like. For some reason, you still had the young image of Suna in your head. The Suna you remember had puffy cheeks and neat hair, but this new Suna, was mature, older, and way more handsome. His cheeks thinned out and highlighted a sharp jawline that made his face look so clean-cut, unlike his hair that was messy and all over the place. But, if anything, you think that you prefer this Suna.

Because, God, it made him so much more attractive.

Now, it’s been about three months since you’ve become manager, and in those three months, you’ve tried to show Suna just how much you love him. The years of no talking and never meeting each other were all building up for you, and you just wanted to show him all of the care and affection you’ve held for him over the years.

You’ve cooked bento boxes and given them to him, you’ve filled his water bottle with the expensive electrolytes from the convenience store ten minutes away from the school before every practice, and who couldn’t forget, you make sure that his towel was clean and warm beside his gym bag, so that he wouldn’t use the same one for weeks until it reeked. Your affection was clearly shown through your actions and you prayed to the heavens that he would just notice you. Maybe say a ‘thank you’ or even a little head pat, you really don’t care, just some recognition would make you feel rewarded after all the hard work you’ve done for him.

But, the bento boxes were returned to you either by, Atsumu or Osamu, Suna drank the expensive electrolyte water, however, he seemed to not notice that it was you who put all the thought and care behind the action, and his towel was always just thrown to the side alongside the other towels. Even though the towel you prepped was a personal one from home that had your initials hand sewn in the corner. You thought that at one point he would’ve acknowledged you, but the gratefulness never came.

It didn’t matter though. Because you knew in your heart that you loved Suna Rintarou, and there was nothing that could change that. Even if you did all the sincere actions for him until the both of you graduated and he never noticed you, just knowing that he at least saw the bento box, the water bottle, and your towel, was enough to put a smile on your face. You would show Suna that you love him, ten times over.

“Y/N! Earth to Y/N!” Your head snaps over to your right, seeing the coach look at you with concern. Embarrassed that he caught you in your daily Suna trance, your cheeks heats up and you push yourself to your feet.

“Coach!”

“I thought you would never hear me. Listen, I don’t know what’s taking all your attention away, but can you please head down to the locker room and tell the boys that they need to make their way over here. The drill we spoke about yesterday is a bit complicated, so I would like to get started as soon as possible.” Nodding, you bow and begin to make your way over to the club room.

Your heart begins to speed up a bit, as the thought of seeing Suna shirtless makes your chest burn and your face hot. By all means, you are not a pervert! But just seeing him with all his muscles in the bright fluorescent light of the locker room looked like a cover of a sports magazine.

Suna Rintarou makes you feel so nervous. Unfortunately, you find yourself relishing in the minimal acknowledgement that he gives you, thriving off of the fact that you were in a club that just allowed you to be around him. Maybe it was a sign from the heavens that you weren’t physically athletic, but strategically, which resulted in your application as Boys Volleyball team manager. You’d like to think that despite his ignorance, it was in both of your guys’ destinies to end up with another.

Maybe the both of you were the main characters of a drama, where, despite all the bumps in the plot, you will always find each other being drawn to one another. Yet again, that was all just your stupid imagination, but one can dream, right?

Giggling to yourself, you were about to knock on the locker room door, before you heard loud voices through the small space between the door and the wall. It sounded like they were bickering with one another, and you begin to wonder if it’s Atsumu and Osamu fighting again, while everyone just stood around and observed. Normally, you would be the one to beg them to stop while Kita jumped in after you to pull them apart. But, now that you weren’t inside, you begin to push open the door at the possibility.

“...Y/N?” Your actions falter at the sound of your name.

‘Are they talking about me?’ Before you could do anything, you lean your ear in just to get a snippet of what they were talking about. You know what they say though, curiosity was what killed the cat.

“Come on Sunarin! You have to like Y/N! She’s so cute, and she cooks you all those bento boxes! If that isn’t girlfriend material, then I don’t know what is.” Hearing Atsumu praise you for your efforts made you smile, trying to hide it by covering your mouth with your hand.

“And, let’s not forget how she already likes you. C’mon Rintarou, we’ve seen her personally hand you your water bottle,” The voice you assume to be Ojiro teases, while everyone in the room laughs.

“Oh yeah!! I’ve seen those expensive electrolyte packets in her bag, man, how does it feel to receive such special treatment from Y/N?”

‘So my actions don’t go unnoticed.’ Your smile grows bigger, clutching your clipboard closer to your chest when feeling just how full your heart is with everyone’s recognition.

“Stop it guys.” Suna’s smooth voice finally enters the picture and you try to stop yourself from giggling out loud. “She’s our manager.”

“So?!? Man, that’s even better! You won’t have a girlfriend who doesn’t understand the importance of the sport. If anything, Y/N is more committed than you, maybe you will be the one competing for her attention against the club,” you hear smooching sounds and Atsumu speaks in a voice that tries to mock Suna’s, but did a terrible job.

“Y/N~ don’t forget all about me!! I love you Y/N~!” More kissing sounds can be heard, and everyone in the room laughs one more time.

The joy in your heart would’ve been extended, if it weren’t for the sudden aggravated scoff from Suna, and the slapping of a towel on bare skin. Atsumu yelps and the room suddenly dies down from the initial humorous atmosphere.

“Man, shut up. I don’t like Y/N. She’s alright, I guess.” a locker door slams shut, “But sometimes, she's just so... annoying. I don't know how much longer I can put up with it. And you know, after a while, it just comes off as desperate.”

‘Desperate? I’m not desperate.’ You weren’t keen on Suna noticing you. You just liked doing all those things for him, it showed you cared, and that he was at least deserving of some special treatment, because he was a very special person in your life.

“I feel bad for her,” he continues, “spending all that time doing shit for someone that doesn’t even like her. I can’t say anything though, cause she’s our manager and I don’t want the team to feel awkward. I guess I just have to suffer with her smothering me all the damn time.”

At that, you feel your once fluttering heart stop. You feel tears beginning to make their way to fall from your eyes, as your face begins to feel hot, but not in a blushing way. More like in a, you were about to sob out loud and the tears probably wouldn’t stop for a while, way.

You loved Suna. He didn’t have to love you back, the least you were asking for was for him to say ‘thank you’. But it appeared that your affection didn’t appear as a display of your love, but something that bothered him. Annoying him to the point of seeing your actions as suffocating. But that didn’t entirely bother you.

It was the fact that he didn’t even want to tell you to stop. He was going to live like that until high school was over, because you were the team’s manager, and it would be ‘awkward’. You begin to overthink.

What if you kept on going about cooking those bento boxes for him, filling his water up with electrolytes, and bringing a special towel from home, all warm and clean, without knowing what he actually thought of your displays of affection? You would’ve lived thinking that Suna somewhat appreciated it. Possibly having the idiotic thought that he was just shy, and maybe didn’t know how to exactly tell you that he liked you.

You are such a dumbass.

You begin to tremble, the pen that was once held up by your clipboard clattering to the ground and startling you. It brought you back to your situation, seeing the door still somewhat closed in front of you. Out of fear that they were going to see you and realise that you were eavesdropping, you ditch the pen and begin to run back to the gym.

You were going to tell the coach that you were feeling sick. You hope the teary eyes and flushed cheeks will do you justice, and he’ll send you home without any repercussions. But as of right now, nothing matters, all that did was the fact that you were annoying the boy you loved, and that your pillows were waiting to welcome your tears until tomorrow morning.

—

It’s been two days. Have you missed school for the past two days? Absolutely not. Suna wasn’t going to make you miss class, as much as you wanted to, you know that if you were going to skip, the school will inform your parents, and that last thing you want is your parents to get involved.

It’s just been two days since you’ve been to volleyball practice. You haven’t been missing your duties at all though. Yes, you’ve been in contact with the coach and Kita, with them informing you on the notes of the team and each player’s performance. The reason for that being, some coaches from Tokyo were planning to head down to Hyogo for a volleyball camp. The team needs to know what they have to improve on, and unfortunately, though you felt as if you weren’t in the right state of mind, you had to fulfil your duties as a manager.

You’re not over Suna, and to be honest, you don’t think you ever will be. He’s been such a constant force in your life, that a lifetime without his presence captivating your mind felt impossible to even conjure. You love Suna Rintarou, but you guess you would just have to hold it inside until the both of you go your separate ways. Maybe then you’ll get over him, but the possibility seemed unlikely.

You just have to give up expecting the response to your love that you’ve been hoping for your entire life.

Checking the cafeteria and seeing if you had enough food supply for three volleyball teams, their respective coaches, and their managers. It seemed like a chore to do all on your own, and it was. But you committed to being the team manager. Suna wasn’t going to change that whether he liked it or not.

“Y/N, the Tokyo teams will be arriving soon. Coach says you need to head to the front and help him with dorm placement.” Sighing and nodding, you get up from your squatting position from the bottom shelf. Kita notices your negative mood, by being the observant asshole that he is. As you were about to exit out the only doorway, he grabs your forearm, holding you back from actually leaving. His sudden touch surprised you, resulting in you jolting back. “I’ve been meaning to ask, are you okay?”

His concern falters your thoughts and movements. In all the time that you’ve been manager of the volleyball team, Kita has never really shown you that much care for how you felt. It surprised you a bit, seeing how concerned he looked for your wellbeing.

Yet again, he’s Suna’s friend.

“I’m okay, why do you ask?” He didn’t believe you, that was clear. It was so obvious when his facial expression did not change, Kita was still staring intently at you. It almost felt like he was trying to read your mind.

“You dropped your pen, by the way.” Taking it out of his pocket, Kita hands you your familiar piece of stationary, not thinking about it, you grab it from his hand. “I know you were by the locker room when Suna said what he said.”

‘Oh shit.’ You felt your heart come to a stop, yet again.

“W-What? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“So it’s just a coincidence that after Suna said that about you, I found your pen in front of the locker room door, and you didn’t show up to practise till today? Y/N, I’m not sure if you’ve failed to learn something about me, but I can tell you that I am not an idiot.”

His words caught you off-guard. Kita managed to figure out what was wrong with you, without even knowing who you were. To be honest, it scared you a bit, getting a glimpse of what Kita can truly find out when he concentrated hard enough. You admire that about him.

Taking your silence as you not knowing what to say, Kita lets go of your forearm and sighs.

“Suna didn’t mean what he said. He’s a very thoughtful individual who was pressured into saying those things by the team. You know how they are. Please try to see things from his perspective, as Suna is often misunderstood.” He begins to walk away, but leaves with a final word, “I’m not telling you to change how you feel about the situation. You have a right to feel how you feel. But, don’t take Suna’s words too seriously.” Kita walks away, leaving you alone in the cafeteria.

‘Did he just say not to take the insults Suna threw at you seriously?’ The aggression left behind the negativity a few days ago wants to say, absolutely not. What Kita said is unfair, to you and your feelings. Suna called you annoying and said you were smothering him, how can you jump around that? So far you haven’t had a night where you haven’t thought about how…mean Suna was. You thought that he only would’ve been mean to Atsumu or the others, but not you, never you.

It’s safe to say that your mind felt like it was on the verge of exploding. It was so stressful to choose whether or not you should believe Kita and show Suna your love again, or just ignore him like what you’ve been doing for the past couple of days.

You think that it’s best to just…not think about the problem. It’s a situation for later, for now, the camp and most importantly, the team needs your utmost attention.

‘God, I hate high school.’

—

“Hey Suna, you good?” Suna takes a sip of water from his bottle, noting that it tasted different from usual. Nodding, he wipes his sweat off with a spare shirt from his bag, also becoming aware that the towel that he was given wasn’t the usual soft one that he had from the beginning of the year. This one was coarse and rough, making him pick up the shirt he intended to wear if he got too sweaty.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Hey, does the water taste a bit weird? Like, spoiled or somethin’ cause it doesn’t taste like how it usually does.” Osamu’s eyebrow raises, grabbing the bottle from Suna’s hands despite his protests, and tasting his friend’s drink. To him, it tasted normal, like the normal water that came from the water fountain.

“No…it tastes like how it usually does?”

“Nah, can’t be man. The water I usually have is sweeter and it tastes like fruit juice. This shit tastes weird.” Suna’s face scrunches up, tasting his water again to see if he was just hallucinating the lack of flavour in his water. It’s stupid, how much he’s overthinking the flavour of something that he shouldn’t think that much about. But he hates how regular water tastes like, only really drinking it if he has to.

Observing Suna, it clicks in Osamu’s head what was missing from the water.

In the past, he has noticed you getting out a packet of electrolytes and putting it into Suna’s bottle with a sincere smile on your face. You looked so cute and happy, it puzzled him why you didn’t tell Suna that it was you that was making his water suitable to his tastes. The silent display of affection made him so jealous, he could only wish that he had someone that cared that much.

“What if you ask Y/N? She’s the one who fills up the water bottles anyway, she should know.” Osamu jogs back to the court, practising once more with the team captain. Inquisitively, Suna does remember that you fill up the water bottles. He also remembered how you asked him once at the beginning of the school year what his favourite drink was, and he only shrugged, saying that he likes fruit chuupets, and ever since then, his water tasted like the familiar fruity taste. Wanting to know why his water hasn’t been tasting like it as of late, it prompted him to go on a search for you. Damn warmups, he needs to know why his water doesn’t have the same taste than it usually does.

Looking around the gym, he sees your figure turn into the hallway. Following you, he begins to walk faster in order to catch up to you, thinking about what to say to you in his head, without coming across as mean.

‘Y/N, why does my water taste bad?’ No. ‘Y/N, why doesn’t my water taste like fruit?’ No, he’s going to sound stuck up. ‘Y/N, why does my water taste like everyone else’s?’ Oh God no, that sounds even worse.

‘Y/N, is there something different about my water?’ There you go. That should sound right.

He was ready to confront you, preparing himself to call out your name. But before he could do so,

“Dove!” Suna’s head snaps to the loud voice in front of him, and so does yours, as a tall, lanky, goofy-looking boy makes his way towards you. Much to Suna’s dismay, for some reason, a smile etches itself onto your face as the other man approaches you. “I thought I would never find you.”

“Tetsu, aren’t you supposed to be practising with your team? You shouldn’t be behind here.”

“Well, I just wanted to see my girl. Is there any harm in that, Dove?”

“Tetsu, stop,” you mutter, a bit shy, “I don’t want people from my school to hear you call me that.”

“Aw, you’re still cute as ever. Here, let me help you with that.” Suna sees the guy, ‘Tetsu’, grab the basket of water bottles from your hands. You protest, pouting a bit as Kuroo brings the case above your reach so that you wouldn’t be able to get it back. “I haven’t seen you in awhile Dove, let me be nice, okay?”

Honestly, he personally doesn’t know what overcame him, but out of nowhere Suna coughed loud enough for the pair to hear. He sees you jump a bit, seeing that one of your teammates, catching you in the midst of a conversation while you were supposed to be doing your duties. And it was even worse for you, as not only was it a teammate, but it was Suna. You assume that he probably hates your guts, based on what he said before. Even so, his glare started to make you feel a bit nervous.

“Can I help you?” Kuroo asks Suna as walks up to the both of them.

“I should be asking you that question. Do you need something from my team manager?” Embarrassed, you look down at your feet, trying to avert your eyes from Suna or Kuroo’s.

Kuroo’s eyes squint, looking at the middle-blocker who, to his surprise, matches his height. The both of them begin to have a staring competition, as one or the other refuses to tear away the eye contact. It started to worry you, because it’s almost been two minutes of harsh breathing and aggressive stares.

“O-Okay, I’ll be taking these then.” You grab the crate from Kuroo and begin to make your way to your original location. “Get back to practise guys! Lunch is in thirty!”

“Who are you and why were you talking to Y/N?”

“Woah, woah, buddy, why are you getting protective? Y/N, is a very, very, close friend of mine, so I think that I have a right to approach her right?” Kuroo smirks, stepping closer to Suna as a form of intimidation. “How about you? Are you her boyfriend or something?”

Suna glares at Kuroo, wanting nothing more than to hit him in the jaw. He would, but one, that would take too much of his energy, and two, he’s pretty sure you would hate him if he does. Still, something in Suna just wanted to tell Kuroo that he was your boyfriend just for him to back off.

But he wasn’t. Because he doesn’t like you. He’s sure of that.

“No.” Kuroo laughs, stepping back before turning to make his way back to the gym.

“Well then, that means nothing is stopping me right?” Kuroo walks away, but not before aggressively pushing Suna’s shoulder back with his own. Though, Suna was too concentrated on what the other boy said to even progress the aggression from the other side.

‘What did he mean ‘nothing is stopping him? Is Kuroo going to do something to you? What will Kuroo do that’ll result in Suna blocking him?’

“Sunarin! What are you still doing out here?!” Atsumu shriek could be heard from down the hall, making Suna jump out of his train of thought. He completely forgot that he was even standing here just staring at a wall and thinking of you. That was weird.

He usually never did.

—

The practice game against Inarizaki and Nekoma was…tense.

You could feel the passive aggressiveness coming strangely, from Kuroo and Suna across the net. Everyone else was curious as well, wondering exactly why these two, who’ve never met before, suddenly have a feud similar to that of a world war. At first, you were completely clueless, but then began to wonder if something happened in the hallway after you left.

Maybe Suna said something to tease Kuroo? Or maybe, it was the other way around and now they just want to kill each other.

In the third set at twenty-two points to Inarizaki and twenty-four points to Nekoma, the stakes and the nerves were equally as high. Nekoma has one win and Inarizaki has the other. It seems that this practice game was being played for far more than it actually was, since Kuroo and Suna never acknowledged each other apart from glaring and swearing at each other under their breath. Their respective teams kept asking them if they were okay, both replying with, “yeah, let’s just win.”

“Do you think something happened between Suna and that Nekoma player?” The coach asks you, leaning in and whispering it so that others wouldn’t hear.

“I’m not sure…but they do seem pretty aggressive with one another.”

Then, as you look away for just a moment, a spike comes from Nekoma, but was thankfully received by Kita. Following a set by Atsumu, Osamu jumped to spike it down, but was then blocked by none other than Kuroo himself.

At the brink of time, Ojiro retrieves it back, calling Atsumu to set it once more, this time for Suna to powerfully spike it down, aiding them in their two point loss between them and Nekoma. As Suna jumps up, you see Kuroo and Kenma jump as well.

A feeling of failure begins to settle in your heart.

Suna hits the ball, powerfully, the first time you’ve seen him hit a ball with so much energy.

But the ball immediately lands back down onto the same side, Kita not able to have caught up to it in time. Nekoma cheers out loud, congratulating each other on their hard work.

While Inarizaki lost, they began to support each other for their efforts, but you notice that Suna didn’t look as relieved as the others. His stare is hostile, facing towards the otherside where you see Kuroo looking at him with the same confrontational gaze. You swallow nervously, beginning to make your way towards Suna to pull him back. The Inarizaki boys take notice as well, observing how Suna and Kuroo were both stomping their way to each other. The same feeling of failure seeps into your chest again and you could sense something was going to go terribly wrong–

Suna punched Kuroo in the jaw!

Out of nowhere, a fight begins between the two players, both of them tussling with one another in the middle of the court. Kuroo lands a punch on Suna but is equally stunned when Suna fights back almost immediately after. You notice how Kuroo was pulling at his shirt, trying to bring him closer to land another blow, but fails as Suna strikes him one after the other. Both Nekoma and Inarizaki run up to their players, trying to pull them apart from one another.

The coaches start to shout at their players, ordering them to stop what they were doing at once.

Successfully, they both are torn apart from one another, but still continue to fight the air as they try to continue their brawl.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” Your coach asks, trying to instill some discipline into his player. Unfortunately, your heart fails to calm down after witnessing the both of them fight so aggressively. You’ve never seen Suna fight someone, or him be so mad.

Suna looks up, pulling his arms away from his teammates and stares at you.

As the both of you make eye-contact, you refuse to move from your position and remain shaking. Almost as if you gave him an answer to something, Suna walks away, leaving behind everyone in awe.

Just then, you look up at Kita, who nods for you to go.

‘Should I go?’

The memory of him calling you annoying and smothering comes back in your mind.

‘Does he deserve my comfort?’

“Please try to see things from his perspective, as Suna is often misunderstood.”

Putting down the clipboard on the bench, you run outside to try and find Suna. Fall has never been kind to Hyogo, as rain pelts down from the sky, fogging your ability to try and see Suna. You call out his name, but your volume is minute in comparison to the strength of the rain.

Running into the open hallway, you look left and right to try and find the familiar boy. But, no luck. Your heart begins to ache at the realisation that you had no idea where Suna is. You didn’t know what he was doing all by himself in weather like this. Inside, you sincerely hope that he didn’t run out in the street.

‘Oh God, what if he did?’

Out of sheer panic, you run towards the direction of the gate, praying to the heavens that he didn’t do the latter. With rain coming down this hard, you knew that driver’s wouldn’t be able to see as clearly as they usually do. And the thought of Suna running into the street in hopes of getting his comfort jelly chuupets at the convenience store down the road doesn’t make you feel better at all.

You run out the gate, looking towards the direction of the store, failing to catch Suna or any person resembling him standing in the vicinity of it. Trying to get nearer and get a closer look, the sound of a blaring horn fills your ears. Turning to the left, you see a car heading your way, swerving side to side in a skidding motion. The road was so slippery in this type of weather, but why couldn’t you move?

The car was getting closer and your feet felt like they were stuck on the ground.

‘Why can’t I move?’

“Y/N!” Your body jerks back to the side. The car swiftly passes the both of you, getting back onto its regular general direction before driving further down the road. You feel your heart beating profusely, your heaving chest moving up and down in hopes of slowing it. “Are you stupid?! What do you think you’re doing?!?”

Looking up to thank your saviour, Suna’s panicked face greets you causing you to go silent. Both at the same time, you feel relief and stress seeing his face. Mostly relief because you’ve finally found him after all the events that occured today.

“Answer me—“

“Idiot!” Pushing him back, Suna stands there stunned while you clench your fists by your sides. “What—What do you think you’re doing, getting into fights, running out in the rain…are you a child?!? What is going on with you??”

Suna stands there silently.

“And don’t just stand there, I ran out in the road because, because I thought you went to buy your stupid chuupets that you love so much down at the convenience store! You are like a child, wanting fucking food when you’re angry or stressed. You know, I shouldn’t have come out here. In the rain, getting all wet. But you know what Suna, you know what’s pathetic? This, running in shitty weather like this, wouldn’t only be the most drastic thing I do for you.

Suna, for months, I-I’ve been buying expensive ass electrolyte packets, because I know you wouldn’t drink regular water. You only drink water that tastes like fruit juice. That’s from my own money by the way! I also cook you food, that I spend time out of my nights, and sometimes mornings, because you are picky! I know you don’t like cafeteria food, so I just threw my food into the circle, hoping to God that you just might like it! And-And let’s not forget about my towel, my hand sewn, hand washed, machine dried towel. I bring it for you fresh everyday Suna! I know you don’t like the rough school towels, so I brought mine with my initials!

And do I get noticed? No! I never got a ‘thank you’, or even a nod of recognition?! I have Atsumu or Osamu return my bento box in silence, even my towel, thrown into the pile with the rest of the team’s towels, and I get called annoying. I slave myself every day, Suna, just to get your attention. But I don’t think you realise that, I don’t have to do these things. I have never, ever, forced myself to do these things.

I am sorry, if I smother you Suna. I just love you so fucking much that I don’t realise the things I do to care for you, are exhausting.

But now, I’m exhausted. Of not receiving the gratitude I expect for the things I do. I was fine for awhile Suna, but now I’m—“

Then, you feel yourself being pushed onto his chest. One of Suna’s arms wrap around your waist, while the other holds your head down gently, as if silencing you from saying the rest of what you wanted to say. You feel shock course through your veins as the last thing you expected was a hug from the Suna Rintarou.

You and Suna stood under the harsh rain, their heartbeats echoing the drumming of waterdrops around them. The world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them in that intimate moment.

“Don’t get tired Y/N, please don’t get tired of me.” Out of nowhere, you feel yourself begin to cry. Wiping your tears onto Suna’s already wet jersey, he manages to sense your exhaustion, urging him to glide his hand on top of your head continuously. “I am grateful Y/N, that you do all these things for me without me having to ask.”

Suna pulls the both of you apart, cradling your face as he attempts to wipe your tears off. Despite his efforts however, you continue to cry, meanwhile struggling to breathe as you attempt to catch your breath. It feels like despite all the tears you’ve cried in private, seeing Suna recognise you brought a whole different wave of emotions.

“Don’t cry, I don’t want to see you crying because of me.” At that moment, Suna ponders for a bit as you see him look at you. You feel yourself freeze as he leans down to plant two kisses on both of your cheeks, an effort to dry your tears. Putting his forehead on yours, his thumbs continuously brush your jawline, as if he was admiring you. “It’s difficult for me to say Y/N, but I love you.”

Your eyes widen.

“I’ve loved you since elementary when you pushed that little boy off the swing after he pushed me off. I’ve loved you since middle school when you would sneakily put chuupets on my desk, even if you thought I didn’t know. You’re beautiful Y/N. And, I’m sorry for not thanking you earlier for everything you’ve done for me. I’m not brave like you, I can’t show the people I love that I care for them.”

“B-But the bento…”

“Of course I ate it. It hurts me to think that I didn’t, I just always asked Atsumu or Osamu to bring it back. You make me nervous Y/N. I can’t confidently walk up to you when you get prettier every time my eyes turn to you.

You make me weak, Y/N.” You huff, sniffling as Suna lands another kiss on the tip of your nose. He smiles and brings you in for another hug, but this time, your arms wrap around him tightly.

It is difficult to love Suna Rintarou.

It was a path fraught with uncertainties and moments of doubt. But as you stood there, holding the rain-soaked figure before you, you knew that the journey was worth it. Because in the depths of his guarded heart, you had found a love that was as powerful as it was fragile, as beautiful as it was challenging. And you were determined to weather the storm, to be the unwavering presence that helped him navigate the complexities of love and vulnerability.

#haikyuu #haikyuu anime #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu angst #haikyuu hurt/comfort #suna rintarou #suna rintaro x you #suna rintaro x reader #suna rintaro fic #suna rintaro haikyuu #suna rintarou angst #suna rintarou fluff #suna rintarou hurt/comfort #suna rintarō #suna rintaro imagine #suna rintaro x y/n #suna rintaro scenarios

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maryrouille · 7 months ago

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Toxic romanticization of studying

In a word of introduction, my profile partly shows that studying and exploring is wonderful. But as a person involved in science*, I would like to show healthy and true patterns of this beautiful adventure in acquiring knowledge.

The inspiration for writing this post this time was not the phenomenon from Tumblr (although you can also observe it here), but from Pinterest. There you can come across cycles composed of quotes and photos whose aim is to motivate young girls to learn, succeed and get good grades. These images often also show examples of characters from movies, TV series or real life that you can aspire to be like. Overall, I have to agree that it really works! But I would like to draw attention to certain elements that need to be verified.

1. You shouldn't get up at 5am

First of all, the correct amount of sleep is one of the most important factors affecting the proper and effective functioning of our brain. During sleep, nerve cells regenerate, organize information acquired during the day and consolidate memory traces, which is directly related to learning. Lack of sleep increases impulsivity, deepens negative thinking and slows down the body's reaction time!

2. You can be a genius without good grades

Of course, good grades are a pleasant confirmation of our knowledge and praise for hard work. However, sometimes it is worth considering whether the structure of exams themselves, especially those with closed questions, affects the results. We often study for one specific exam, the knowledge of which may be very… limited and sometimes not useful, so it is worth prioritizing the topics that we study hard.

3. It's not cool to think you're better than others

We are different and have different priorities in life. It is also worth considering how many people escape from the rat race and start a slow, stress-free life. So we have to agree that judging people based on grades or responses under stress (sic!) is not cool.

The good thing about romanticizing studying

As I have already said, these types of collages are really motivating. So let's talk about what's great about them and what's worth highlighting and saving for later.

1. Knowledge is beautiful, but your outfit and surroundings can also be

We know that we should never judge a book by its cover, but… the issue of social perception painfully confirms that we do and will continue to do so because this is how our brains work. And isn't it nice when someone looks at us and thinks this girl is so classy?

Moreover, a nice outfit that makes us feel good gives us a lot of self-confidence. There are also many studies confirming the positive impact on motivation and concentration of a neat and aesthetic workplace.

2. Not just cramming, but also discovering

Broadening your horizons is easier with passion and real commitment. And to achieve this, the topics must really interest us. Not everyone has yet found something that they are extremely passionate about in science, so that is why you have to dig deeper and discover different areas.

3. Don't be afraid to use your knowledge in practice

Schools and universities, unfortunately, have their own rules and they do not always allow you to show your 100% potential. Thus, share your knowledge with others externally, write essays, blog and social media. This form of activity also makes you learn things faster and easier. In addition, contacts with others will expand your knowledge.

Therefore, I must say that it is worth choosing your inspirations carefully. Nothing helps you enjoy studying better than a clear head and lack of prejudices.

*This post was inspired by my own experience with studying. If anyone is interested, I think I can share my mistakes that did not help me in an academic adventure :)

#study aesthetic #healthy studying #study motivation #studyblr #dark academia #light academia #studyspo #study inspiration #study inspo #study blog #studying #productivitytips #studyblr community

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snowballseal · 3 months ago

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Insecurities - Rafayel

Summary: Here is the portion of Rafayel reacting to your insecurities. And you best know this man goes big to prove a point. Much fluff.

Here is the original with the other LADS boys

Word Count: 1831

Notes: Reader has insecurities about they way they look, so just keep in mind. It ends fluffy and happy though.

---

“Rafayel, do I look okay?”

The artist immediately drops whatever he was doing, twisting around to peer over the back of the couch as you step into the studio.

His iridescent eyes scan over your figure, his voice lilting with teasing affection, “I’m not sure I even want to go if this is what you’re wearing. I think everyone would think you’re the art and ignore my hard work.”

You wrinkle your nose. Partially because he’s being ridiculous. Partially because you don’t really believe him. The dress is gorgeous of course, he did a great job of helping you pick one out, but it doesn’t change the way you’ve been feeling for the past few days.

Before you met Rafayel, you never paid much attention to how you looked. Not in a bad way, you kept yourself neat and dressed up whenever you went out for special occasions, but it was never on your mind much. But now…You don’t know. It’s not Rafayel’s fault, the man has never been shy in complimenting you, but you can’t help but notice the type of women that like to approach him. All gorgeous enough to be models, with the confidence to match - seeing as they always have to gall to flirt with him even when you’re holding hands.

And you wish it didn’t get to you. It shouldn’t. Rafayel doesn’t even bat an eyelash at them, always focusing on you or making more obvious shows of affection to chase them away. Still, the more it happens, the more you find yourself caring about how you look, or not liking the way you look.

And wearing a lovely dress only seems to highlight your self-perceived flaws.

“Do you really think it looks okay?” You ask again, fiddling with the satin self-consciously.

Rafayel’s brow furrows a little. He tilts his head, looking almost like a confused puppy, “What is it? Do you not like the dress? Do you not want to go anymore? Please don’t make me go alone. These galleries are sooo boring without you, I hate them.”

“They’re your galleries,” you point out, shaking your head with a small smile, “How can you hate them so much? It’s your work, they deserve to be celebrated.”

“Why go stare at my own work when I can spend the night staring at you?”

Heat creeps up your cheeks. Usually you’d have a witty comeback to his flirting, but you can’t find anything tonight, not with how you’re feeling. So you just ruffle his hair fondly, avoiding the intense affection in his gaze.

“Come on, Thomas will be mad if we don’t show up. We need to go.”

Rafayel’s eyes narrow. Before you can pull away, he grabs your wrist, keeping you anchored to where you are. Your heart jumps to your throat at the serious expression he suddenly gives you.

“What’s wrong? You’re acting strange.”

Being an artist, Rafayel knows you, your face, your body, better than anyone. He’s always looking at you, holding on to every new detail he finds. Like the way your eyes crinkle when you laugh. How the tip of your nose turns rosy when you’re even a little cold. Or how your lips twitch before you lie. Like they are now.

“I’m fine, Raffie, just…tired,” you sigh, tugging against his hold, still trying to avoid him, “Now come on, we should go.”

“Hmmmmm…no.”

You squeak as Rafayel unexpectedly gives your wrist a sharp pull. The momentum sends you tumbling over the back of the couch, right into his lap, and before you can escape, he has you wrapped in his arms. Stuck.

“Rafayel-! Let go of me,” you growl, squirming around hopelessly. The man is surprisingly strong, and with your feet still tossed over the back of the couch, you can’t get enough leverage to escape.

“Nope, not until you tell me what’s wrong,” he hums, arms tightening around your waist.

You huff and give him a solid glare, “This isn’t funny, Rafayel.”

“And neither is hiding something that’s obviously bothering you,” he snips back softly, “You’re a horrible liar, miss bodyguard.”

“I just…” You cross your arms, face feeling warmer and warmer the longer he stares at you. Why does he have to be so stubborn at times like this? “I haven’t been feeling good about myself lately, okay? That’s it, now can we go?”

“Nope.” You resist the urge to groan.

“Thomas is going to throw a fit-”

“He can handle it tonight, I’ll give him a bonus. What’s more important is fixing this.” Rafayel props his chin on your shoulder, a contemplative frown pulling at his lips. “It’ll have to be something creative, which I’m great at, of course. But what?”

“Rafayel, this really isn’t necessary,” you grumble, “I don’t think it’s something you can fix.”

The artist shakes his head, pressing a faint kiss to your shoulder, “I think you underestimate me, cutie. But that’s okay, I think I know exactly what to do.”

Lifting you up, Rafayel sets you back on the couch gingerly and darts off after giving you instructions to not move. A heavy sigh passes your lips as you fix your dress, though it seems a bit pointless now. It doesn’t sound like you’ll be going to the gallery.

A part of you is secretly relieved at that. You love looking at Rafayel’s work, but since it’s his gallery, all the attention would be on him, and, consequently, you as well. It’s a bit suffocating. Still, you’re a little wary of whatever plan he has concocted. Rafayel is as unpredictable as he is talented.

Time seems to tick by slowly as you sit on the couch. You eye the clock, noting each minute as it passes by. Your nerves only continue to rise the longer you’re alone. What on earth is he doing?

On the tenth minute, Rafayel reappears, a mischievous spark in his eyes. He offers you a hand.

“The gallery is ready for you to attend, cutie.”

This time, your eyes narrow, though you still take his hand, allowing him to help you up. “I thought you said we weren’t going?”

“Oh, this is a different kind of gallery,” he hums, looking quite proud of himself, “I think you’ll enjoy this one a lot more. And I’ll be your personal tour guide.”

“How kind,” you muse, fighting your own smile. You might as well humor him, even if it doesn’t help. As long as Rafayel is happy, you can count the night as some kind of success.

Rafayel leads you to one of the spare rooms of the studios. You vaguely remember him telling you at some point that it’s a room he likes to keep his sketchbooks and unfinished projects in. You cast him a curious glance, but his eyes are set ahead as he touches the door, that smile still painted across his lips.

“These works are some of the most important that I’ve ever done, and you’ll be the first to see them. My heart rests in your hands tonight, so be careful, otherwise you might mortally wound me and I’ll never have the courage to paint again.”

You roll your eyes at his antics, about to make a sassy remark, but the words get lost when he presses the door open. Your eyes go wide at the sight before you.

The room is lit by candles, flickering with the flames of his evol. Their light dances across countless artworks spread across the room, hanging on every surface, each one depicting the same subject.

You.

Most of them are sketches, their strokes simple and spontaneous but laden with care, like he had wanted to capture a precious moment for himself. There’s one of you dozing off on the couch, another of you dancing in the kitchen. There’s even one of you holding a stuffy, from one of your many trips to the arcade.

The further you walk into the room, the more detailed the pieces become.

A charcoal drawing of you in your uniform, gun drawn on something off page. The lines of your body are like water, fluid and graceful, the look in your eyes somehow burning with a fierce determination.

An oil painting of the night you spent at the market. Your image is looking at a sparkler, the light reflected in your eyes like stars, your cheeks painted a soft rosy color that seems to glow. It’s impossibly delicate, each stroke placed with such intention, it’s almost like you’re there again.

The final painting you come to make your face go warm again. It’s of you, curled up under a familiar set of sheets, mostly focused on your face. Your hair pools against the pillow, messy yet somehow charming in its unruliness. The morning sunlight dapples across your skin, highlighting the soft color of your lips and the gentle curve of your smile. But it’s your eyes that really make your breath catch. You can practically see the sleepy fog in them, like you had just woken, but also the undeniable warmth. The love.

It’s…beautiful. They’re all beautiful. And they’re all you.

“This is…” You swallow around the lump in your throat, suddenly feeling off-kilter. “I can’t believe you did all of these.”

Rafayel, who had been following behind you silently, hums softly and curls his arms around your waist. You lean back into his touch, letting it ground you and your swirling emotions.

“It’s been difficult even focusing on my work for the gallery. Everything else seems to pale in comparison when I have such a beautiful muse in front of me all the time,” he murmurs the words against your temple, voice quiet to match the atmosphere of the room. “I could devote lifetimes to painting you and never grow tired of it.”

You bite back a bashful smile, unable to resist the urge to tease him a little, “I didn’t realize I was so distracting.”

“Just ask Thomas. I think this is the most he’s ever had to remind me to finish my work,” Rafayel chuckles, giving your waist a squeeze. “But it was worth the missed deadlines. Afterall, isn’t it my responsibility as your employer and lover to make sure you understand how much I cherish you?”

Your heart flutters wildly as the brazen affection in his tone. It seems to melt away your doubts, replacing them with an overwhelming feeling of fondness for your artist. Only Rafayel would do something like this for you, how could you deny it?

Turning around in his hold, you lean up on your tiptoes and press a kiss to his cheek, which you notice is an absolutely rosy shade of red. It makes you feel even more fond. You really really love this man.

“Thank you, my pretty fish. I feel much better now.”

That dazzling smile lights up his face again, and he leans down to scatter kisses all over your face, whispering between your bouts of giggles, “Anything for you, my queen.”

---

All the smooches. I love this man. I will die on the hill of using the nickname "fish" or "fishie" with him, I think it's soooo cute.

#lads rafayel x reader #lads rafayel #love and deepspace rafayel #rafayel x reader #x reader #reader insert #love and deepsace #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace reader insert #insecurity #fluffy ending #love and deepspace rafayel x reader

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girlypopbops · 3 months ago

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⋆˙⟡Ultimate Self Care Sunday Guide ⋆˙⟡

☆.。.:*·°☆.。.:*·°☆.。.:*·°☆.。.:*·°☆.。.:*·°☆.。.:*·°☆.。.:*·°☆

When I think about Sundays I think about rejuvenation and pleasure ; enjoying the day while doing a weekly reset.

On Sundays I like to sleep in and get that well deserved beauty sleep, the key to any successful reset is being well rested and grounded.

♡ (10:00am) Wake up, take my time waking up & lay in bed for a few mins, stretch and take some deep breaths, positive affirmations

"Today I am grateful for..."

"I deserve to treat my body with love and care today."

"I am committed to improving myself and achieving my goals daily."

♡ Open the blinds, straighten up room, and make bed. Starting the day with a bright and neat room is a simple and refreshing way to start the day off on the right foot, a small achievement as soon as you step out of bed will inspire you to keep going.

♡ Drink water & take my meds and supplements. Since it had been hours since I had any water hydrating is super important, and since I'm already taking my medicine might as well finish the glass off.

♡ Journal and plan day. Having a game plan and a clear mind before doing any real tasks sets the foundation for a productive day and promotes mindfulness. I like to have rose quartz, clear quartz, and amethyst on my desk while I journal to set peaceful intentions and promote self love. I have a five minute journal so I begin by thinking of 3 things I'm grateful for, one affirmation, and 3 things I can do for the day that will make it great. Typically on Sundays taking my time, being attentive, and being proactive are my goals for making the day great. I'll then make a to-do list for the day.

♡ Skin care and comfy clothes. Washing my face, moisturizing and putting on sunscreen is the perfect simple skin care for running errands, I usually wear some sweat pants and a t-shirt to finish the fit.

♡ Breakfast! I always like to have lots of fruit and a sweet treat on Sundays as part of my breakfast as a treat for getting through the prior week.

♡ Reset cleaning session. I like to do a full vacuum of my space, mop, wipe everything down, run the dish washer, and do my laundry. Other cleaning tasks vary based on the week but I like to make sure I am doing those tasks weekly. I also like to make sure to wash towels on Sunday since sometimes I'll do laundry on Wednesday and don't do towels then.

♡ Ultimate shower vibe time. The everything shower of my dreams after being all sweaty from cleaning. ( I have a post about this already on my page!)

♡ Light a candle and set the vibes with some mood lighting.

♡ Do my full skin care routine, face mask ect...

♡ A nice filling dinner & tv show. I love a Sunday night pasta dish with a Diet Coke while watching Pretty Little Liars.

♡ Journal. My five minute journal has a section to do in the evening, it asks to write down 3 highlights of the day and what lesson you learned for the day. It's a nice way to look back fondly on the day.

♡ Read. I like to read before bed since it helps me to fall asleep! I've been reading The Four Agreements by Don Miguel Ruiz and Conversations on Love by Natasha Lunn!

♡ (10:30pm) Night time meds & slumber!

#that girl #it girl #self care #wellness girl #dream life #self care sunday #sunday mood #self care night #morning routine #night routine #daily routine #life style #affirmations #journaling #girly stuff #just girly things #cool girl

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leclerckiss · 6 months ago

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pretty in pink ౨ৎ

notes: oscar piastri x girly!reader, est. relationship, protective demeanour, unwelcome attention from strangers, fluff. requested.

a/n: i adored writing this, and it helped encourage me to stop writing for only charles in all honesty. ily.

The aroma of petrichor against warm pastries from the L'Amour du Pain Vieux bakery nearby lingers, skies over Montréal grey with the lull of clouds where hints of the early afternoon light dance through and upon the Circuit Gilles Villeneuve below, a gentle remnant of dampness about the smooth stone streets from rainfall earlier in the hour that has since come to a halt.

With qualifying to commence in a few hours – highlighting the true beginning of the Canadian Grand Prix where your boyfriend hopes to secure the finest result possible – there is a heightening feel about the paddock as you wander through, latte of oat-milk and vanilla balanced in one soft-skinned hand, donned in your favourite, little dress like blushing, pale peonies.

After an early albeit comfortable, familiar morning waking beside Oscar in your shared hotel suite amongst the quiet luxury of pretty, minimal décor – mussed bed sheets of lush cotton, cashmere throws and interlocked limbs – shared, slow kisses and breakfast consisting of sweet, syruped pancakes and coffee, before greeting the true day ahead, you are most excited.

Amongst conversational journalists with inviting, saccharine smiles merely for enticement and photographers who do not hesitate to notice your face, the lovely and pretty diamond that is Oscar Piastri's lovable girlfriend, you have never quite opposed to the media attention so long as you have him by your side.

"Hm." Chanel ballet flats of embroidered ivory and light-pink clicking on the path, comforted by your sweet treat in hand whilst balancing your iPhone in the other – a brief conversation with your lover concluding he would be busy for another couple of minutes at least due to press conferences – you are mostly contently lost in your own daydreams.

"Excuse me?"

It is the sound of a voice addressed in your direction that has you faltering in your gait, pretty head tilting just the slightest to glimpse over your shoulder just as the sudden voice and approach of a male has you somewhat shy.

"Sorry, I feel like I know you from somewhere," He is youthful, perhaps the same age or a year older than the aforementioned by looks, dressed rather comfortably in a clean, white shirt of linen only half-buttoned against the beige hues of his trousers, Française Cartier watch glinting on his wrist.

His mouth curves on a smile, eyes like caramel dancing over your face and lower until he allows himself the fleeting, silent glance at how the neat edges of your mini dress hug your thighs before straightening his stance once again, lithe fingers threading through his styled, light hair.

The words leave you a touch perplexed given you certainly do not recognise him and lack any recollection of his face, laughing uncertainly as you tuck a stray hair behind the shell of your ear with the clink of a rose quartz bracelet about your wrist, the sound sweet as an angel's.

"I'm sorry, I don't think–"

"It's alright, I don't either." The man continues with an amiable shrug as though pretending to understand or assume what you had been meaning to say, countenance turning more charismatic on the edge of a revealed dimple, "My name's Jacques, love."

There is something in his gaze and the execution of his demeanour which has you hesitating, rosebud mouth parted ajar whilst you glance about momentarily even when the hint of a natural, polite smile remains.

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Jacques," You reply quietly, the expression you hold towards him is a pleasant one despite yourself, although not enough to reveal the slight discomfort that lurks in the depths of your stomach, "But my boyfriend is–"

"Right here."

As if the mention or mere thought of him was an innate manifestation, you are greeted with the presence of a certain, handsome individual where you recognise the warmth of his aura just as fingertips are felt on the curve of your vertebrae against a splayed palm.

You cannot deny or refuse the immediate beginnings of a soft smile and the ease flourishing within you as soon as his touch is known, the lingering scent of his cologne with hints of patchouli and rosewood permeating, an incline of your head allowing gazes to meet momentarily in mutual greeting.

He stands tall beside you, the limb draped around your waist a familiar presence whilst eyes of an intimate, rich hue that remind you of coffee and autumn dance between yourself and the other man who now stands a touch awkwardly with a dissuaded visage.

"Is this man bothering you, princess?" His tone is honey-like, a smooth and lowered baritone that you adore, though there is the telltale sign of his fingertips that press a touch firmer against your hipbone, and the arch of a brow, that demonstrates the silent brewing of protectiveness in the midst of his affections for you. Oscar Piastri is an affectionate sweetheart, true to his feelings and honest in generosity with the renowned presence of patience, though can be a defensive figure when the subject concerns his girl.

"Not really. He was just being friendly," Your cadence is light and sweet with imploration, the subtle gesture of a kiss left against his cheekbone in comforting warmth as you balance on the edge of your toes momentarily.

You are sweet, almost too much so with your pretty looks and the faint glimpses of innocence there even though you know exactly where you stand; it has Oscar longing to return to the quiet privacy of home where nobody will harass you both for attention, where he can have you to himself even if only for a little while.

Jacques chuckles, almost uncertainly in a manner that juxtaposes his previous incentive whilst tucking one palm into the concealing wool of his tailored slacks when he nods, "I was just saying 'hello', no harm done."

The Australian does not seem particularly reassured though there is no instigation for a disagreement, looking over the other only a moment longer without another word before he's silently coaxing you against his side when he walks with a gait somewhat quicker than his usual.

"Wait," Your kissable lips touch a little downward in uncertain wonder, though you follow his guidance easily, a touch intrigued by his lingering silence that lacks explanation, "Where are we headed? Was I doing something wrong?"

There is no initial comfort or answer to your inquiries as he looks forward, evidently lost to his own thoughts whilst internally calming himself from the dwindling ache of his possession over you, a muscle in the line of his jaw shifting almost imperceptibly.

A boring press conference consisting of being asked the same questions like a repetitive, tedious dance had already left him a touch bitter, and the sight of a stranger trying to steal his girlfriend's attention away only aggravates him further.

Eventually, your shared walk leads to the quieter alcoves of the McLaren hospitality comforts until he's nudging you backwards through a white-varnished door, breathing in the sweetness of your perfume – Good Girl: Blush – with hints of almond against sweet peonies, vanilla and coumarin.

"You weren't doing anything wrong," Oscar murmurs, his arm entwined securely about your figure as his lips ghost over the outer shell of your ear near the glimmer of divine, embellished earrings he gifted you on your birthday after he had seen you admiring them through the glass of a jewellery shop once, swallowing slowly.

It is a quiet, comfortable room – one that he often confides in the refuge of when in need of fleeing from the never-ending attention and demands of his profession, an inviting, plush chaise lounge of white cushioning, shelves and cupboards of various items.

Your glossed lips touch into a delicate pout of mystery, a gentle sound of consideration and acknowledgement leaving the back of your throat whilst arms drape loosely around his neck, the edges of your thumbs tracing along his nape where you feel the soft hairs there.

"Then what was it?"

"Nothing." It is an uncharacteristically brief reply, though the manner his lightly-calloused palms cradle the small of your waist until he cannot quite restrain himself from the tightened grasp there with a brief glance towards the closed door, exhaling through his teeth in some kind of defeat, "I'm... Do you want me to be honest?"

The question is uttered so softly that the question leaves you a fraction breathless, heart thrumming within the interns of your rib cage like a dove locked away as you nod.

"I always want the truth from you, Ossie," You respond in a lull so saccharine it sounds like a sing-song of delight, the edge of your index finger and thumb dancing downwards against the soft fabric of his sweater before pausing when you meet his eyes through your lashes.

Oscar sighs, though there is the slightest of reservations of a smile the corners of his mouth at the manner in which you address him, a nickname reserved especially for when the two of you are alone together and intimate.

He does not immediately bless you with an answer, tilting your head towards him in silent, shared invitation before your mouths melt together. It is slow and sweet, tasting one another and your belongings forgotten on the nearby, makeshift desk of polished oak, a sweetened hint of café au lait on your tongue.

"Seeing that man," He begins between chaste kisses, not quite allowing you the liberty of shying away as he holds you close until your back nudges the ivory-coated wall behind, near drawn photographs of memorabilia from old Grand Prixes, "And how he looked at you, it made me want to–"

He pauses, inhaling audibly as though trying to meditate on his own emotions in that moment, his hands feeling over your body like a sculptor and his finest work before he swallows the remainder of his sentence with a kiss.

Oscar Piastri is an undeniably attractive man when he's possessive over you, touching every inch of you like his belongings, muttered sweet nothings and vows of devotions against your tongue. It is a warm feeling, knowing he will always protect you without hesitance. And he does, cherishes you like the pretty doll you seem to be, because he cares in some earnest, undying reality.

"I love you."

The punctuation of another kiss, "I love you more." And he traces the jut of your ribs through the thin, velveteen fabric of your rosé dress when he holds you close until you're flush together, sighing against your lips, "I will never let anybody hurt you, ever. Understood?"

"I understand."

#౨ৎ works #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x you #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 x you #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader

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sanguine-prince · 8 months ago

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i’m sure i’m not the first to say something like this, but let me tell you about my poc-passing-as-white jay gatsby headcanon!!

for some background, in the 1920s there was an interesting shift regarding (white) skin tones. previously, tans were viewed as a sign that a person worked out in the fields, and therefore a trademark of the lower class. however, slowly after the industrial revolution, it increasingly became a representation of luxury, since the rich upper class would have the time to lounge about and sunbathe at their leisure.

i say all this to show that a poc gatsby would have the ostensible class and wealth for a tan, which would ‘excuse’ a slightly browner skin tone in the public eye.

(the 20s was also the setting of passing by nella larsen, so that’s neat.)

in my vision, he’s biracial (maybe his mother was black & his father was a german immigrant) with skin light enough to pass for white.

the fact that nick states that gatsby keeps his hair neatly groomed and cut might be to prevent it from curling up.

additionally, i think it could contrast tom’s white supremacy & his fear of poc social progress.

it would also create a deeper divide between gatsby and daisy, and once again the contrast between him and tom. in my mind, daisy wouldn’t know about it until the point where tom reveals everything about gatsby’s bootlegging etc. with jay revealing it to her in the car ride back (oops then she hits myrtle).

then, when she chooses tom and the life of comfort, wealth, status, etc that their marriage offers, she also rejects not only gatsby’s new money but also his race.

it’s a lot more thematically significant for the american dream as well—it’s still unattainable and essentially tainted by capitalism, and it also emphasizes that it’s restricted to the white upper class. social mobility only becomes available to gatsby when he disguises his racial identity.

similarly, it fits with gatsby’s identity reconstruction—the quintessential american is white, rich, and educated.

daisy and tom have that ticket into society because they have that inherent thing that he will never have—pedigree, in both class and race. that’s something that even nick has.

(in my mind, he tells nick all about it the night before he dies & nick understands as best he can and doesn’t think less of him, because it further highlights the differences between his & gatsby’s relationship v. gatsby’s relationship with daisy; namely, the transparency -> acceptance give-and-take that he and daisy never had. because of having to hide himself from daisy in order to maintain her affection, he builds an expectation that he must be someone that he is not as well as developing a transactional definition of love (he gives, and people love him as long as he can continue to give) in order to be loved. therefore, nick’s immediate curiosity and fascination with who he truly is is foreign to him. not to get too into their dynamic lmao i just think it’s really interesting.)

finally, the very last part where nick is sitting and looking at the bay and thinking about the first immigrants and their dreams and how gatsby embodied the purity and naivety of those dreams is further exemplified by his racial ‘otherness.’

and there’s,,, technically nothing in the book to explicitly refute this from what i remember!

(n.b.: it has been a hot second since i’ve read tgg, so lmk if i’ve got anything wrong!)

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lostfracturess · 9 months ago

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symptoms and causes | ch. 06

ღ pairing professor gojo x med student reader

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

ღ wc 7.4 k

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

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

series masterlist + playlist + ao3 + wattpad

<- prev chapter | next chapter ->

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

The clock on the bedside table read noon.

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

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

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

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

You paused, watching him for a moment.

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

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

You walked closer. "Where your pants at?"

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

"How are you feeling?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No."

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

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

"You want a saline drip?"

"What? No."

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

"Why would you even have that at home?"

His lips formed a thin line.

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

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

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

"Did I pass your check-up?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Why didn't you wear a shirt?"

"It's hot outside."

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

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

Next time?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The room fell silent.

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

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

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

"But Satoru—"

"Not now," he cut you off.

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

"We can't just keep avoiding this."

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

"God, Satoru, you're so selfish!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"That's not fair."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There was a long silence.

He said nothing.

You turned away, frustration boiling over.

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

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

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

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

"Yes."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The stage was set for a strategic play.

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

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

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

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

Huh?

That's what he wants to know?

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

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

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

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

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

He hesitated.

"No lies," you remained him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I want to hear it from you."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Does that scare you?" he asked.

If his addiction scares you? What a stupid question.

It didn't scare you.

It made you furious.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You didn't respond.

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

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

What a bitch.

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

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

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

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

Stupid mistake.

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

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

He paused before replying, "Losing you."

"Liar," you retorted.

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

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

"How do you really feel about me?"

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

"I don't know."

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

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

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

"Not your turn for questions."

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

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

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

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

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

"How much?" you pressed.

"Just one question—"

"How much, Satoru?"

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

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

"Only when I'm around you."

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

He didn't respond, his silence speaking volumes.

You felt like you're about to throw up.

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

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

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

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

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

"No one. Just the two of you."

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

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

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

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

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

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

Huh?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Check]

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

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

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

[Checkmate]

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

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

A moment of silence passed as he contemplated your question.

"Yes."

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

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

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

Satoru absorbed your words, his jaw clenching.

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

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

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

Satoru pressed his lips together.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"So am I."

"Then we're clear?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ouch.

"Do we have a deal?"

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

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

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

"No sex until you're clean."

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

"You really think you get rewarded for this?"

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

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

─── ·✧· ───

A week has passed since that day.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It was a mistake, I know."

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

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

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

Ouh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Geto crossed his arms. "What schedule?"

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

Geto visibly winced. "That's tough."

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

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

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

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

"Barely, but I'm trying."

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

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

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

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

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

─── ·✧· ───

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Since when?"

"Since—certain things happened."

"Oh, you want to further elaborate that?"

"You know what I mean."

"I can handle myself, Satoru."

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

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

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

─── ·✧· ───

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maki smirked. "Hmh, sure."

You reached for your phone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

[7:31 PM] You: Just the two of us?

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

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

[7:33 PM] Satoru: You have my word.

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

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

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

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

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

"Needy, are we?"

"Can you blame me?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You're giving me a headache."

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maki nodded. "Yes."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Are you okay?"

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

"God, Satoru, what were you thinking?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You what?"

"I took my shot."

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

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

"Satoru, you're shaking."

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

"Don't lie to me."

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

"How much clonidine did you take today?"

"None."

"None? Satoru, you really should—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Satoru adjusted his posture slightly. "I know."

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

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

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

"Then I'll deal with it."

"Still, this is not okay."

"That he drugged you is not okay."

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

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

Huh?

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

You removed your gloves, giving him a long look.

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

"Satoru, they will talk."

"Who?"

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

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

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

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

<- prev chapter | next chapter ->

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

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

#gojo saturo #saturo gojo x reader #gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #gojo x you #gojo x female reader #jjk x reader #gojo satoru smut #gojo smut #jujutsu kaisen #satoru gojo #satoru gojo fanfiction

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xuchiya · 9 months ago

Text

you right [p.seonghwa]

₊˚.༄ || filth valentines m.list || hongjoong || seonghwa || yunho || yeosang || san || mingi || wooyoung || jongho || ₊˚.༄

[mention: age gap and cheating]

₊˚.༄ I got a man, but I want you And it's just nerves, it's just dick making me think 'bout someone new ₊˚.༄

park seonghwa. the man that your mom kept mentioning about, the "young and handsome" man that everyone fawns— the company crush. He was every woman asked for and God must have heard those prayers and gave only one, you shake your head in disbelief telling her about, "we come from different generations mom, so we have different ideals." she just looks you in the eyes with, “i’ll get the last laugh.”

but that's where you're wrong. so wrong

one sunny afternoon when your mom called you to deliver her some packed lunch since she does not feel like eating at the cafeteria; you were just cleaning the house so you being the nicest daughter— cooked and delivered to her.

“F-fuck josh!” your eyes rolled at the back of your head, biting your lip as your boyfriend ram his hips on your pussy. His hands held on your shoulders, slamming you back on his dick— hitting that spot until your eyes fade white as you cum on his softening dick as he spurt his cum inside your walls. He grinds his hips chasing the ecstasy as he humps like a rabbit, clinging on your torso groaning and moaning.

“Your pussy so good.” he mumbles before pulling out, slapping your ass. You rolled your eyes, pulling up your panty and shorts, knowing him; after a quick fuck, he’ll be on his way out.

“I’ll pick you up later?” you feel an irritation bubble on your throat. You nodded, “yeah …” being oblivious to your reaction, he leaned in and kissed your lips before going out of your apartment. You sigh, shivering when you feel his cum flowing out of your hole, “I told him to pull out …”

After cleaning up, you dress up in a thin cloth sundress (not too thin to have your garments see through it) you arrive at your mom’s workplace with the neat and fresh cooked lunch pack. You were slightly regretting wearing the old sundress but now, oh you praised and wish that this sundress can go any see through.

park seonghwa.

now you understand why your mom keeps on gushing about him. He is INDEED young and handsome for a 36 year old. he was in a conversation with two of his friends, who happened to be one of them, your senior and closest friend at your old school, jung wooyoung.

Noticing your presence by the door, seonghwa raised his hand with a small smile on his lips, “come in!” your throat constricts from breathing as you slowly approach the man, his aura radiates heaven; innocence and kindness. The way his clothes clinging to his body, showcasing his built lean body.

“ohh~ isn’t my favourite junior?” wooyoung jokes, opening his arms. You scoff nonetheless hugging him; wooyoung was a great senior towards you when finishing your years in highschool whilst him being an intern at a company he is now currently working at.

“Hello wooyoung-ssi .” you smile at him, having your hand running down his back in a comfortable manner. If wooyoung gonna be honest, he had never expected you to have such a (more) glow up that had him smirking then side-eyeing his older friend— who in the moment of ogling you right now. Hand holding the one cup of coffee he was finishing then the other inside his trouser pockets; which wooyung noticed that it moved closer to his crotch, gripping something– hard.

Wooyoung knows and he’ll do it (even though knowing you had a dickhead boyfriend and such huge age gap but who rejects the drill if you know) so he clears his throat, “hey peach–”

As if the nickname knock out some senses to seonghwa who caught himself spacing out when he observe the way you walk, your hips swaying and highlighting the flesh underneath the dress— that thin dress that you were wearing right now had him, gripping his hard erected dick in his pocket (which he knew wooyoung had now notice with the playful smirk on his lips).

“Peach?” seonghwa mumbles. Your cheeks were suddenly powdered in red hue as you remember why wooyoung calls you that, you waved off the question trying your best to lure out from the question but wooyoung grabs your shoulder, placing you beside him as he diligently explains to seonghwa.

“Oh curious eh? Well here, my dear hyung, she hit puberty in such young age that had everyone drooling as she turn around—”

“Oh dear, there you are!” when God has mercy, he has and lots of them when he saw you slowly melting under seonghwa’s eyes, you were wishing above to save you as the thought of back in 9th grade had every boys in school glancing not only your swelled uniform because of your bulging boobs and your skirt that was clinging tightly on your widen hips.

You ranted on wooyoung about the issue yet his answer, “well it’s true and your hips do resemble that fruit emoji— Hey! I should call you that from now on!”

Your mom walks towards you, handing over her packed lunch. Your mom smiles, pinching your cheeks before turning to seonghwa, her eyes sparkling, “oh seonghwa-ssi, this is my daughter.” you nodded your head in acknowledgement still feeling that awkwardness on your cheeks.

Seonghwa licks his lips, smiling at your mom then back to you, hand from his pocket reaching out to take your hand. The softness and the size difference had him gripping the cup of coffee on his other hand, wooyoung noticing.

“Nice to meet you, doll.” his lips brush gently on the back of your hand, not once did his eye contact falter and had your knees weak for an entire second.Wooyoung had thousands of lightbulbs popping up in his head; the moment he saw your stiff body and seonghwa hardened gaze.

As the days passed by, Wooyoung had finalised his plan.

Hey hyung! Doors pass is 1028… still in the showers, make yourself at home.

Seonghwa sighs, one arm full of snacks and a chicken bucket on the other as per wooyung requested. Wooyoung had suggested that they (the other boys) have a movie night with the other boys in Woo's apartment. As he reaches the door of wooyoung’s apartment, he inputs the pass before he hears the soft ring of the doors opening, he slips out of his shoes and towards the quiet living room.

His light footstep met the countertop and placed the items before taking a good look of the apartment.

Seonghwa felt sketchy as he took in the clean and organised living room hence the soft smell of the humidifier at the corner; which did not make sense until he saw a light reflecting from the small hallway, his eyebrow hunching together, “woo?”

He called yet no one answered, his feet decided on their own as they took him to the last door on the left, the door ajar; small glimpse of the purple hue room with—. His eyes widened, jolted in surprise when he saw you. You were on your bed, on your stomach, hoodie on yet no pants; you were in front of your full length mirror, taking pictures. Your ass–those asses were a wish to dive into along with the flesh of your thighs.

Now he understands why wooyoung calls you peach. Those thighs were enough to choke and he will thank you for that or even watch how your ass jiggles when you walk out after delivering the packed lunch for your mom and how that dress hug your shape so much that it emphasises your figure, your mounty chest, another thing to dive into. Or how every night he wishes to have his dick in between them—

“Seonghwa-ssi?” he was pulled out of your thoughts when he saw your figure in front of him, his heart soaring to the roof when you tilt your head to the side, confused. He cleared his throat, “H-Hi.”

you push the door slightly open, “what are you doing here? How did you get in my apartment?”

His mouth opened to explain until he realised at the last minute. The “passcode”, clean apartment, the humidifier and the quietness. Seonghwa groans, “wooyoung …” This whole thing could eat him alive until he dies but that moment dissipates when he hears you chuckle, “so wooyoung was behind this? As expected.”

Seonghwa raised an eyebrow, “Expected?” you shrug, looking at him, “When he sees something, he’ll do it.” That made him even more confused. “What did he do?”

He was oblivious of your smirk on your lips, “this.” you slowly sunk down on the floor, aligning with his pressing prominent dick inside his jeans. Your hands run down his thighs, brushing on his dick which made him hiss, a groan leaving his lips.

“So you were part of this?” again, you shrug, looking up at him, “maybe … maybe not.” you leaned towards his dick, leaving kiss on them before looking back up, a sudden boost of confidence surge on your brain down to your lips, “before you go might as well fuck me now.”

That it all took for seonghwa to have back up on your feet, carrying you towards your bed then tossing you on top of your sheets. A squeal left your lips; excitement running inside your veins as you watch seonghwa’s eyes dart on your half exposed body, legs vaguely open for him to see your arousal seeping through your panty. You spread your legs for him, fingers circling your clothed pussy, biting your lip seductively “seonghwa~”

Seonghwa is a composed man yet when he sees you, they don’t matter and loses control. Just like how he had himself in between your legs, panty ripped from your body and lapping his hot tongue flat on your wet pussy. Your legs were thrown over his shoulders, devouring you like his favorite meal.

He had you moaning loudly, thrashing on your bed as his tongue cat-lick your bud several times hitting those nerves of pleasure, “f-fuck seonghwa!” your hand grip his hair moving your hips to fuck your pussy on his tongue, grinding them. Your whimper-cries echoed your room, manicured hands were gripping tightly on the sheets, arch back as seonghwa had plunged his tongue on your hole, running those long tongue for a good use then pulling away gathering his saliva then spitting them on your trembling wet pussy.

The action had your head swirling in thoughts, biting your bottom lip suppressing a smile on your lips, “that’s so good hwa~”

Seonghwa notice you were nearing your climax when he pulled away, the coil faded leaving you pouting but he chuckles darkly, gripping the back of his shirt before throwing them off across your room as he diligently remove his pants, teasing you as you bit your lip observing his lean body, slim waist yet those hard cock says otherwise. It was bigger than you imagine, quite veiny and enough to send you to heaven to hell then back to earth. Your mouth watered at the size, your pussy aching to be dick down.

Seonghwa leaned down to smash his lips on you, moving them messily on your lips, pulling you by the waist as he humps his clothed dick on your exposed cunt. Your hand found its way again on his hair, as you moved your hips also.

“Do you want this dick so bad?” you nodded like a bobblehead, thoughts of being dicked down by seonghwa as you rushed to remove your hoodie to show him your bare chest. You squish your arms to stress out the flesh, giving them a little shake. Seonghwa licks his lips, scoffing, “stay like that for me doll.” you listen and watch him undo his pants, jerking his cosmic dick.

You know what he wants; hands each on your boobs pushing them in the middle as he fucks himself in between your chest. Seonghwa was beyond the clouds as the flesh of your chest touched his sensitive tip then his whole shaft, it was long. Long enough to have your mouth meeting his tip each time it comes back up, moistening them.

“Fuck doll this tits are made for me aren’t they?” you look up at him, eyes gleaming in overwhelming with emotions and pleasure, “yes yes fuck your dick on it, hwa~” seonghwa’s lips curled up, pulling off his dick between your breast before gripping your ja in his hand.

He tilt them to the side, observing your soon-to-be fucked up face, your heart were racing in anticipation. This is a whole new other level, new experience of being fuck by someone older and probably had much exploration in sex, “open for me, doll.” you obeyed, your pussy clenching on nothing yet another set of arousal leak out when seonghwa spit at your mouth.

You swallow them, the trail going down your throat then sending another arousal out of your pussy, he was so experienced on this one and you're down to get your pussy wreck.

Seonghwa laid you down on your back, hands running down your body, giving your tits a nice squeeze, a tweak on each of your hardened nipples then pulling them. You were squirming on time he circled his thumb on the. He moved between your legs, releasing his aching cock out of his boxers.

Seonghwa gathered a mouthful then spitting on his dick, giving a couple strokes before slapping his dick on your pussy. He eye your twitching body, body on fire as the tension gets thicker and thicker yet deep down he knows your loyalty was being tested.

He had heard about a week ago about wooyung and his despise on your significant other who just comes for a quick fuck and out he goes. Been 3 months doing it while you never did anything to stop the whole thing so seonghwa tried his best not to involve himself in the drama. Sooner or later those words came back to him when he kept seeing you in the office to pick your mom up after a long day of work.

Seonghwa fathoms the amount of weight of euphoria whenever his eyes travels.

“Spread those legs for me, doll.” you grip the back of your thighs as Seonghwa sheathed himself on your cunt. Your eyes rolled at the back of your head, a squeal like smile left your lips as your walls were being stretch out on the girth of his cock.

“Fu-fuck doll you’re so tight …” When he fully bottom down, he adjust his knees and place his hands on each side of your waist, lips near your ears,”i’ll fuck you better than your boyfriend.”

His hips pull out an inch before hammering himself back down, immediately pounding your cervix. Your mouth gape, no sounds immits as the overwhelming pleasure had you speechless, the sounds of the nasty skin slapping had you unfolding your legs further.

“The moment I gave this pussy a nice full of my load, you belong to me now.” You nodded like crazy, tears running down your cheeks; seonghwa coo mockingly, “does your boyfriend fuck you like this? Make you cry being fuck so good?”

You were so out of your mind, hands gripping his biceps tightly creating a crescent shape on them. Small sounds of curse freed out those sinful lips, “h-harder hwa~” but seonghwa wasn’t having it, he halted his actions then gripping your jaw rather harshly making you look at him.

His face dark in pleasure and dominance, “i ask you and you answer?” you nodded, your eyes going dopey habitually biting your lip as, “yes yes, your dick so good i want you to cum inside and have your babies.”

Seonghwa’s dick twitch inside as the mention of impregnating you, creampie you with loads after loads of his cum seeing that bulge on your stomach just sent his head circling with lots of euphoric sensation.

“Is that so? Then take it.” The grip on your jaw moved down to your neck, squeezing them as his hips repeatedly pounding back to your pussy. You were on cloud 9 that you did not hear your phone ringing; your boyfriend calling you.

Seonghwa saw it and smirk, removing his grip on your neck towards your phone. He press the green button.

“Hey babe—”

His voice a little deep and rough, “sorry she’s busy …”

There was silence before your boyfriend spoke.

“busy?! W-who are you and what are you doing with my girlfriend?! Yah!”

“Yeah she’s busy .. busy getting fuck up by me. I’m rearranging her guts right now that’s what I’m doing. She looks so pretty under me, you know?” Seonghwa runs his hand on your chest then slapping your tits making you moan loudly, hearing those made your boyfriend panic and ranging.

“W-what?! Stop this right—”

“Shut up. I’m busy fucking her, so don’t contact her again. She’s mine now.” Seonghwa ended the call, tossing your phone to side before diving his head on your neck, his tip hammering your cervix deliciously before he felt the familiar coil on his stomach, his broken groans sent shiver down your spine, “i’m gonna cum doll and i don’t want to see any of it going to waste, got it?”

You moan, gripping your tits, “yes yes yes pelase I’m gonna cum too.” he pulled out only the tip left inside before slamming back inside, his cum spurting on your velvet walls. Your eyes rolling back once again, long string of fuck creaming his cock, “that’s my doll. Good girl.”

When he had loaded himself and you were milking him dry, he pulled out not long plunging his fingers, “I hope you’re up for another round .. I’m gonna make you squirt so bad.” even with the ring of your arousal and cum on his dick, it had not yet softened and wanted to go for another said round.

You smirk, laying down on your stomach, propped up on your elbows; looking over your shoulders as you joggle your ass, “then fuck me more, show to my boyfriend how you’re fucking me good hwa~”

Seonghwa smirks, loving your confidence, “of course doll.” And there goes round two.

taglist:

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