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crestfallenyh · 6 months ago

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new light ; jyh

cw: yunho x reader. reader making things hard for no reason, so this is quite long. sweet boyfriend yunho. a bit of a corruption kink. unprotected sex. backshot lol. breath play, hair pulling, biting and overall roughness mixed with a natural sweetheart yunho. not proofread, i'm testing the waters to start posting again.

"you should still talk to him, you know"

seonghwa's slightly muffled voice made its way to you as you groaned in disagreement with your face buried on his pillow. he gave you a sympathetic look before laying on the bed next to you, propping himself up on his elbows and seemingly preparing to repeat the same speech about trust and communication he'd already given you twice in the past hour. before he could start, you rolled on your back and laid there, staring at the ceiling where the silver lightning from his bedside lamp drew funny shapes.

"i know i should, i'm just not sure if i'm ready to face his rejection yet"

you ignored the stern look he shot at you, he knew better than anyone how dramatic you could get when it came to your relationship. your fears were not unfounded, though. you had been thinking over and over for the past couple of weeks about the topic and yet you couldn't bring yourself to speak to yunho about your worries, and as much as you shouldn't do it, you couldn't help but convince yourself time and time again that it wasn't worth bringing it up. you wondered why, because your boyfriend hadn't been anything but supportive throughout the couple months you had been together. perhaps that was the problem. deep down you knew he wasn't going to judge you, much less laugh at you, as understanding as he was. it was just that the relationship was still quite new, feelings yet so fresh that despite his bright personality, he was often rather shy around you. the thought of him looking at you with flustered cheeks and doubt on his gaze, not from nervousness and anticipation but because of embarrassment, held you back from getting too sincere with him.

"i know he's gonna listen and maybe even try if i ask, but i don't want him to do anything he's not comfortable with," you sighed and put a hand over your eyes, the lights suddenly too bright.

"you wouldn't, though," seonghwa tried to reason, "yunho is not the type to not tell when he doesn't like something. also, i have a feeling he might be into that even if he doesn't know yet"

and with that you were left thinking. in more than one occasion you tried to play different scenarios in your head on how he could respond. your soft and sweet giant... how would he react if you ever told him about the dark fantasies running through your mind everytime you saw him, simply existing? what would he say if he knew how badly you wanted him to share the same passion for roughness you had, the same hunger?

up until that moment your sex life had been good, for the most part. he was always respectful and mindful of his strength whenever he held you, kissing you with light pressure and fucking you equally as soft. you liked it, but you wanted more. you needed more. you needed his weight on top of you, suffocating and hot. you needed his hands everywhere, those long fingers of his biting into your skin. he was always nice to everyone, it was no surprise he would be gentle in bed too, but you didn't want him to be nice to you. not in that instance.

maybe it was worth a shot. maybe if you told him what you wanted, he would find a new side to himself too. your hope it was, at least. that's why, by the time you met with him at your place a couple of days after your conversation with seonghwa, you were so nervous it was impossible for you to look him in the eye because the possibility of it going wrong scared you as much as the possibility of it going great. he noticed, of course. after all, he was always perceptive of any minimal expression you made and although he tried not to worry, his mind wandered off to sad places whenever he tried to touch you, hug you or kiss you and a slight hint of a wince appeared on your face. were you about to break up with him or something? his mind was restless, and the atmosphere was somewhat tense, with short whispered answers and stolen glances. you hadn't felt that awkwardness in forever. instead of dissipating the awkward feeling, the anxiousness of the situation going in the wrong direction already made you grow even more coy, and you reprimanded yourself. pull it together, you thought.

ten minutes into the movie you were watching and he sighed, pausing it and looking at you with a question in his eyes. impressive, you thought. he held quite well, but it was now your turn to hold your breath. you weren't ready, but you knew you had to let it out. one big sigh of yours after and you tried to ignore the slight shake in yunho's hands as he repositioned on the couch. him being as nervous as you somewhat calmed you, though you didn't want him to get the wrong idea.

"it's nothing bad, i promise," you caressed the back of his wrist with your index finger, rummaging through your brain to find the right words, "it's just... you know, i've enjoyed our relationship quite well so far..."

yunho's eyes were fixated on your expression as you spoke for several minutes about how much you liked spending time with him and how he was the best boyfriend anyone could ask for, so intense that you couldn't help but avoiding his gaze. you said not to worry but your body was sending contrasting signals, eyes looking everywhere but him and twitching hands. he was slowly spiraling, waiting for the 'but' within your ramble. he couldn't even feign nonchalance.

"... i've never quite liked being with someone like i do with you, but..." yunho gulped, "... you know, i just.."

"what is it, love? are you not comfortable with something i did? tell me what is it and i'll fix it"

you shook your head slowly, finally making eye contact, "i don't think it's something you did, yunho. it's more like something i want but i fear i might make this awkward"

"you know when we have, you know, sex?," yunho nodded, more confused than before, "well, there's a lot of things i wanna try, and don't get me wrong, i like what we do now but i just... i don't know if you would want to do most of those things, and that's why i don't want to make you uncomfortable"

you cringed on your seat, suddenly hyper aware of the fact you were finally saying it and wondering if you should backtrack.

yunho's eyebrows furrowed.

"try me, y/n. do you want me to tie you up in the air or something?," he was so very obviously trying to joke but seeing how you made yourself small against the couch, he coughed, "wait, seriously?"

"would that make you uncomfortable?"

he stopped for moment to think about it, and finally shook his head no. he'd never tried in the past and he'd actually never thought of something like that to do with you, so he was surprised at his own answer. he considered himself a pretty standard guy when it came to intimacy, vanilla, if you will. he was too aware of the size of his body, so he never entertained the idea even though he knew people did lots of stuff out there. the more he thought now, the more he found himself interested on how the whole thing would play out. he was only worried about the safety of it all, and as such he explained to you. you listened, still a bit shaken up, relishing on how he was seemingly taking it serious even when barely anything had been discussed and you yourself had never thought of trying bondage, not too much at least.

"but seriously, if you wanted us to try something different, you should've told me before doll," he noticed how his words could come up as nagging, so he explained further, "i believe you when you say you've enjoyed it so far, but i'm always open to listen and i would want you to love it, instead of liking it"

and so, a long discussion ensued. at first it took a lot of courage from you to stop downplaying your actual desires and took a lot from yunho to stop blushing with each word you said. he never thought of you as the type to want to be choked and marked up, if he was honest. he wasn't scandalized per se, but the more you explained, the more he started feeling heat all over his body. he knew he was considerably taller than most and in the back of his head he knew people found that attractive, but knowing now how much you wanted him to do all those things to you and take full advantage of his strength made him lightheaded. he really appreciated how, although you couldn't seem to stop talking once you finally turned off the shyness switch, you still listened to everything he had to say to make sure he was also comfortable and just how far he was willing to go.

once the conversation died down you let the silence sink between you two, processing everything you talked about with your gaze lost in the distant glow of the long forgotten movie. after a while his voice and his hand on your thigh brought you back.

"you were scaring me back there, you know," yunho chuckled, soft eyes and a fond smirk drawn on his handsome face, "i thought you wanted to break up and turns out you just want me to rag doll you around"

the simplicity of his tone made you frown.

"well, now that you say it like that..."

he knew you were joking, and from one moment to the next you found yourself swiftly placed on his lap, curling his soft black hair around your fingers and kissing him, softly at first. his embrace around your hips was tender but firm and you trembled a bit, relief replacing the anxiety from before. seonghwa was right, after all, though you would never admit that to his face. you quickly forgot about your friend when you adjusted yourself on top of yunho and felt his hardness against your body. his eyes met yours and your breath hitched. how come the look in his eyes was so dark now?

"we can wait before trying changing things, you know," your soft whisper fell against his plumped lips, "think about it till you're comfortable"

yunho kissed you again, this time more fierce before tightening his grip on you and starting a trail of kisses down your cheek, jaw and neck.

"do you want to do it now, though?," shivers ran down your spine as his now slightly hoarse voice ringed in your ears, "because i do"

you nodded almost too desperately as those electric eyes of his bored into yours and that was all the confirmation you both needed. suddenly your back was against the couch and he held up a hand to caress your face, moving the scattered hair aside while he positioned himself on top of you. as a reflex your legs wrapped around his lean figure and soon enough you were nothing but a bunch of short breaths and flushed pink cheeks, his hands went up and down your sides and a gasp left your mouth when he gripped your thighs with his ringed fingers. amongst the passion there still existed some gentleness and you whimpered, pulling him against you with need. everything was suddenly too hot. his touch, his breath, his forehead against yours after a particularly long kiss.

yunho unfastened the buttons on your shirt and removed it as well as your shorts, leaving you almost completely exposed under his exploring hands. he glanced at you to check how you were doing and you so badly wanted to wipe off the smugness from the curve of his lips, but before you could say anything, two of his fingers pushed your underwear aside and made contact with your wetness. your head fell back with every movement of his, soon enough his lips were on your neck and for a moment you forgot how to breathe. nothing on your head but him, everything was filled with the feeling of the cold metal of his rings against your folds and the sharp occasional pain from his biting on your neck that made you sink your nails on his broad shoulders.

it was intoxicating having him like this, his instincts so good at that moment that he knew where to touch you so as to pull the sweetest sounds from your mouth. he just knew your body so well. you wanted to return the favor, make him feel as good as he was making you feel but as soon as you lingered around the button of his jeans he used his free hand to grab your wrist and hold it above your head. you whined and his response was a chuckle. it was more fun than he expected, and he was honestly enjoying himself, drinking in the expression on your pretty face and the cloudiness on your hazy eyes.

"no, doll. today you'll just take what i give you, yeah?"

he waited for confirmation and once he got it, he flipped you around, pressing his torso against your back and his clothed pelvis against yours. the roughness of his jeans against your bare thighs made you shiver, griping the couch tightly as he got a hold of your hips with his right hand to stop you from pushing back to feel him. his other hand was busy with his zipper and afterwards with prepping you. he slowly pushed two fingers inside of you and you gasped at suddenly feeling stuffed. yunho whispered reassuring words in your ear and after a while he took his fingers out, replacing them with his cock. inch by inch, you shut your eyes closed until he bottomed out and the air escaped his lips in a quick exhale.

you'd never tried it like this before and he could tell you were struggling a bit to take him, which was unusual. he attempted pulling out to let you adjust better but your muffled "no, don't" stopped him. he raised his already furrowed eyebrows, it was hard to concentrate with your warmth around but he paid attention to your breathing, waiting for it to be more steady before intertwining his fingers with yours from behind for support and pushing down with each thrust.

your moans became sharper and sharper and he almost couldn't resist the urge to go harder and faster, afraid he might hurt you. yunho loved the outline of your body and how you jolted every time he hit the right spot. he laid down on top of you, letting his weight fall almost entirely on you and enjoying the way your whimpering was almost involuntary at that point.

after a moment he grabbed a handful of hair to turn your head a bit, just enough for him to be able to kiss your temple. as if that wasn't enough, his other hand sneaked around your body to get a hold of your throat. he didn't put much pressure, but the feeling of his large hand restraining your air intake little by little and the feeling of his large body trapping yours had you shaking with a silent scream around his cock. as you rode your high, yunho slowed down the speed but not the force of his thrusts and so you were left there, overstimulated in the best way as he was chasing his own high. he was almost there, and the ringing in your ears could only be interrupted by the sound of his grunts and moans.

yunho pulled put and let go of your neck to finish himself off, looking at your exhausted figure and blissed out expression was enough to have him cum all over your back with a choked out groan. you smiled at him, taking in the image of him with his dark hair sticking slightly to his forehead. it shouldn't be as hot as it was, but seeing him practically fully dressed on top of your naked body made you feel fuzzy on the inside. your boyfriend smiled back at you and ran to the bathroom for something to clean you up. you would have to hop in the shower at some point for sure, but for now, after he finished wiping his cum off, the only thing you both wanted and had energy to do was to lay down.

he quickly slid one of his shirts on your body so you weren't cold and held you close, both still too agitated to give in to your heavy eyelids.

after a while of him caressing your back and you drawing shapes with your finger on his arm, you heard his voice again.

"you know, i think i liked that a lot," you nodded in agreement, both you and him knew that figuring out what each other liked the best was going to be a journey, but you were grateful for his willingness to try and he loved that you finally decided to confide in him, "what do you say?"

"depends," you joked with a sleepy voice and fluttering eyelashes, admittedly a bit flirty for his inquisitive gaze, "will you spank me next time?"

#ateez smut #yunho scenarios #yunho smut #ateez scenarios

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twilightkitkat · 18 days ago

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I feel like Logan is oftentimes written as a character who wants a large amount of distance and space in a relationship but I think that wouldn't really be the case. Obviously he can't be around anyone every waking hour of the day and he's his own person, but I'm convinced he'd be clingy once he got into a relationship. He knows to function on his own, he knows he can go through the motions but he just... doesn't want to.

One of the main arguments I see for him wanting a lot of space is that he has an eternity to live so he doesn't feel constrained on time when it comes to Wade, who's also immortal like him. And yes, that's true, but I raise you this: he's already had 200 years without him. He's had time to do all the things he wanted to (and didn't want to) do alone—he's traveled to different countries, explored his own origins and backstory, learned about different people and places. And sometimes he enjoyed it, even if most of the time he was desperate and angry and isolated from the world.

He already spent enough time being alone that he knows how it feels. He got it out of his system. He was forced to be alone for so long that he almost forgot what it was like to have a companion, let alone someone like Wade. Someone he genuinely connected to for the first time, who understood him and wanted him.

Logan knows what it's like to be alone. He lived through it almost every day of his hellish life in one way or another. He's tired of it, now. He had 200 fucking years to stew in his own company, 3 times longer than most humans even lived.

But this? The feeling of curling next to someone and feeling their warmth? Burrowing so close you can hear their heartbeat? Waking up next to Wade and seeing his bleary-eyed smile? Fighting next to him, trusting someone to watch his back? Waking up from a nightmare and being held and comforted by someone who understands him?

It's so much better than anything he could've imagined. Why would he ever go back to how things were before, when he knows what it feels like to be next to Wade and be loved just for existing? (How could he go back to being alone after finally tasting happiness?)

He'd want to savor it. To lean into the relationship hard and memorize all of Wade's little habits and routine and quirks. He'd be clingy, letting himself demand affection and attention because he knows he can get it. And he's been starved of it for so long.

He knows he could leave, if he wanted to. That he could go out on his own for a while, back out into the cold. But why would he voluntarily do that when he has a perfectly nice fireplace to keep himself warm? If he really wanted to go out to marvel at the snow, now he could bring someone with him and share that joy together. What could be better?

#kitkat #poolverine #deadclaws #deadpool 3 #deadpool and wolverine #logan howlett #wade wilson #deadpool movie #wade x logan #wade/logan #logan is clingy agenda #my mans feels like hes living instead of surviving for once #let him thrive

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lostfracturess · 8 months ago

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symptoms and causes | ch. 11

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 13.5 k (enjoy your meal lol)

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

ღ author's note hey loves!! thank you so much for your patience, i know it's been a while. buckle up, because we're taking another trip inside satoru's mind, so yeahhh. it's gonna be wild, oh and we're continuing right were we left off in the last chapter. this chapter is again in satoru's pov!! i've also updated the trigger warnings, so please take a look before reading (might be spoiling tho). and lastly, credit to the fanart in the cover, if you know the artist, pls let me know!! can't wait to hear what you all think & thanks for sticking with me!! ♡

series masterlist + playlist + ao3 + wattpad

<- prev chapter | next chapter ->

They say before you can love someone else, you have to love yourself first.

And there lies the damn problem.

I don't know how.

Never have.

Why am I thinking this now?

I knew this was right.

Right for her.

But then why does my heart feel like it's being ripped out by the fucking roots?

Suguru will take care of her. He always does. That's the only thing that keeps me from screaming, keeps me from chasing after her.

I trust him, damn it, but it shouldn't be him.

It should be me holding her. Me, who knows how she likes to be held when the panic claws its way up. Me, holding her until the world feels less sharp, less cruel.

Me, who knows that she doesn't want to talk about it. Me, who knows to give her space. She needs space. My strong girl needs space first.

I hope he gives her space.

But he wouldn't know any of this. He couldn't comfort her in the ways I instinctively knew how.

Me, who knows how to soothe the invisible wounds, the ones even she denies exist. Me, who knows the soft words she needs to hear after it passes.

It shouldn't be him.

Sorry.

It shouldn't have been him.

Past tense.

It all might be past tense now.

And the thought is more than I could bear.

Shattered.

Was that the word?

Was there even a word for what I felt in that moment?

How could I ever convey this suffocating agony that's tearing me apart with mere words?

Words are meaningless in the end.

Meaningless when they couldn't be spoken to her, couldn't reach her, couldn't make her understand, couldn't heal the wound I'd carved into her heart.

So, yeah, maybe shattered is the right word.

The wrong word.

The sterile air was acid in my lungs. Each ragged breath felt like sandpaper against my throat. I held my breath, a desperate plea for the world to stop spinning, for the clock to rewind, for a chance to undo everything.

But time doesn't care.

It marched on, relentless, while I stayed trapped in this hell, drowning in the mess I made.

My lungs burned. My vision blurred. I waited until she disappeared. The world seemed to tilt sideways, losing all color and shape, leaving only the sharp, agonizing realization that I'd made her walk away.

I didn't want to breathe anymore.

Not in a world where every breath ached without her.

"Dr. Gojo?" A voice, distant, muffled.

Irrelevant.

My gaze flickered to Sukuna. He watched, a predator savoring the kill.

His twisted smile fueled rage within me. But there would be no fighting this. No grand defense. Not when her life was the bargaining chip.

So, I lied.

Each word a nail in the coffin of the connection I craved more than life itself.

Each word a drop of poison forced down my throat. A self-inflicted wound, a desperate mutilation of the only thing that had ever felt real.

Her eyes, those beautiful eyes I loved so fiercely, wide with confusion and horror. The strangled gasp, the way her body went limp in Geto's arms — a haunting image that would forever be etched on my heart.

Muscles screamed, a silent protest against my own pathetic stillness. But I remained frozen.

This was my punishment.

I had to watch her leave, had to sear the pain into my very being, an endless penance for the choices I'd made.

The door clicked shut behind them.

That simple sound, final, absolute.

My lungs filled with air, a betrayal. Oxygen I didn't deserve, didn't want.

My own body, this treacherous thing kept going, kept me alive against my will, kept me tethered to this cruel reality.

The room swam back into focus, the judges' accusing faces nothing but a blurry backdrop. The sounds of their inquest washed over me like meaningless noise.

"Dr. Gojo? Can we continue?"

I nodded.

They pressed on. More questions about the research, her involvement, their accusations of favoritism.

How stupid.

Of course, I favored her.

How could I not?

She is everything.

Oh, sorry. Forgot. Past tense.

She was everything.

Did I regret it?

Did I wish I could go back and treat her with the same damn indifference I afforded everyone else?

Yeah, maybe.

A familiar craving stirred my senses, the desperate need for the numbing escape that would mean failing her even more. My fingers clawed at my forearm, trying to replace the hollowness with physical pain. It wasn't enough.

My responses were rote, mechanical.

Yeah, I favored her.

Yeah, I let her into the OR because of it.

Yeah, and she outshone every damn surgeon twice her age.

No, she didn't know I'd set it up.

No, she never asked for special treatment. She just worked until her eyes were bloodshot, pushing harder than anyone else.

And hell no, she didn't do a single thing wrong.

Except maybe — maybe loving me.

After what felt like an eternity, the judges seemed satisfied, or perhaps just exhausted by my robotic replies.

They painted me the arrogant professor with a weakness for a young student, who abused his power, who played favorites.

Whatever they wanted to believe, fine.

Didn't even have the energy to care anymore.

Let them drag my name through the mud, tarnish the reputation I'd worked so hard to build.

Because the title, the position, the facade of success meant nothing when all I wanted was to rewind time, to undo the damage I'd done to the one person who truly mattered.

I didn't feel anymore.

I was done.

─── ·✧· ───

I burst out of the courtroom.

I needed escape, not just from this sterile prison of a room, but from my own traitorous flesh.

That itch.

It was a wildfire beneath my skin, a thousand insects gnawing their way to the surface. My fingers twitched, claws desperate to tear, to bleed out the poison of this relentless craving.

My legs moved without conscious thought, pushing me towards my office. Somewhere. Anywhere I would be able to breathe again. The guilt was a serrated blade twisting in my gut, each movement slicing me open anew.

Her terror-stricken eyes seared into my very soul.

The walls of my office closed in, the familiar space suddenly too small, too suffocating.

My fist slammed into the desk. Papers scattered to the floor, a meaningless sea of white against the dark wood.

They didn't matter. None of it mattered.

A half-finished coffee mug followed. Porcelain shattered. Dark liquid splashed against the wall.

My blood roared in my ears.

Across the room, my framed diploma. I ripped it off the wall. Glass smashed. Sharp edges bit into my palm, drawing blood. But it wasn't enough. I hurled the frame against the wall.

Blood, hot and slick, coated my hands, the pain nothing.

In the shattered frame, I caught a glimpse of myself — wild eyes in a sweat-slicked face, a man on the verge of collapse.

It was a stranger.

I was across the room before I even registered the decision.

The drawer.

My fingers ripped it open.

There, like a coiled viper, the amber vial gleamed, a venomous promise of oblivion.

Don't —

Don't come at me now.

Did you really think I wouldn't keep a backup?

My hand reached, then hesitated.

The world lurched to a sharp halt as a knock pierced the chaos. My breath hitched, the vial a burning brand in my bloodied hand.

The door creaked open.

And there he was. Sukuna.

He leaned against the doorframe, that sickening smirk plastered on his face. It was like a lit fuse to a powder keg. The rage that had been gnawing at my insides, tearing me apart, finally found its target.

Before a single rational thought could form, I was on him. Fist to jaw, heard the crack, felt it in my knuckles. He stumbled back, the smirk finally wiping off his face.

I pinned him against the door. Forearm across his throat, crushing his windpipe. His eyes widened, but even then, there was that damn flicker of amusement.

"Well, well," he choked out, "this is a nice welcome back."

"Funny to you?"

He coughed, a harsh laugh scraping out of him. "C'mon, Satoru, relax. I did you a favor," he sputtered. "Your precious little student, she's better off now. You know I'm right."

Every muscle in my body tensed.

He was right.

In his twisted way, he was.

And that's what made it all so much worse.

My grip on his throat tightened. But there was nothing, no satisfactio, no release in the violence.

Sukuna saw it, the hesitation. His mouth twisted into a smirk again. "See, you get it. Sweet thing doesn't belong in this mess, does she? It's not for her, Satoru. It's for us."

His words scraped like nails on a chalkboard.

Yes, she was safer now, untouched by the rot that festered within me. Some desperate, logical part of me clung to that. But how could I hold on to that when my heart was screaming for her closeness?

"Or maybe," Sukuna drawled, pushing the knife deeper, "maybe you wanted to see where this goes. Stain her a bit, make her just a little bit more like you."

My breath hitched. For a split second, the floor vanished beneath me.

"Hit a nerve, did I?"

"Shut the hell up!" I couldn't face it, couldn't face the ugly truth as it would tear me apart. "You twist everything. Play with lives just for your own sick amusement."

This was his game.

Sukuna thrived on chaos, on exploiting pain.

He knew my guilt, my fear for her, and wielded it like a scalpel, laying bare the raw nerve of my fragile sanity.

"Perhaps. But ain't I right? You needed to end it, but you lack the guts for it. Waited a bit longer, it'd be a total disaster."

I hesitated, then my grip on him slackened. I stepped back.

"You know I'm right," Sukuna continued. "You know how this would have ended. Suspension. Scandal. She'll be doomed forever for getting involved with her professor for favors. You wouldn't destroy her like that, would you? You're not that cruel."

"I'm not so sure." I ran a hand through my hair. It had taken everything in me to push her away.

But I can't deny that an ugly part of me wanted to keep her close. Drag her down with me.

See her drown.

"Damn, you hit hard," he said, rubbing his jaw. "Go beat up some students again, not me."

"Stop giving me reasons to punch you." Exhausted, I slumped into my desk chair, burying my face in my hands. My head pounded, the infuriating itch worsening with each damn moment. "Was this your plan all along?"

"What?" he scoffed.

I lifted a single eyebrow at him.

"You think that low of me? Honestly, Toru, a bit of credit, please. It was your pathetic indecision that made this entertaining. You basically gift-wrapped this mess and handed it to me."

"Besides," he continued, "let's be honest, you were holding her back. Now maybe she'll have a chance to become someone who might surpass you one day. You wouldn't deny her that, would you? No thanks needed."

He was right, and I hated that more than anything.

Sukuna sank into the chair across from me, a picture of smug satisfaction despite the visible bruise. "Damn, that punch still stings."

I opened my desk drawer and wordlessly tossed him the bottle of opioids. His eyes widened in surprise, before he gave the bottle a knowing shake. "Still on the hydromorphone?"

I didn't answer. The sound alone threatened to shatter what fragile control I had left. The itch was unbearable, each nerve ending screaming for relief.

Sukuna observed me, a predator watching its prey struggle. "Withdrawal never suited you," he said, popping a pill. "You always get so—" he paused, savoring the word, "—tense."

"Yeah, real supportive of you."

"Actually, I'm being incredibly supportive. I'm leaving for a little research trip overseas—four months. Ethics committee can't meet without me, so—" He leaned back in his chair, his grin widening. "Gives you time to get your shit together. Isn't that nice of me?"

"Shut the hell up."

"C'mon, I put in a good word for you too. No suspension for now. You can keep teaching, just no surgeries. Yaga really hates my guts, doesn't he? But hey, at least you're not totally screwed."

"You expect a thank you?"

"Relax, Toru, the show's over," he said. "Trust me, they don't want a scandal, let alone lose their star surgeon. When I get back, a slap on the wrist, maybe a semester's suspension, then you're back to the boring old grind."

A bitter laugh escaped me. "Last I checked, you were the one pushing for a scandal."

He rolled his eyes. "Someone had to do it. Knew you'd drag this out forever, playing the tragic hero. Needed a villain to get things moving." He gave a mocking bow. "At your service, my friend."

"Also," he continued, leaning forward in his chair, "the focus is off you now. The committee's sniffing around those implant engineers. Funny, isn't it?"

Sukuna paused, savoring the moment. "Honestly, never thought there was anything wrong with your surgeries. You wouldn't make that kind of mistake. Tech malfunction more likely."

Of course.

The bastard never doubted the damn research. It had all been a game to him — my career, my sanity, her — just pieces on his chessboard.

It should've made me furious, lash out, pound his face in again — but all I felt was a bone-deep exhaustion, a weariness that seeped into my very soul. I was too tired, too hollowed-out to do anything but swallow the bitter truth.

"That supposed to make me feel better?"

"A little," he said, tossing the opioid bottle back. "This, though? That'll do the trick even better."

I caught it, my fingers clenching around the plastic.

He rose, stretching with a theatrical sigh. "Well, time to go. Remember, you owe me big time. You should take one," he gestured towards the pills, "you look like shit."

My grip on the bottle tightened. I looked up at him. "When all of this is done, I never want to see your damn face again."

He laughed. "We both know that's a lie. You and me? We need each other."

"The only thing you need is some damn therapy."

"Ah, Toru," he dismissed me with a smirk, "you'll come crawling back soon enough. We both know how this works."

With that, he was gone. I was left alone in the echoing silence, the pill bottle a burning weight in my hand. The world seemed to sway around me, my eyelids growing heavy.

The will to fight simply wasn't there anymore.

─── ·✧· ───

Cruel.

Cruel how one little pill can undo everything.

Cruel how one little pill can silence everything.

Cruel how one damn pill can soften the world, make it — bearable, almost.

Unfair.

It's truly unfair.

The screaming under my skin, that relentless itch — it's still there, but it had dulled to a faint hum, pushed back by the familiar numbness.

Finally.

Oh, finally some fucking silence.

I let out a shaky breath. It wasn't peace, not really. I knew that all too well. Borrowed time, each second ticking closer to the inevitable crash, the return of that relentless screaming in my head.

But for now, it'll have to be enough.

I collapsed on the couch, smoke curling lazily before my eyes.

I knew I shouldn't mix opioids with cannabis. That's something they teach you within the first year of university. What I used to teach students within the first year of university.

What a hypocrite I am really.

Another drag — harsh, burning down my throat.

The urge to close my eyes, to sink into oblivion, was almost overwhelming. But sleep wouldn't bring respite. Only nightmares. I knew that only too well.

So, I lay there, staring up at the ceiling.

It really came down to me failing again, huh?

What was it now?

Attempt number five?

Six?

I started losing count.

Maybe this was my fate.

A broken record, stuck on the same damn track.

Deep down, under the chemical haze, guilt gnawed at me. It was a dull ache now, no longer the searing pain of earlier, but a constant, insidious reminder.

She were out there, her life forever marked by my choices, while I was — here. Hiding in a haze of pills and smoke.

God, I hoped Suguru was looking after her. Making sure she ate, making sure she was safe — that she didn't hate me too much.

I brought the joint to my lips again, the smoke curling up towards the ceiling. It left an acrid taste in my mouth.

I watched my hand for a second.

Bloodied earlier, the wounds had scabbed over, the blood dried. It was perfectly still now, the trembling smoothed out by the chemicals in my blood.

I clenched it into a fist, then unclenched, watching the movement like it belonged to someone else.

Traitor.

This body was a traitor — betrayed myself, betrayed her, betrayed everything I held dear.

Weak.

Broken.

A pathetic mess.

Was that it?

Living as a slave to these chemicals to patch up my crumbling sanity one day at a time?

Chained to pills, each dawn a ticking clock until the next dose, until I could silence the screaming for a few damn hours?

My eyes locked onto the half-empty vial on the table.

Took too many, didn't I?

I knew that, even through the haze. But a cold certainty twisted in my gut. There'd be more. Always more. Until there was nothing left.

Before I could think, I threw another down my throat. Bad idea, probably, after a few clean days.

Suddenly, the haze warped, twisting into nausea. Bile rose in my throat.

I lurched to my feet, the world tilting precariously with each step. Surfaces rippled, the bathroom light stabbing into my skull.

I barely made it. My stomach heaved. Each retch wracked my body, leaving me gasping, weak.

Too many.

Way too many.

How the hell did I forget? Forget my body's limits? Somehow, I felt like some reckless student again, stumbling through experiments, blind to the consequences.

Stupid. So damn stupid.

Darkness swam at the edges of my vision. Another wave of nausea, and I was back, hunched over the toilet.

I hauled myself up, hands shaking, clinging to the sink. In the mirror, a stranger stared back. Eyes bloodshot, a sheen of sweat coating his skin.

This wasn't me anymore.

I splashed cold water on my face, trying to wash away the acid burn. Didn't help. Drops of water ran down my face, felt like they were melting the damn skin off.

My knees buckled. I slid down the wall, my head heavy against the tile wall.

The bathroom light, needles in my brain moments ago, seemed impossibly distant now. Each breath was a ragged gasp, each pulse a dull throb in my temples.

I waited for it to pass, the nausea, the haze. But as minutes crawled by, a new, searing pain gnawed at me.

My fingers trembled against my abdomen, pressing into the tender spot. Liver, of course.

Wrecked it, just like the rest of me. I'd known the risks, had ignored the warnings, and now my body was demanding payment.

How pathetic.

Darkness gnawed at the edges of my vision, pushing back against the stubborn spots of light. My head felt heavy, detached from my body. Arms and legs useless.

Each breath a battle I wasn't sure I'd win.

Time warped. Stretching, then snapping, leaving me floating in nausea and pain. Then I heard something — muffled, distant. Footsteps, getting closer.

My eyes struggled to make sense of the shifting shadows.

Then, a voice. Soft, achingly familiar. I couldn't make out the words, but the warmth of it—

I knew that voice — would always recognize it.

Cold water hit my skin. Hands, gentle, but firm, on my face. I strained to focus, to see her, to soak in the sight I needed, yet feared more than anything.

Oh, how desperately I needed to see her. Needed her to be real.

But my eyes betrayed me.

She must be so beautiful. She always was.

Then, a touch on my outstretched leg, a flash of metal — was that a scalpel?

Agony ripped through me, shattering the haze. I jerked back, my scream ragged against the tiles. My head slammed back with sickening force.

Before I knew it, a needle pierced my skin.

The room spun as whatever she'd injected battled the comfortable blur of the pills. Nausea churned in my stomach, the numbness receding with terrifying speed.

Groaning, I shifted on the floor.

My vision sharpened, my senses returning with brutal clarity.

The first thing I noticed was the metallic glint of the discarded syringe beside my leg.

Then the cut, a ragged gash through the fabric of my dress pants where she'd stabbed the needle in — the unnecessarily deep and brutal cut — but in the chaos, I let it slide. Didn't even register the pain as I watched the blood drain from the cut.

I reached for the syringe and read the label.

Adrenaline.

Smart girl.

But as I turned it over, a frown creased my brow. Two fucking milliliters? Was she trying to give me a damn heart attack?

I lifted my head, the question burning on my tongue. But the words died unspoken as my gaze locked on hers.

She stood there, just a few feet away, her breath ragged, her eyes — those pretty eyes.

Terror.

There was raw, unadulterated terror etched in her eyes. But I was right. She looked as beautiful as ever. Even with those terror-stricken eyes she was breathtaking.

She stumbled back, slumping against the wall opposite of me with a choked gasp, pulling her knees up. I didn't move, couldn't move, my gaze locked with hers.

The terror faded slowly, replaced by a weariness that was far worse.

For a fleeting moment, I saw a flicker of that familiar defiance, the spark I both loved and feared. But even that felt strangely muted now, as if even the energy to fight had been drained out of her.

She simply watched me. In silence, in that devastating silence.

How I hated her silence.

Because her silence was far worse than anything she could have screamed, any insult she could have hurled my way. Her stillness, her silence, was the most terrifying weapon she'd ever wielded against me.

And for the first time in a very long time, I was truly afraid.

Time stretched, then I choked out, "You're angry."

Her answer was blunt, devoid of emotion. "Oh really? What makes you think that?"

I glanced down. Blood still seeped from the gash in my leg. With a trembling hand, I fumbled for a towel and pressed it against the wound. "Your cut is kinda deep. Was that on purpose?"

She didn't say anything.

It probably was on purpose.

My gaze fell on the syringe. "Where'd you get that?"

"What happened to your hand?"

"I asked first."

"Don't try to play games now, Satoru. You're walking on thin fucking ice," she snapped.

"Shattered some glass," I said after a pause ", and punched Sukuna."

"Stole it from the hospital."

"What?"

"You think I'd date an addict and not have adrenaline on hand?"

My lips twitched into a weary smile. Oh my beautiful, brilliant girl, always prepared.

"But you know, two milliliters is a bit much." I moved my leg slightly to check if she had cut any tendons, which would complicate the healing a bit. "Or are you trying to kill me?"

Her gaze pierced me, colder than any scalpel. "Looks like you're doing a fine job of that yourself."

My smile faded.

Silence.

Oh, that cruel silence again.

She didn't say anything. Maybe I should be thankful for that, because if she said anything now, I'd probably crumble completely — if I haven't already.

Ironic, wasn't it?

How much power this woman had over me.

Yet it was me who destroyed her.

She dropped her head, ran a shaking hand through her hair, then looked at me again. "How much did you take?"

Huh?

Why would she ask that?

Didn't she see that it's over?

That I'm too far gone?

It was unbearable.

It was unbearable, how she could still look at me and see someone worth saving. It was unbearable, knowing she believed in me even when I didn't.

Almost pissed me off, how stubbornly she clung to that stupid hope. Because seeing that hope in her eyes — it made me hate myself even more.

I wouldn't change, couldn't. Not for her, not for anyone.

"Doesn't matter. It's over."

"Satoru, please," she choked out, pain raw in her voice, the pain I caused, "cut the crap and tell me. Now."

"It doesn't matter," I repeated, my voice cold. I couldn't bear the flicker of hope, couldn't bear to fail her yet again.

Then, the first tear rolled down her cheek and my heart shattered, the fragments piercing me from within.

I'd never wanted to be the reason those beautiful eyes filled with pain, the reason her sweet lips trembled. Every fiber of my being wanted to pull her close, erase the hurt I'd caused.

I would have given anything, sacrificed anything, if only I could make it stop.

But I couldn't.

Because I was the problem. I was the poison.

She buried her face in her hands. "I'm tired, Satoru."

"I know."

"I'm so fucking tired," she whispered through tears.

"I know, love."

My eyes burned as I watched her fragile body shudder. Each sob of her driving a stake deeper into my already bleeding heart. I bit my lip until I tasted blood.

I hated myself, hated myself, hated myself, hated myself, hated myself because — because I was the reason for all of this.

She'd never wanted this, never wanted to fall in love with me to begin with, but I dragged her into it anyway.

Because I was selfish.

Knew how it would end.

And now, I could only watch — only watch in this unbearable silence as the woman I loved wept over the man I hated.

"It's for the best, believe me—"

"No," she cut me off. "You're sacrificing me for this—this reputation of mine you think matters. It doesn't. I don't want any of it without you. I don't want a future where you're not in it."

She looked up then, eyes red and filled with unshed tears. "Because I love you, Satoru."

What?

The words turned my blood to ice.

After everything — the lies, the ways I'd hurt her, the desperate attempts to push her away — there it was, the confession I'd craved and feared in equal measure.

My heart was being ripped apart and stitched back together again in that very moment — vulnerable and yet so unbearably full.

She loved me, she said it.

She loves me.

And I love her.

God, how I loved her. More than I thought possible.

I've never once loved in my entire life.

Not until her.

Not until she changed me completely.

What is that, anyway? Love?

How can I possible describe the type of feeling I feel when I'm with her? How can I ever convey the words when they are not even clear to me?

How cruel it is. How utterly cruel the type of feeling is, that she makes me feel.

Because how could I ever live without it.

Not when she showed me how to breathe.

How to live.

How could I ever go back to what I was before her — was there even something before her?

Not when she showed me how to breathe.

With her.

For her.

Because she is the air that fills my lungs.

The pulse that keeps me alive.

And nothing can ever change that. So how could I ever go back to what I was before?

Oh, how she tortures me, tortures me with feelings I rather not feel, tortures me with her love that I deserve so little.

Nothing.

I deserve nothing and yet she gives me everything.

Why can't I give it back? What chains me, binds this rotten heart? Why does it fail me so cruelly to love her the way she deserves?

Because she does.

She deserves everything.

She is everything.

Yet there is only my own failure in loving her. I'm failing her again and again. I hurt her again and again. I hate myself, hate myself for the pain I cause her.

Still—

How can I let her go, when she's the only good thing in my life?

It is selfish, selfish to say the least, to want to keep her close when all I do is fail her.

Her tears were molten iron searing my insides. But I clench my jaw, refusing to let them break me. If she saw weakness, she might hesitate. Might stay and continue to be broken by me.

Every fiber of my being wanted nothing more than to reach out, to comfort her, to tell her it would all be okay.

More lies for a heart that deserved nothing but the truth. So I swallowed down the love threatening to spill from my lips.

I would give her anything, my life, the last shreds of my sanity — except the one thing she asked for, the only thing she ever ask for.

Because loving her, truly loving her, meant letting her go. Even if it destroys me.

"I spare you," I rasped.

"No." She slowly shook her head. "You're killing me. Can't you see?" There was a cold edge in her voice now. "You're killing me."

"I can't change. Love isn't enough. I can't stop."

"You're the only one who thinks that." Her reply held a flicker of her old, beautiful defiance, a defiance I loved so dearly. "I'd follow you anywhere, Satoru. Even if you can't get clean, then so be it. I don't care. I won't leave you."

The sincerity in her voice was a blow, a beautiful, terrible blow. Complete, unwavering acceptance of who I was, in all my brokenness.

And in that moment, I finally realized.

It wasn't about saving her. It was about saving myself from the terrifying vulnerability her love demanded. From the weakness that threatened to drown me if I let her in.

Perhaps I'm just a coward after all.

My heart was too damn small, too messed up. Of course I had to push her out, deny her the love she offered so freely — because it terrified me.

Her love terrified me.

"I can't do this to you," I choked out, the words scraping my throat raw. "You deserve—" I swallowed, the words catching in my throat. "You deserve better."

"Better?" She leaned forward slightly. "You are my better."

Oh, love, that's not true.

You are my better. I'm your worst.

I wanted to say that, should've said that.

But I remained silent, unable to say anything.

"Say something, Satoru."

I couldn't, simply couldn't. Because mere words were too hollow, too insignificant against the depth of her pain.

"Say something, damn it!"

"It will get easier someday," I chocked out. Each word felt like a stone I was forcing down my own throat. Each word empty — we both knew it.

"Is that what you hope for?"

"I have to."

She closed her mouth. Her silence more devastating than any scream. She didn't explode, as I half-expected. Instead, she straightened, her movements slow, weary.

I watched her, unable to move, unable to look away, as a horrifying realization bloomed across her face. It wasn't anger, wasn't sadness — it was a terrible understanding.

She knew. She always knew.

Perhaps that's what I hated about her the most.

"That's it?" she asked.

"That's it."

She watched me. Not in anger, but with chilling detachment. Her eyes, usually so filled with warmth, were now as distant as those of a stranger.

Still, I burned the image into my soul, knowing it might be the last time.

Then, without another word, she turned. And walked away.

When she finally disappeared from sight, a wave of crushing despair washed over me. It wasn't just the loneliness. It was the terrifying certainty that there was no going back from this.

I had destroyed the best thing in my life — a sacrifice she didn't even ask for.

But then again, my sacrifice is really only an illusion after all, masking a desperate, terrified selfishness.

Because I'm selfish.

I do love her. Gods, how I love her.

But my fear was stronger.

And I was too damn weak to fight it.

─── ·✧· ───

Four weeks.

Was it four weeks?

I can't remember.

Time — it didn't tick or flow anymore.

It was a shapeless thing. Punctuated only by the empty thump of my heart in this wrecked chest.

Those first days — or weeks, who knows? — they melted together in a haze. After she left, I was — raw. One giant exposed nerve.

Each damn breath without the pills felt like scraping sandpaper across it, a reminder of what I'd lost — no, what I'd destroyed.

So I was barely sober.

My body didn't even protest. At first, it was almost — nice? The rush, the way it wiped out not just the pain but any thought at all.

But the crash was always brutal. Mornings, if you could even call it that, I'd wake up shaking, sick to my stomach, and terrified of — what was I even terrified of? Somehow of everything and nothing at all. But I knew the fix for that.

It was a sick, relentless cycle.

The phone rang, vibrated with messages. Suguru mostly. His messages growing more urgent with each unanswered text. Liver issues. Treatment. Something about irreversible damage.

It was all white noise compared to the screaming in my head.

Her name, though, cut through the haze.

There were nights — or was it days? — when a desperate, clawing need to hear her voice, to see her face, would rise up in me. I'd reach for the phone, fingers hovering above her name. Then the fear would crush that impulse.

I knew that reaching out to her would be the final act of cruelty.

So I stumbled on, each day collapsing into the next.

Until the next semester started and I remembered I had an actual job.

─── ·✧· ───

I stood in the corridor outside the auditorium.

My fingers fumbled with the familiar pill bottle. Just enough to numb the edge, get me through the lecture. With a bitter swallow, I tilted the pill into my palm, chasing it down dry.

Four weeks. Four weeks of barely holding it together, four weeks since I almost OD'd, four weeks since she left, and the weight of it all threatened to crush me at any moment.

Yet, muscle memory took over.

I limped slightly as I walked into the auditorium. My leg still hurt after she basically cut my muscle in half.

She definitely did that on purpose. She was too smart not to not know what she was doing.

The usual chatter died down when I walked in. Old routine. Time for the performance. Pretend I'm the professor, pretend like this whole thing isn't ripping me apart, piece by piece. It should have been comforting.

Once, perhaps, it was.

Wordlessly, I grabbed a marker, scrawled my name on the board. Like they didn't already know who I was, right?

Everyone on campus knows, especially after this summer's mess.

With a sigh, I turned towards the class.

And there she was.

My breath hitched, the marker clattering to the floor. My lips parted, but no words came.

Of course.

Of fucking course.

Second-year lecture.

How the hell could I forget that?

She was here, after everything, right in front of me. The pain of the past weeks, that suffocating emptiness — it all melted away, replaced by a pounding headache in that one instant.

My eyes clung to her, unable to look away, drinking in the sight of her. That stubborn tilt of her head, the pain in those beautiful eyes — God, how I'd missed her.

Yet with every beat of my yearning heart came a fresh wave of guilt. I longed to reach out, to apologize, to tell her how much I'd missed her.

But I knew it was wrong.

Then, it hit me. Every eye in the room was on her, following my gaze like a spotlight burning into her. Damn it.

Still, she didn't flinch.

Endured it like she has always endured everything.

Clearing my throat, I managed to speak as I adverted my gaze. "So, uh, let's start the lecture."

My voice echoed in the now tense auditorium, words tumbling out in a forced attempt at normalcy. The lecture blurred. My own words were just noise in my head. I pushed through the lecture. Don't even remember what I lectured about.

It was routine, should have been easy, but — not with her there. Never with her.

Every damn minute, my eyes flicked towards her, drawn like a magnet. I couldn't help it. Because all I could see was her. But she avoided my gaze.

Should've expected that.

Shouldn't make me angry, right?

Still did.

Finally, thank god, the bell rang.

I let out a breath I didn't even know I was holding.

I remained behind my desk and gathered my notes. Students surged towards the exit, a faceless blur of motion. My traitorous gaze remained locked on her as the auditorium slowly emptied.

She and her friends passed by me. Before I could even think, the words tumbled out, "Wait, not—not you, first-year."

Silence.

Her friend's chatter halted abruptly. I hadn't meant to say it, hadn't thought before the desperate need to speak to her had short-circuited my brain.

Now, it was done.

Her eyes, those beautiful eyes, met mine. For a moment, time seemed to stand still.

Her friends exchanged glances. I could feel Zenin glaring daggers at me, didn't even need to look. She'd always been fiercely protective.

"I'll catch up later," she said then to her friends, a strained smile plastered on her face.

They left, leaving us alone in the vast, suddenly suffocating auditorium.

Silence again.

My heart hammered against my ribs, so loud I feared she could hear it.

Finally, she spoke. "You know I'm not a first-year anymore."

I rounded the desk, the wood rough against my fingertips. "Yeah, right. Sorry." Leaning against it, I crossed my arms.

"Didn't you get suspended?"

"They postponed it."

She watched me for a moment, those beautiful eyes drilling into me. Her eyes held a coldness I've never seen before. For a sickening moment, I thought I might throw up.

"How are you?"

"Don't," she snapped. "Don't ask me that. Don't you dare pretend to care after—"

She stopped herself, the silence louder than any accusation. After everything you did. After you pushed me away. After you nearly killed yourself.

She didn't need to voice it.

My hands clenched into fists against the edge of my desk, nails digging into my palms in a futile attempt to ground myself. Needed to maintain this thin illusion of control.

I do care. Dammit, I care more than you'll ever know.

I wanted to scream it, to tear open my chest and show her the bleeding wound she'd left behind. But the words stuck in my throat.

Pointless now, anyway.

Knuckles turned white, nails digging deeper.

She stepped closer. Her hand darted into her bag, then shot out, palm open. Keys glinted in the harsh light — the keys to my apartment.

I watched them for a second. Should've expected that. Shouldn't hurt me. Still did.

"You don't have to return them. I want you to keep them."

"Why? I won't need them anymore, will I? Or are you planning on overdosing again?"

Each word was acid on an open wound.

I deserved this, the anger, the contempt, it was all on me. But why the hell did it make me so fucking angry?

"Have you ever thought about how I felt when I found you?" she snapped, her voice rising. "How terrified I was when you wouldn't respond? When you couldn't even recognize me? When I thought you'd die on me?" She took a shaky breath. "Fuck Satoru, I held your face in my hands while you were barely breathing!"

I tried to speak, but she cut me off. "Don't. You. Dare."

"Four weeks," she went on, her voice sharp, laced with a fury that cut to the bone. "Four weeks of silence. Ever think I might be drowning, haunted by what I saw? Or were you too busy numbing yourself with pills? Hell, I didn't even know if you'd overdosed for good this time!"

Her words hit me cold, but they weren't the storm tearing me apart. It was the image of her, terrified, holding my barely-alive body, that ripped my insides out.

Those eyes — her eyes filled with a terror that was all because of me. The guilt choked me. Seeing my near-death through her haunted eyes is twisted a knife in my gut.

It was the look of someone who'd had a piece of her soul ripped out.

It was the look of someone who loved me.

"But then again, you never cared about me, did you?" she added, the raw hurt bleeding beneath the anger.

My stomach twisted. "Don't you dare say that," I rasped, the words ripping from my throat. "I care so much it damn near killed me. You were the only thing keeping me alive, the only reason I fought at all! Don't you dare say I don't—" I choked, the pain unbearable.

The room seemed to tilt, my anger threatening to consume me.

I took a step towards her, closing the distance in one move. We were so close, I could smell her damn shampoo. "Every damn thing I did, every stupid decision—it was all because I care about you too much."

Her eyes widened. But only for a second. Then, that cold defiance was back, and it cut deep.

"You're really pathetic, you know that?" she spat. "You talk about caring, but in the end you threw everything away. Because you are too terrified to let yourself love me. Because apparently your own damn peace is worth more than me."

Her words were knives, finding their mark with cruel efficiency.

"Shut up," I whispered. "You know nothing."

"Oh really?" She glared at me, "then let me paint the picture for you—the minute things got difficult, the second you had to face actual consequences for your actions, you used it as an excuse to back away. Shut yourself down."

She moved closer still. "Convenient, wasn't it? Pushing me away, destroying us—it absolved you from having to confront anything real."

Her accusations hit uncomfortably close to home.

And I didn't want to hear it from her lips.

Not from hers.

"Shut up," I growled.

"Don't you dare tell me to shut up," she snapped back, her voice rising. "You don't get to play the victim here. You did this. You ruined everything."

Fury ignited, not at her, but at myself.

Blindly, I reached out, my fingers gripping her jaw so tight it bordered on violence. I forced her to look at me, my eyes burning into hers. "Shut up, or I swear to god, I'll make you."

Her chin lifted, eyes narrowing. "I dare you."

The words set me on fire. Every rational thought, every vestige of self-preservation was devoured by a sudden, desperate need. My gaze fell to her lips, slightly parted, a vulnerable target I craved to claim.

Without even thinking, my hand went to her waist, fingers digging in as I pulled her impossibly close. My other hand tangled in her hair, forcing her head back. Our eyes locked, some kind of messed-up challenge.

I could feel her rapid breaths on my skin, smell that damn perfume of hers that I'd always loved, but now was driving me to the edge of control. Her heart pounding against mine.

Everything in me screamed to close the distance, claim those lips that had haunted me, haunted me for weeks.

I wanted to claim her, to silence her, to lose myself in her, but my last shred of sanity held me back.

Because pushing her further into my nightmare was the ultimate act of cruelty.

"Uncomfortable, isn't it? Getting confronted with the ugly truth?" she whispered against my lips.

My grip on her tightened. She really didn't know when to stop, or maybe she simply wanted to watch me burn. Perhaps both.

"Don't push me."

"Why? Scared of what you'll find if you let yourself be honest for once?" Her head tilted. Her gaze was fire, and I was already ash. "You run, Satoru. From everything, but most of all, from yourself."

"And that," she leaned closer, almost brushing my lips, "is what makes you the most pathetic person I know."

Oh, she could be so viciously cruel when she wanted to. So disgustingly cruel. It was one of the things I'd fallen hopelessly in love with. Even now, as it tore me apart, I still loved it.

But I also wanted nothing more than to fuck that attitude out of her right then and there.

"You're right. You're always right. Maybe that's what's terrifies me about you so much."

"You're not terrified of me," she whispered. "You're terrified of yourself."

The air between us crackled. Every rational thought in my brain begged me to stop. Still, I couldn't resist. I inched closer, helpless against the force that binds and burns us both.

My hands tightened their hold as I took a sharp inhale. Her eyes fluttered shut, lashes trembling.

Our lips hovered, almost touching, two aching souls suspended in that impossible space. So much unspoken words, so much hurt, and the destructive pull between us that had always tethered us together.

Then, the auditorium door creaked open.

Her head snapped towards the sound. But I couldn't look away, wouldn't miss a second of her. Because this, right here, was all I had left.

Had to be Suguru anyway — anyone else would be screaming their heads off by now.

After a pause, she turned back at me. "You know, I'm still waiting."

"For what, love?"

"For it to get easier."

I looked at her, the woman I loved, and guilt clawed at my insides. That hurt, that anger on her face — I deserved it all. Because it was the consequence of the pain I'd caused.

"You said it would get easier," she added.

It was a lie. Nothing about this was easy. Nothing ever would be again. Suddenly, the room felt too small, the air thick and unbreathable.

"I don't know if it ever will."

Perhaps I was only meant to love her in silence.

In distance.

Because at least then I couldn't hurt her anymore.

Suguru cleared his throat. He stepped into the room, breaking the moment.

Reluctantly, I let go of her. She stepped back, eyes holding mine for a second, something flickering there that I didn't dare try to read. Then, without another word, she turned and walked away.

I watched her go.

Suguru approached me, stopping close by. He didn't say anything.

I leaned against the desk, running a hand through my hair. The adrenaline from that almost-kiss crashed, leaving behind a hollow ache.

The sound of the door slamming behind her echoed in the empty auditorium, way too loud.

Suguru's hand landed on my shoulder.

"You really have a thing for bad timing," I muttered.

"Bad timing," he echoed, "or good timing to stop you from doing something stupid?"

I didn't answer. The memory of her, so close, choked every thought out of my mind.

"You know it was the right thing to do. With everything going on, letting her go was the right decision."

"I know," I said, pushing off the desk and rounding it to gather my things. I couldn't meet his gaze. "I'm trying to remember that."

Suguru then started placing pill bottles on the desk with a serious expression. The first clink of plastic on wood cut through the silence.

"Prednisone for the liver inflammation." Another bottle. "Lactulose for the hepatic encephalopathy." Then another. "Vitamin B and K for the nutritional deficiencies."

"But you know the first step would be to—" he paused for a second then placed another two bottles in from of me. "Methadone, to manage the withdrawal and craving. And Naltrexone, to block the euphoric effects of your opioids."

Hesitantly, another bottle appeared. "Clonidine, in case you feel like you're dying."

"Suguru—" I began, but he cut me off.

"Satoru, you have to get clean. The pills won't do a damn thing if you keep wrecking your liver."

"Yeah, it's a little late for that, don't you think? It's the only thing keeping me sane right now."

He sighed. "You're the absolute worst patient ever."

"Aw, come on, I thought you liked a bit of challenge. You're the best doctor, you'll figure something out." I rummaged through my bag, pulling out a folder.

"Even the best doctor on earth can't help if you don't—"

I shoved the folder across the desk, cutting him off. "What's this?"

"It's a patient. An anyeurism. I'm still not allowed to do surgery, not until this thing with the ethics committee is over."

Suguru opened the folder, flipping through the pages. "You want me to do it? Is there something special about this patient?"

"I want you to take her with you," I said quietly. "She likes aneurysm clippings."

Suguru looked up, that familiar crease between his brows. "She'll figure it out. Sooner or later. Latest when you're in the hospital waiting for a liver transplant, not lecturing anymore."

Silence stretched. My eyes fell on the pill bottles lined up on the desk.

I sighed, then gathered them and crammed them into my bag. "Let's go. I need fresh fair," I said as I brushed past him, putting the withdrawal meds back into his hands.

Without another word, I left the auditorium.

─── ·✧· ───

My eyes snapped open.

I sat upright, a strangled gasp tearing from my throat. My heart hammered against my ribs, each beat threatening to burst right out of my chest.

For a disorienting second, the world was a blur. Sweat drenched my skin. My lungs screamed for air.

Damn nightmares.

Another night of that shit.

I clutched at my chest, trying to quell the frantic pounding. Cold sweat made my shirt cling to my skin. The room spun. My pulse thundered in my ears.

I fumbled for the lamp, the sudden brightness stinging my eyes. But it didn't chase away the image seared into my brain. Her face, cruel, beautiful, cruelly beautiful, twisted in absolute terror. My stomach twisted.

My fault.

Always my fault.

I couldn't breathe right.

Sleep was a lost cause now. First decent rest in a week, and my brain decided to torment me again. Exhaustion was its own kind of hell, but it was nothing compared to this. That, more than anything, was the real torture.

I slumped forward, scrubbing a hand over my face.

I'd hurt her.

I'd hurt her, the one person who meant something.

Every day, it felt more like I'd made the biggest mistake of my life. Letting her go, pushing her away, I—

I hated myself.

Hated the way I ruined everything.

Hated the way I ruined every chance at something good.

It was like a damn curse.

Nothing good ever lasted for me. I should've known that by now.

Damn it, I knew it was wrong. But how the hell could it be wrong when it'd felt so damn right? When she was the only thing, the only person, that cut through the crap, made this whole mess seem like it might have some sort of meaning?

How could that possibly be wrong?

Guilt ate at my insides. Had I been a damn coward? Too scared to fight for something that made me feel, really feel?

Perhaps.

Easier to push her away, sabotage the whole damn thing, than risk actually letting her in. Letting anyone in. Losing control. But it didn't matter now, did it?

It was over.

I needed out. Out of my head, out of this apartment, out of my own damn skin.

The silence was unbearable.

I pushed off the bed, muscles screaming in protest. I slipped into running clothes, the routine automatic. As I laced up my shoes, a sharp sting shot through my leg from the still-healing cut on my leg.

That bitch.

The more I thought about it, the more sure I was she'd done it on purpose.

Good thing I was addicted to painkillers, huh?

I drowned a pill — no two, for good measure — before stepping outside into the pre-dawn chill.

Cold autumn air bit at my skin. Each step echoed on the empty street. The pills kicked in, dulling the sharp pain in my leg. Good. Long as the cut didn't split open, I didn't damn care.

I pushed myself, needing the burn in my muscles, the ache in my lungs, to drown out the constant echo of her voice, her name, in my head.

The world blurred. Streetlights, shadows, it all melded together. The only reality was the ache in my body, the cold air forcing its way into my lungs. My mind, for once, was mercifully blank.

No nightmares, no guilt, no memories of her haunted eyes — just the simple focus on putting one foot in front of the other.

I didn't set a goal, didn't choose a destination.

Just moving, pushing, escaping.

Sweat dripped, but I barely registered. With each mile, the crushing weight eased. Not gone, hell, not even close to forgotten, but — manageable.

I ran until the city was a smear of lights, until my legs burned and my lungs screamed.

Finally, gasping for breath, legs threatening to give out, I stumbled to a halt. The neon lights of a Seven Eleven cut through the pre-dawn darkness. My throat was sandpaper. I pushed through the door.

Inside, the harsh lights stung my eyes. I grabbed a water, my body on autopilot as I shuffled toward the register. The bored-looking teenager behind the counter gave me a sidelong look as I fumbled for my wallet.

"Rough night?"

"Something like that." I glanced down at my leg, the still-healing cut a visible red line. Wincing, I shifted my weight, favoring the uninjured side.

I pulled out my card to pay, but then a flash of color caught my eye. Beside the cashier's register, stacked in a gaudy pyramid, was a display of energy drinks. I starred at them for a second, the name oddly familiar.

I knew why the name was so familiar.

I reached for a can and placed it on the counter. "And this."

Outside, I downed the water in a matter of seconds. Then, I cracked open the energy drink. The first sip hit my tongue. Surprisingly, it didn't taste half-bad without a shot of stale coffee to ruin it.

But the taste wasn't the problem, wasn't it?

Memories flooded back. Her, hunched over a massive anatomy textbook in the dim library, those beautiful eyes ringed with exhaustion. Beside her, half-empty, a mug of coffee — spiked with the sickeningly sweet energy drink I currently held.

Just the thought of that awful mixture made my stomach turn.

Still, a smile tugged at my lips.

Dammit, I didn't want to think about her. But to be fair, thinking, not thinking — it was all the same. The dull, constant ache of her absence throbbed beneath it all.

I chugged the rest of the energy drink, crushing the can in my hand.

Ah, fuck it.

Before my sanity could interfere, my legs were in motion.

I knew this was wrong. Knew every step took me closer to more pain. Knew all along this was stupid, reckless — inevitable.

I couldn't stop.

The pull towards her was too damn strong. I needed to see her, to confirm her existence, to know she was real, to fix — what? What the hell could I fix? What the hell did I even think I was doing?

Finally, gasping for breath, I stumbled to a halt outside her apartment building.

A glance at my watch confirmed the hour — well past 3 am. Insane. I hadn't expected her to be awake. Just needed the pathetic reassurance of her presence. But as I looked up, my breath hitched.

In a second-floor window, a flicker of warm light spilled into the darkness. And there, etched against that warmth — her silhouette. Unmistakable.

A heavy exhale escaped my lips.

She was there.

Here.

On this same cursed world with me.

My heart pounded against my ribs. I knew, I had no right to be here. But god, I needed this, needed to see her.

She sat on the windowsill, book in hand. My future wife. Even in the dead of night, she was studying. How I loved her.

My gaze traced the familiar curve of her shoulders, the way the soft lamplight painted her skin with warmth, highlighting the strands of hair escaping her messy bun.

In that stolen moment, I could almost convince myself that things were different, that my actions hadn't irrevocably shattered something precious.

But then, she moved. Rising from her seat, she stretched, drawing the fabric of her shirt upwards. Before my mind could catch up, she was at the window, pushing it open. I froze.

She was staring down — right at me.

Shit.

I held my breath. For what felt like an eternity, we simply stared at each other. A muscle in her jaw twitched. Then her gaze dropped, breaking eye contact.

"You're bleeding."

I glanced down. The edge of my shorts was soaked through, a fresh stain of crimson spreading. Damn it. The cut had reopened.

"Yeah," I said, looking back up at her, "I'm a mess."

I braced myself for whatever was coming. The anger, the disgust, the righteous fury — it would all be justified. I deserved it. But she simply watched me. Her gaze was steady, devoid of emotion.

"You know where the entrance is," she said finally, then leaned back into the soft glow of her room and closed the window shut.

Before my brain could catch up with how wrong this was, I walked toward the apartment building.

─── ·✧· ───

I sat on the edge of her bed, she on a chair in front of me, her hands already on my leg as she pushed the fabric of my shorts up. "How could you not notice that?"

I opened my mouth, but she cut me off, "Wait, forget it."

Yeah. Now she remembered.

With practiced efficiency, she began cleaning the wound. Her touch was surprisingly gentle, considering how pissed she must be.

The silence was heavy, broken only by the rustle of bandages and my occasional sharp intake of breath when the antiseptic hit a raw spot.

My eyes wandered. Her space, even small and half-finished, felt warm, lived in. Smelled like her. Books spilling everywhere, papers scattered on a desk, a yoga mat forgotten in the corner — the organized chaos was so perfectly her.

Then my gaze landed on the half-unpacked boxes stacked against the wall. She really still didn't fully move in. Occupied with my mess, huh?

Guilt flooded me. I didn't deserve this, didn't deserve her gentle hands on me, not after everything.

Yet, a selfish part of me wanted nothing more than to stay exactly like this, wanted nothing more than to keep her hands on me.

With a sigh, I sank back against her pillows. Exhaustion seeped into my bones. Pain returned as the effects of the pills wore off.

Her fingers brushed the reopened cut. I winced, throwing an arm over my eyes. The relentless pounding in my head threatened to split me open, spilling all the ugly thoughts onto her pristine sheets.

"You've had nightmares again, haven't you?"

Huh?

I lifted my head a fraction, struggling to meet her eyes. She glanced up briefly, her eyes guarded, then focused back on my leg.

"Yeah, something like that." My head thumped back onto the pillow. "Hard to sleep when your head won't shut up."

"What dose?"

"You really don't want to know."

"I asked because I do," she countered. The sharp tug as she tightened the bandage around my leg was enough to make me speak.

"Ten milligrams," I admitted, wincing. "The usual."

She scoffed, then another, even sharper, tug had me gritting my teeth. "Ngh—fuck," I moaned.

I really needed a pill now.

She stood, gathering the first-aid supplies. "Heals slowly, doesn't it?"

I knew it.

I popped myself up on one elbow, raising an eyebrow at her.

"Don't give me that look. You know damn well you deserved it."

I let out a dry laugh. "You really are a bitch sometimes." I dropped back onto the bed, my hand reaching for my throbbing head.

I needed two pills now.

"You've got some damn nerve. You show up here in the middle of the night, injured, high—"

"I'm not high—"

"Save it," she spat. "You know what your fucking problem is? You can't stand being alone. Alone with your thoughts, with yourself. So you run. You run to pills, to whatever distraction you can find, anything to fill the void."

Yeah, how the hell am I supposed to want to be alone after feeling what it's like to be with you, stupid.

"You're too damn scared to face your fears," she continued, her voice laced with a bitter edge, "and when someone threatens your artificial peace, someone who might actually force you to look in the damn mirror, you panic. You sabotage it, push them away before it all gets too real, too close."

She stepped closer. "Because it's easier, isn't it? Safer to stick with the misery you know than risk having to face that void."

Every word stung, but I couldn't deny it, couldn't lie anymore.

"You're right. And I'm sorry—"

"Don't." She rose a hand at me. "Don't pretend you care, Satoru. You've made it clear how little I matter."

How little you matter?

Oh, love, you couldn't be more wrong.

A harsh laugh escaped me.

"You find this funny?"

"No, love," I said, pushing myself up. My leg throbbed in protest, but I ignored it. Everything narrowed down to her. I moved closer, a strange recklessness fueling me. "Quite the opposite."

Something flickered in her eyes — surprise? wariness? — but the anger remained.

"Keep going," I insisted, moving closer. "Let it out. Yell at me, tell me how pathetic I am. Make me feel something, anything other than this damn emptiness."

She hesitated. Her eyes searched mine, and for a breathless moment, I hoped that her fury, her anger, would burn away the numbness, making me feel something, anything.

Because even her anger was better than her indifference.

I couldn't stand being indifferent to her.

Might as well make her hate me.

"You want me to yell at you?" Her voice rose, the first hint of the storm I craved. "Fine! You wanna be a pathetic mess? Go ahead! Piss away your career, your life, whatever the hell you care about, I don't give a damn anymore!"

Each word hit me, but there was a desperate relief in it. Finally, she wasn't looking at me with that chilling indifference, that cold pity that twisted a knife in my gut.

Her rage, it was fire — scorching and brutal, but alive. And I loved it.

Because it was prove she still cared, even if it was just to hate me with every fiber of her being. It was better than the void, that terrible chasm that had opened up between us after I'd pushed her away.

I closed the distance, enjoying the anger in her eyes. She flinched, but didn't back down.

"More." I grabbed her waist, lifting her with ease, and hauled her towards the bed.

"You're weak!" she spat, pushing against my chest, her voice rising with each word.

Yeah, so damn weak for you, love.

"You're selfish! So consumed by your own self-pity you can't see how you hurt everyone around you!"

Her words should have hurt. They probably would have, under different circumstances. But right now, I couldn't care less.

"Keep going," I rasped, my pulse pounding in my ears. I forced her onto the bed and hovered over her, my body trapping her between the mattress and my own. "C'mon, love, let it all out."

"You don't deserve me," she continued. "You don't deserve anyone who gives a damn, because you only know how to destroy things."

Each word was a knife. Yet, with each insult, the suffocating hollowness inside me eased a fraction. I wanted her anger, the full force of it, wanted the burn only she could inflict on me.

"More."

Her breath hitched, eyes narrowing. "You keep breaking my heart over and over, then come crawling back when it suits you, like it doesn't matter!"

"You're right." I leaned in, my thumb brushing over her bottom lip. The thin fabric of her shirt did little to hide her shivers. "C'mon, love, give it to me. I know you can do better."

In one swift move, I ripped my shirt over my head, tossing it to the floor. I leaned down again, my breath ghosting over her lips. "Hate me." My hands went for the flimsy waistband of her shorts. "Tell me how much you despise me."

Her breaths came fast, quick gasps against my skin. I could see it all over her face — the rage, the fear, and maybe — yeah, maybe that darker edge, the same desperation burning in me.

"I fucking hate you, Satoru. Hate that you made me care, made me fall for you, then crushed it."

"Don't stop," I said, my voice a hoarse rasp. "Say it again." Before she could react, her shorts were down, exposing her to the night air. My own pants followed hasty, desperate. "Say you hate me."

"I fucking hate that you treat me like I'm just another damn plaything to fill whatever void your messed-up mom or whatever left you with!"

Okay, now it gets personal.

"I fucking hate that you act like you can control me," she hissed, but her body betrayed her, shivered running down her skin as my hands gazed her collarbone. "Hate that you make my choices for me, decide what's good for me, like you got to have control over something when you obviously can't control yourself!"

Damn, Freud himself is on to something tonight, huh? She really doesn't know when to stop.

"You're a fucking hypocrite, you know that?" I leaned closer, my mouth close to her ear. "You hate who I am, but you crave this, don't you? Giving up control, being at my mercy. Admit it."

Her eyes widened, then narrowed. She lifted a hand, as if to slap me, but I was faster. I caught her wrists and pinned them above her head, pressing them hard into the mattress.

"You know it's true," I pressed, relishing the way she struggled against my hold. "It's hard always being the composed one, isn't it? The responsible one. It's draining. Maybe that's why you're drawn to me. You love the thrill as much as I do, don't you?"

She stared at me, silent, her lips a tight line.

"Prove me wrong, sweetheart. Call me a liar, and I'll show you just how wrong you are," I leaned in closer, my voice a harsh whisper against her lips. "We're the same, you and me. We feed off each other. Even if you hate to admit it, I fill that emptiness inside you same as you do for me."

"You arrogant piece of shit!" she spat, twisting and bucking against my grip. "You think you know everything, control everything!"

"Don't I?" My grip tightened, feeling her pulse throb against my fingers. "Seems I've got you pinned pretty damn well, wouldn't you say?"

"You know it's true. You love this. Makes you feel something your books, your fancy grades never could."

"Screw you, Satoru," she hissed, venom in her voice. "We're nothing alike."

"You really are a fool, for wanting to fix something so broken it'll cut you to shreds the moment you get close and then you cry afterwards—"

Her spit hit my face. I closed my eyes for a second, then a smile twisted across my lips.

My future wife just spit in my face — what a good anecdote on our wedding day.

"That's my girl," I rasped, shoving her legs wider. "Tell me how much you hate me. Scream it."

"I fucking hate you Satoru, I hate you—"

Her words died on her tongue as I thrust forward, filling her completely. I closed my eyes, letting my head hang heavy for a second.

My god, the things this woman's body could do to me. I could feel her body trembling beneath me, her heart racing as she arched her back.

How treacherous a body can be, huh?

"Hate you, Satoru," she managed to say before she closed her eyes, biting down her lip as I thrust deeper still. Her thighs spread further apart, inviting me closer, urging me onward.

She's so damn beautiful.

I grinned, my hands still holding her wrists in place over her head. "I know you do, love. But you know what?" My lips were only a breath away from hers. "I hate you, too. I hate how you make me feel, how you expose every broken piece of me, how I crave you like I crave another fix."

Hell, I might just be addicted to this woman.

I pulled out fully, before thrusting back into her. Her head fell back, pressing into the mattress as a strangled moan escaping her lips.

She felt incredible.

Pulling back slowly, I watched her body react to the absence, her eyes flickering open to meet mine. Those pupils dilated with need, mirroring my own hunger for her.

In that moment, nothing else mattered. Not our fight. Not our problems. Not our insults that had left our lips moments before. Just us — two halves coming together in a perfect whole.

I pushed back into her, deeper, harder.

With each thrust, I felt myself sinking deeper into her, losing myself in her. Fuck, if there was anything better than this — well, I hadn't found it yet.

This woman owned me — plain and simple.

It was madness, this pull towards her.

Insane, perhaps.

But it was also undeniably real. So real that even though dawn threatened to break soon, stealing away whatever remnants of darkness remained, I couldn't help but chase after that high only she could provide.

Even knowing full well that when morning arrived, reality would crash down upon us, forcing us back onto opposite sides of the divide.

"Look what you've done to me, love. You're making a fool of me." I whispered against her lips without touching them.

Weren't together anymore after all.

Kissing would be too much.

Her chest rose and fell rapidly beneath me. Her nails dug into my skin where my hands gripped her wrists. With each deep thrust, I watched her face contort with pleasure and pain, her features illuminated by fleeting streaks of moonlight seeping through the curtains.

I loved that look on her face.

I wondered if I could make that look even more pathetic.

I pulled out, dragging the tip of my length across her clit before pushing back in. She squirmed underneath me, arching her back. But I denied her, keeping my unhurried pace. I wanted to draw out this sweet torture for as long as possible.

Hours passed — or perhaps mere minutes. I couldn't tell anymore. All that mattered was this woman writhing beneath me.

Groaning in frustration, she attempted to break free from my grip. "Dammit, Satoru. If you won't finish what you started, then get off me!"

I smirked. "Why so eager, love. Can't handle the wait?" I leaned in to kiss down the side of her neck. She shivered beneath me, her breath hitching as my teeth grazed her skin.

With my free hand I reached down, running my fingers down her quivering stomach, relishing in the shivers that coursed through her body.

She glared up at me, her eyes narrowing dangerously. "Stop calling me 'love'. I don't belong to you, not anymore—"

She gasped into my mouth when I found her clit. Slowly, deliberately, I began to circle it with my thumb, feeling her surrender to me. I plunged deeper, thrusting into her mercilessly.

Let her hate me all she wants. She can't deny the chemistry between us — a spark that refuses to fade, no matter how hard either of us tries.

She must have hated this — hated how she surrendered to me, even with all that anger. Made me wondered if I could rail her up even more.

"You think you're so much better than me?" I rasped. "So strong, so selfless, always putting others first? It's a lie, and you know it. You're just bored."

"You fucker!" Before I knew what was happening, she broke free of my grasp and had flipped us over so that she was now straddling my hips.

Without warning, she reached forward, gripping my throat with surprising strength as she leaned down, her hair falling like a curtain around our faces. I couldn't help but smile.

"Don't project your bullshit on me," she seethed, her face inches from mine.

Her words sent a chill down my spine, stirring up a fresh wave of desire within me. Damn, this woman was infuriating — and captivating in the worst way possible.

We glared at each other like enemies preparing for battle.

"Aren't you a little tired? Pulling up that act all the time?" I choked out, feeling her fingers dig in further. "Deep down, you're just as bored as me, you're just too righteous to admit it."

"Shut up," she hissed, pressing harder, choking the words out of me.

This was madness. Destructive madness. But for this one desperate moment, I didn't care. It was exhilarating, addictive. Because love, our twisted, broken love, wasn't supposed to be pretty.

It was messy, chaotic, and borderline abusive. But sometimes all you need is a firm grip around the throat to remind you that you're alive.

"Harder, love," I gasped, a laugh bubbling up in my constricted throat. "Come on, make me feel your rage."

Slowly, deliberately, she began grinding her hips against mine, setting a maddening pace that left me reeling. Fuck, I think I love it even more when she hates me.

"Ahh, shit," I gasped, clutching at her thighs as she rode me mercilessly. "That's it."

Eyes squeezed shut, my head rolled back. Chills prickled my skin, possibly due to the cool breeze drifting in from the window. Or perhaps it was merely her.

She rode me with increased speed, and I could barely contain the overwhelming sensations coursing through my body. Every fiber of my being screamed for release.

My knuckles on her thighs turned white from the force. "Oh, shit, you're going to kill me," I moaned between choked sounds that escaped my lips.

My lips twisted into a smile again. "Admit it. You love the chaos as much as I do. The thrill, the way it makes you feel alive."

"You're wrong," she said, increasing her pace making my cock twitch inside her. "We're nothing alike."

"Keep telling yourself that," I replied, struggling to catch my breath, as she made me lose my mind. "But I know the truth—we're two sides of the same coin."

"You really believe that, don't you?"

"Why else would you be here, like this, with me?" I countered. "Face it, we're addicted to each other—the highs, the lows, the constant push and pull. It's exhilarating, isn't it?"

"You're the only addict here."

"Liar," I rasped.

Her muscles clenched around me, drawing me deeper inside her. She was close. Each contraction of her pushing me further towards a peak that I knew would soon shatter me.

But I wasn't ready yet. Not quite.

I shifted our positions, sitting upright before spinning us around so she was now beneath me on the mattress. I positioned myself behind her, forcing her down onto the mattress.

I slowly slid my hand along her spine as I pushed her further down, feeling her tremble beneath my touch, the softness of her skin beneath my fingertips.

It was intoxicating to watch her submit to me.

"Fuck, you'll be the death of me."

Leaning down, I pressed my lips against the small of her back, feeling her shiver once more. My hand continued its descent, stopping just short of where she needed me.

"Satoru," my name fell from her lips.

Oh, how I loved it when she breathed my name like that. I couldn't resist her — could never resist her. I was at her mercy. Even now.

She arched her back, silently pleading for me to continue. I slid my hand between her legs. "God, you're so fucking wet," I murmured, slipped a finger inside her, then another. She was so tight, so warm.

I couldn't wait to be inside her again.

She gasped, pushing back against me. "Don't stop."

Curving my fingers, I searched for that spot that I knew would drive her mad. When I found it, she cried out, her hips bucking against my hand. Her hands scrabbled at the sheets, grasping for purchase as I started to move inside her.

"Yes, fuck," she moaned, spreading her legs wider. "Right there."

Oh, love. I know you like that.

I smiled, relishing the fact that I knew her body better than herself. I knew every inch of her, every freckle, every scar, every sensitive spot that made her squirm.

"More," she begged.

I happily obliged, adding a third finger and thrusting deeper. She was soaking wet, her juices coating my fingers as I fucked her with my hand. Her moans grew louder, more urgent. She was close, so close.

I increased the pace of my fingers, pumping them in and out of her as I used my thumb to apply pressure to her clit.

However, as her moans reached a fever pitch, I withdrew my fingers, denying her release.

She gasped, glanced over her shoulder at me, her mouth open, but said nothing — probably out of breath.

I brought my fingers to my mouth, savoring the taste of her. It was so uniquely her. I couldn't get enough.

Leaning in, I pressed my body against hers from behind, my hard length probed at her entrance.

I leaned down over her, my hand snaking into her hair. I grabbed it tightly, forcing her head up to meet mine. "I love you, first-year," I murmured against her ear.

She trembled, but her defiance remained strong. "I hate you."

I sighed — always so fierce, makes me wonder what it takes to fuck that stubborn attitude out of her.

"It's alright, I love you enough for both of us."

With that, I pushed her head down into the mattress. Her cry muffled by the sheets beneath her as I thrust into her once more, bottoming out inside her with a groan.

I began to move in and out of her. Faster now, harder until the headboard slammed against the wall. Her muscles clenched around me, drawing me deeper inside her. She clawed at the sheets beneath her, her moans muffled by the fabric.

As her cries grew louder, I quickly pushed her face further into the mattress. "Quiet, first year," I murmured as I angled myself to rub against her G-spot, making it harder for her to keep quiet. "Wouldn't want to disturb anyone in the middle of the night, would we?"

Neither of us spoke a word — not that she could but — perhaps because there was nothing left to say. Instead, we communicated solely through our actions, saying everything that needed to be said without opening our mouths.

I increased both the pace and pressure. Nearly causing her to fall forward hadn't I held her in place with one hand on her waist and one sill in her hair. Her breath hitched, her entire body tensed as she approached her breaking point.

Oh, how I loved feeling her tighten around me.

Bringing her closer to the edge was a thrill like no other. Watching her lose control, hearing her cries and moans, feeling her body tremble beneath me — it was intoxicating.

I could feel myself getting closer to the edge, my balls tightening as I approached my own release.

Her cries grew louder, more urgent, until finally, she shattered around me, her orgasm triggering my own.

With a final thrust, I emptied myself inside her, filling her completely. Her contractions milked every last drop from me, her body still quivering around me.

I stayed inside her, savoring the feeling. It might be the last time.

I was panting, my chest rising and falling rapidly as I tried to catch my breath. My cock was still twitching inside her. Reluctantly, I pulled out with a low moan.

I stayed behind her for a moment longer, admiring the curve of her waist, the sheen of sweat on her skin in the sliver of moonlight.

Don't know when or if I'll ever see that again.

Time seemed to stand still, suspended indefinitely as we tried to find our breath again.

Then she turned her head. "You're a fucking idiot," she finally said.

"Tell me something I don't know."

She shifted to face me, her expression serious. "Promise me something."

"Anything you want, love."

"Promise me, you won't kill yourself with your pills."

I swallowed hard. That's not what'll get me, I thought, as I felt a sharp pain lancing through my right side.

I moved closer, cupping her face with my hands that trembled slightly. For an insane moment, I wanted to kiss her, but I knew I couldn't — couldn't ever again. "I promise," I rasped.

The words heavy with a lie we both knew.

<- prev chapter | next chapter ->

author's note: wooooaaa, another insane!gojo chapter lol. this chapter really killed me, was crying, screaming, throwing up while writing.

i'm equally scared and excited to hear what you think about todays chapter, ngl. originally i didn't plan a smut scene in this chapter, but you know, somewhere down that line gojo just happened and here we are.

also like, i think now both their's darkest secrets are now out — in the worst way possible. also because i keep getting messages regarding how much chapters are left of the story, idk i write form chapter to chapter. we're down somewhere the 60—70 % line with the story i guess, but we'll see. still more to uncover of gojo's past and all that.

also sorry for the people asking of for more fluff and happy moments, ehhh, there will be some in the future?? also i'm still sticking to the plan of a happy ending, so don't worry!! gojo fucked up big time and the next chapters will center about him trying to fight his fears and get shit together — let's see if he can do that. curious myself.

so thank you so so much for sicking by with the story. sending kisses to all of you lovely people seeing me messages, leaving likes, comments and reblog stuff. it really makes my heart happy everything i see a notification. love you all sm!! ♡

okay my last note, just so you know, i'm going on vocation soon, so the next chapter will be a bit delayed again, sorraaaayyy!! wishing you a great day or night and an awesome weekend ahead! ♡

🏷️ @sad-darksoul @aerithsthingss @mylovelessnightmare @bbyxxm @musababy @neuviloved @ykehqqy @hexrts-anatomy @fvsm4x @tw0fvced @heijihattorisgf @sadmonke @thatsopanu @sirencholia @sugurusdiscordmoderator @erwinslut @shervinss @certainlysyko @mechalily @purplehallow11 @kendall0111 @bloopsstuff @therealestpussyeater @louoi7 @whereflowerswenttodie @billiondollarworth @deluluforcarlos55 @starrynight-777 @vina21 @michelleeveline @boba-is-a-soup @cre8inghavoc @love-jelly @daimiyu @d0nk3y-k0ng @mo0nforme @smolbeanzzz @oneiricals @ynishalee @gojolvrr34 @nanasukii28 @ariiiii0938 @kelppsstuff @tojisdollx @drakenswifeyy @bakarinnie @vina21 @phoenix-eclipses @nanamis-baker @neptnszn (pls comment on the series masterlist to get tagged in the future!)

#symptoms and causes #gojo saturo #jujutsu kaisen #saturo gojo x reader #jjk x reader #gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #gojo x you #gojo x female reader #satoru gojo smut #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo angst #gojo angst #jjk smut #gojo satoru #jjk x you #jjk fanfic

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bamsara · 10 months ago

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Does the lamb ever do anything that flusters narinder?

yeah they. breathe. also exists. sometimes they blink too

asddjhsgksfgkaskjf On a serious note, Lambert was comfortable enough with Narinder because of their friendship in the afterlife and before the final battle, (being held in his hand and whatnot) that as soon as Narinder allows some close proximity again after the character growth/arc and time passing, the lamb just falls right back into that closeness without realizing it. If they're aware, they try not to so as to not make him uncomfortable.

Anyway I have a draft written where Lambert asks (with permission) to use Narinder as a cushion to sleep out in a crusade , he agrees thinking theyre just going to lay their head on his shoulder or back and the lamb is suddenly half-way in his lap and already asleep. snork mimimimi.

Reverse cat-sat-on-you-now-you-cant-get-up. lamb sat now he cant move. he doesn't want to move. oh no

#trod au

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sillygoofyqueer · 1 month ago

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Hooooold now!!!! you can't just drop in shen qingqiu attic-wifing crow!yuan and then say JUST KIDDING, i want to hear more!!!

i looove the idea of that shen qingqiu is super suspicious and waiting for the other shoe to drop, for shen yuan to finally reveal the knife hidden in his pocket and stab them in the back, only to find out shen yuan is just... actually Silly & Goofy Like That, and not a threat at all, and also shen yuan isn't scared of him, not even a little bit, and not in the way of most stronger cultivators who shove it in his face that they're more powerful than him, but in the way that shen yuan casually relaxes around him and looks at all his shinies without apprehension.

he doesn't care at all about the rumors either (he's done his own research, and why care about things that aren't true?), but he isn't hanging off his robes either like yue qingyuan, making him the only True Neutral presence around him. so well. attic-wifing it is<3

ATTIC WIFE ATTIC WIFE ATTIC WIFE- Listen, I'm always partial to Shen Qingqiu showing feelings and care by just...shoving people into his home and not letting them leave. I think SQQ would be slow about it, casually making Shen Yuan stay longer - "it's far too dark and even an imbecile wouldn't be stupid enough to try and venture out THIS late" - making him share a bed/sleep where the head disciple would usually stay. He would analyse how SY makes mini/temporary nests and then make the comfiest nest possible for the demon. Then he would start distracting SY with shiny things, leaving them out and carelessly saying that SY can keep them - "does it look like it matches my home? No, go put it in your room." (SY doesn't know when it started being referred to as HIS room, but he lets it happen anyway). SQQ is the one that suggests that SY recruits his corvids to deal with any requests or prayers, so he has more time to "read those frivolous books and practice those instruments that you're dreadful at playing", incidentally, inside SQQ's home. Meetings start being held there, instead of anywhere else. By the time the other peak lords figure out what's going on, SY hasn't been seen outside of Qing Jing Peak for weeks. They're petrified about what SQQ - the one most adamantly against SY's existence on the peak - has done to SY, and go rushing to see what's going on in their shixiong's home. When they get there, they find SY comfortable in SQQ's home, letting him preen his wings as he rants relentlessly about a new book he's reading, pausing to greet them with a confused smile as SQQ smirks smugly from where he's perched, wrapping his arms around an oblivious SY.

#four being a dumbass #crowyuan au #I'm weak for an attic-wifing or two #this can be read as jiuyuan #or just shen jiu's abandonment issues coming into play #I'm partial to the first #so who knows #scum villain self saving system #ren zha fanpai zijiu xitong #scum villain #mxtx svsss #svsss au #svsss #shen yuan #shen qingqiu #shen jiu #jiuyuan

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hiiragi7 · 3 months ago

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Things I've experienced post-Final Fusion:

All of a sudden, the days felt really... really... really long. I never really felt like there was any time in the day prior to final fusion; living my life in parts, I had never experienced such continuous flow of time before. It's long.

It feels like I now have a lot more time to do things in the day, and I have to be careful not to push myself too hard. I've found myself being online less and less and getting a lot more involved in my offline hobbies and reading. I have a lot more time to work towards things I want to do.

I can actually think about and plan for the future now, and it's incredibly exciting. I talk to my partner constantly about it. I am very excited about the future.

I can remember so much more of my childhood, things I never thought I would ever remember I now do. That being said, there are still things I don't remember, likely tied to other memory issues, and I've made my peace with that.

While my memory certainly got significantly better in many ways, I've realized I struggle with non-dissociative memory issues as well, and I will live with those issues for the rest of my life; it's just how my brain developed, and that's okay.

Speaking of memory, I can remember things freely that before were limited to the memory banks of my individual parts. I no longer have to worry about what parts hold which memories and go about tracking them down; I as a whole either remember something or I don't, and of my memories, I can remember any of them whenever I want.

I feel a sense of ownership over my life, over my memories and my sense of self and my body. I can look at it all and very confidently say "that's me", and I feel and know it to be 100% true. A long way away from not being able to recognize myself in the mirror.

I can't dissociatively "take a break" from life the way I used to (ie switching out and letting another part handle it), and while it took a long adjustment period to get used to this, I'm okay with that; I have other ways to take breaks while still being present, I can listen to music or watch videos. If I really just need to be unconscious, I take a nap.

I had to come to terms with the fact I couldn't push myself past my limits anymore in the way that I used to, and that this is in fact an expression of self-care for me. I used to be able to push far past what I should have been able to, especially with regards to physical pain, and to some extent I can still do this under specific circumstances, but it is no longer something that I will do in my day-to-day life living with disability and chronic pain.

Actually existing in my body now, I have come to realize just how much chronic pain I have been in. It's made me a lot more alert to my needs and how to care for myself, what makes it better and what makes it worse.

When people say "there's always a chance you'll split again", it doesn't scare me; it comforts me to know my brain would still know how to cope if such an extreme situation occured that I needed to split again. I've worked through dissociative barriers, I could do it again. I know what lies at the end of that path is love.

No part of me has ever gone away. Even fully fused, we are all still here. I can even still communicate with myself as parts if I choose to. I still have parts, they just look different now. There are no barriers between us.

My parts held a lot of different aspects of my identity to them, aspects I'm still to this day sorting out. I've had a lot of realizations about who I am as a person post-final fusion, especially with regards to gender and disability. A lot of things about myself were formerly very heavily fragmented and dissociated which no longer are, and I'm still making sense of them.

I no longer experience flashbacks and nightmares. This is a major thing for me I sometimes still am in disbelief about, my nightmares used to be so severe that I would refuse to sleep because of them, and my flashbacks were horrible and caused very intense physical sensations. I no longer have them, and that's incredible.

Life is so much more vivid and colorful than I ever realized. I never realized how dull everything felt and looked before final fusion. It feels like a complete perspective shift that is hard to grasp in words.

I can feel my body so much more now physically than I ever could before. I feel each of my limbs, I feel changes in temperature, I feel my own breath, I feel different textures and sensations, everything I hear and see and feel and taste has so much more depth to it now.

I have emotions! A whole lot of them, and I can feel all of them. I can feel emotions that might be percieved as "contradictory" at the same time, I can feel emotions over little things and big things and just about anything at all. I'm no longer limited to feeling my emotions in parts, and it's incredibly freeing.

On that note, I have so much more emotional capacity now for feeling all of the love I have for myself and others. It's wonderful. I can't shut up about it.

#sysconversation #didosdd #final fusion #didresolution #didrecovery #traumagenic #dissociative identity disorder

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ariiadnes · 2 months ago

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╭ ㅤ⿻ ･ HOLY IS THE LOVE THAT SAVED ME ( part ii. )

HOW DELICATE LOVE IS , THIS EBB & FLOW OF SERENITY.

-ˋ ♡ ◞ childe ･ thoma ･ xiao. genshin impact. title cr : juniper vale. repost. tagging @pixelcafe-network. ଓ.°・・・part i.

❀ ﾟ. ༄ childe

childe has always been meant for greater things. in his future, he envisions it all : CONQUEST, POWER, & DESTRUCTION. but in his present arises LOVE , and he does not know what to make of it.

it is a fascinating feeling, the knowing of a belonging. in the abyss he found the hunger for survival and cold fury, and in you, he found the yearning for love and infatuation.

delicate is the way he treads with a wavering heart, sinews lined with chaos and calamity and hesitation and the wanting. childe doesn't know what this type of love is supposed to mean, doesn't know what it's supposed to be, and whether it is right-- this act of pretending like it is his, like it is meant for him. ( but he is made of facades, and he always will be, so maybe this is okay, and maybe he can have this love. )

in the winter, childe holds you close to him. there is no better way to warm up, he claims, and what's there to lose? after all, you can steal some of his body heat and cuddle with him. it's a win-win situation, and even though you roll your eyes at his theatrics, you always give into the comfort of being held.

"i could hold you like this forever." he says with a dramatic sigh, and he almost thinks that your arms wrap around his neck just a little bit tighter.

he expects you to brush him off, make light of his silly words just as you normally do, but you look at him with a gaze so gentle that he almost thinks that maybe this is it-- that love is the endgame for him, and this is all he really needs, power and superiority be damned. with you at his side, what more could he ask for?

you smile, pinch his nose ever so softly before pressing a kiss to it.

"well, what's stopping you, ajax?"

( nothing, he realizes. you are his everything, and he will do everything in his power to cherish you. )

❀ ﾟ. ༄ thoma

thoma is made of gentle beings & love never ending ; in the strings of a tender heart, there is a reverence so pure that not even the gods could understand what worship means.

thoma is in love with you and there is not one day where you are not reminded of this. because there is love to be found in the little things, you both learn: in the way you both wake early with the intention of surprising each other with breakfast, only to wake up at the same time, hearts full and the air filled with laughter as you cook together in compromise. in the way you slow dance in the place you've made a home together at 2:38am, in the way he finds peace in the warmth of your hug as if it were second nature when he comes home after a tedious day of tasks.

thoma is in love with you, and he always tells you this. because to him, love flows in his bloodstream, and how lightly does he carry it with him everywhere he goes. you feel it with every touch, every word-- every glance, every fleeting moment with him, and what a wonderful thing to drown in, this feeling of adoration.

you wake before sunrise, vision blurred as you adjust to the darkness of the bedroom. besides you is the person you love & the person you have decided to spend the rest of your life with, and the smile that graces your lips is one of genuine solace.

you fell asleep holding hands & you wake to his still in yours, his grasp still firm. you tighten your hold the slightest bit; he stirs in his sleep, awakens from his slumber.

you almost apologize for the disruption, but the sight of your tranquility is a blessed one to wake to, and he smiles a smile that is even brighter than the sun, you think.

"good early morning," thoma says, and you nearly laugh at the way his voice cracks, "i love you."

"good early morning," you whisper, pressing a kiss against his temple, "i love you."

❀ ﾟ. ༄ xiao

loneliness is a dull blade; twists itself into his existence, burrows into remnants of misery, and leaves its presence there. it is known and untouched, and perhaps even deserved-- because the removal of such a thing can only lead to the pouring and pouring of sorrow, and a yaksha does not know if the pain would be worth it until it healed and scarred.

the loneliness has always been there, he thinks, and he does not indulge into his thoughts too much for his own sake. but it dissipates when you come into his life, and of all the people he has met, he believes you are the one he cherishes the most.

"xiao," your fingers trail down his neck, touch delicate and exalted, "what do the dreams taste like?"

he shivers under the graze of your fingertips. he wonders if it is from the way you speak his name or the feeling of you.

there is a lump in his throat and he cannot seem to rid of it. he swallows hard, noticing the slight amusement and curiosity that adorns your features. how lovely does the moon's light shine brightly on you, and xiao realizes that he has always found you beautiful, whether under the night sky or the sun's rays-- no matter where you are, he will always look at you with affection in his eyes.

he separates himself from his pride, lips pressing against yours in a kiss made of sacredness and love known. the dreams were once bitter in times of darkness, but now, they taste like nostalgia. like days remembered and times unforgotten. they taste sweet, meant to be held dearly to one's memories.

he breaks the contact, too flustered to notice the way you chase after his touch for only a brief moment. pink hues color his cheeks, and instinctively, he buries his face in your neck to hide his embarrassment.

"it tastes like love." he mumbles against your skin; your laughter is light as a feather, happiness laced throughout, and he thinks it is a miracle that his face can get even hotter.

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #xiao x reader #thoma x reader #childe x reader #-ˋ ♡ ◞ : fic #-ˋ ♡ ◞ : genshin impact #-ˋ ♡ ◞ : banner cr @ v6que

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loaksky · 2 years ago

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— 𝘪𝘯 𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘮

the deets — lo'ak is the black sheep in the family, clinging to honor by a precarious thread. you are the well-loved songstress in the tribe. he should resent you for being everything he's not, but his fickle heart can't bring him to do so.

the who — lo'ak x fem omatikaya!reader

the word count — 10.2k (rip yall)

the tags — (one-sided) rivals-to-lovers, angsty angsty, hurt / comfort, reader gives lo'ak a big ol smooch (perhaps more than one), lo’ak is the biggest dumbass and because of this he’s mean asf, reader has a big ol heart and just really wants lo’ak to like her, aged!up characters for maturity’s sake.

the warnings — language, lo'ak is in luv but doesn't realize it, he's in denial that the feelings could be reciprocated, this is super dramatic so put your seat belts on!

the notes — was feeling extra sad and wanted to write something self-indulgent. this lovely anon requested something, and i used their ask as inspiration to finish this beast. fine line, bags, and love in dark are the three main songs i listened to finish this, so if you wanna be in your feels, have a listen LMAO. despite all the support, i’m still so mf nervous posting this ejsjsjdjs

masterlist

SOMETHING UGLY KINDLES IN THE PIT of Lo'ak's stomach at the mere mention of your name. It's sour on his tongue, bitter in his brain. He doesn't know when he's started to feel like this, started to feel absolutely dreadful anytime he'd hear the timbre of your voice.

It's warm, thick like nectar and it makes him sick.

Ever since you all were little, the elders crooned over what a great girl you were growing into; strong, intelligent, beautiful. It made him boil how much they'd sing your praises, the high esteem everyone held you in as one of the clan's most talented.

Something dull would pick at him being compared to his older brother, but nothing burned more than being compared to you.

Maybe it's because it's always implied whenever your names share the same sentences, that lingering implication that he could be more like you. The clan fans the flames of your mere existence while Lo'ak is snuffed out like a dying fire.

He hates it. He hates you.

He thinks.

It'd be easier to, if you were awful behind the scenes. Arrogant, stuck up, but you're none of those things. You're kind, gentle, mighty when you need to be. It doesn't help that you shine like the brightest star, engulfing everyone in your light, in your warmth.

But Lo'ak resists. He sees right through you, sees right through every saccharine smile you send him. He can see it in your eyes, how you really see him. Despite standing a full head taller than you, he sees the way you look down your nose at him.

It grates his nerves, how disgustingly sweet you are towards him despite all attempts to rebuff you.

Certainly doesn’t soothe his ego when you always seem to be around the bend every time he gets bitched at by the clan, eyes soft and filled with pity. To add insult to injury, you frequently tail him like a shadow after these moments when all he wants is to be alone.

Like now, you linger.

It's after dinner and Kiri and Spider stand before him. They come together like the three points of a triangle and you stand an awkward distance away from them.

Kiri notices you first, her face splitting into a big smile as she waves you over.

Lo'ak breathes a deep sigh before locking eyes with Spider who tries his best to suppress an amused grin.

“Hi,” you chirp and Lo'ak can't help but roll his eyes.

Spider and Kiri greet you eagerly. Lo'ak simply nods his head in acknowledgement before tightening his fist around his dagger.

“We going or what?” he finally says.

You perk up.

“Where are you guys heading off to?” you ask curiously, hands clasped behind your back.

Spider opens his mouth to answer, but Lo'ak cuts him off quickly.

“No where important,” he says, unsure if you'll blab about their whereabouts to the elders, or worse, his parents.

You roll your lips and shift on your feet.

“Can I come?” you ask hesitantly, eyes hopeful.

Kiri's smile grows as she links her arm with yours.

“No,” he says sharply. “Absolutely not.”

Your face falls and something pulls inside his chest when you fail meet his gaze, your frown barely perceptible.

You make a move to pull from Kiri's grasp, but her arm tightens through yours. She levels Lo'ak with a weighty glare and you fidget uncomfortably under his narrowed eyes.

“Don't worry about it,” you say, like someone's hit a reset button. You smile that pretty smile and Lo'ak wants to scream. "It's okay, I think Rutan needs help with clean up."

You slip from Kiri's grasp and the three watch you walk off.

“Do you always have to be such a bitch?” Spider scoffs a disbelieving laugh.

“She's just gonna tag along so she can snitch,” Lo'ak grumbles.

“Oh c'mon,” Kiri argues. “________ just wants friends.”

Lo'ak sneers.

“I don't want to be friends with her,” he says firmly, knuckles white around the handle of his knife.

“Weirdo,” Spider mumbles. “She’s cute. Think she likes you.”

Lo'ak's spine stiffens.

“It's an act” Lo'ak grumbles. “She just wants to look good in front of the elders to keep up whatever nice girl show she's putting on.”

Kiri rolls her eyes hard.

There are moments when Lo'ak thinks he's being harsh, but he can't help himself. It's like he loses all semblance of a filter when it comes to you.

“Hi, Lo'ak,” you greet him sweetly, lowering yourself onto the fallen log he's perched on, fashioning arrows to practice with later on in the evening with Neteyam.

He shifts away from you, putting the distance of two bodies between the two of you as he pauses his task at hand.

“Hi,” he says flatly.

“Can I help?” you ask tentatively, fingers twitching towards one of the untouched sticks in a pile next to his feet.

His kicks them closer to himself, out of your reach before leveling you with a sharp glare.

“No thanks,” he says quickly and you recoil slowly, letting out a shaky laugh before fixing that stupid smile on your pretty face.

“Oh, sorry,” you apologize, straightening in your seat.

A silence so uncomfortably palpable settles over the two of you as you shift so that your knees are turned towards him.

His throat bobs when his gaze travels from your little toes all the way up to your inquisitive gaze, golden and searching. It makes something unruly settle in his gut and he turns his attention back to carving his arrows.

“Do you need something?” he breaks the silence finally. “I'm kinda busy.”

You bite your lip before scooting a little closer to Lo'ak's hunched figure.

“My birthday's coming up,” you start.

“I'm aware,” Lo'ak almost scoffs.

It's all the clan has been able to talk about for the past few days. How they'd be able to prepare for the golden girl's next birth cycle and what they'd be able to do to make you smile the brightest.

“Your birthday is a week before,” you state and his head whips towards you.

“How do you know that?” he asks sharply, accusation heavy in his gruff tone.

You flinch and he falters for a moment before your smile simply widens.

“We grew up together, Lo'ak,” you say and the way his name sounds from your mouth sounds absolutely heavenly. “You're my friend.”

Friend.

He scowls at the term.

“We're not friends,” he bites back.

If the statement bothers you, you don't show it, simply tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before putting on a brave face.

“I want to celebrate with you,” you say shyly.

“Hard pass,” he says too quickly, gathering his sticks and fashioned arrows under his grasp.

He leaves you in the clearing on your own.

You must be fucking with him. You have to be. It'd be the only explanation for why Jake pulls him aside a few nights later and tells him that you've requested to work with him and Neteyam during archery practice.

“No,” he says stiffly, shaking his head.

His dad levels him with a hard glare and Lo'ak sighs deeply.

“She's a nuisance, Dad,” he argues. “Me and Neteyam are making good progress with our training and we'll have to start at square one if she joins.”

“Lo'ak, this isn't an ask,” Jake says sternly.

“But, Dad!”

“Lo'ak.”

Lo'ak huffs, snatching his bow and quiver angrily before storming off.

“You're doing great,” Neteyam says to you once the three of you have convened in the training circle.

The three arrows you've shot have all landed within centimeters of the mark and to say that Neteyam is impressed is an understatement. Lo'ak, on the other hand, fumes not-so-silently as he tears his arrows from his target.

Yet again, you have another person wrapped around your finger and it makes his blood simmer as he assumes his position at the marker and loads his arrow. It splinters through the air and hits the target right on the bullseye. The arrow punctures through the hide and lodges its way into the wood from the sheer force of Lo’ak’s shot.

You start at him moon-eyed, lush lips breaking into a full smile.

“Perfect shot,” you observe. “That was awesome.”

Lo’ak scans your features hesitantly before his gaze flits to his older brother, waiting for any acknowledgment that he’d done a great job, but Neteyam is taking notes on the arrows still stuck in the fabric of your own target.

His heart sinks.

“Fuck this,” Lo’ak grumbles, bundling all of his belongings.

He stalks through the clearing, past his brother, to leave you two.

He doesn’t know what fuels the fire more, the fact that Neteyam didn’t even bat an eye at the feat they’d been practicing for for the past three weeks because he was too immersed in you, or the fact that you bore witness to his first clean shot and gave him that sickeningly sweet smile that made his stomach turn.

“Where are you going?” Neteyam sighs.

“Somewhere you two aren’t,” he grumbles under his breath, ducking through the brush of the lofty forest.

You lick your lips, locking eyes with Neteyam as you give him a bashful grin and slowly break away to follow Lo’ak’s path.

He isn’t far ahead as you push through the vines and low-hanging leaves, the path lined with large plants and the spindly roots of the looming trees. The grass is plush between your toes as you scamper to follow Lo’ak from a distance, watching as his lithe body climbs through the dense flora.

“Why are you following me?” he calls after a few dozen paces, stopping in the middle of the path to whirl on his heel.

His golden eyes are syrupy, warm despite the edge, and you can’t help but flash him your pearly whites in a genuine smile that takes up your dimpled cheeks.

“Why’d you run off?” you ask him. “You were doing so well!”

His chest rises and falls with a scoff.

“You can give it a rest, you know?” Lo’ak says flatly, fist so tight around his bow he feels like he’ll crush the wood.

Your expression morphs, eyebrows furrowing in a way that makes Lo’ak throat bob, something pinching behind his ribcage.

“What?” you ask, frown marring your pretty face.

“I don’t know what you’re playing at, but you can stop acting like you wanna be friends with me,” Lo’ak says matter-of-factly.

“You are my friend,” you protest quietly.

Lo’ak rolls his eyes.

“Dude, whatever,” he mutters, turning his back on you.

“Is it so wrong?” you murmur and he stops in his tracks, refusing to meet your gaze. “To be friends?”

Friends.

That stupid fucking word again.

Lo’ak bites his tongue and stalks off, leaving you on the path.

Neteyam rips him a new one when he sees him at dinner later that night. Lo’ak hangs his head as Neteyam digs in.

“Is it so hard to be nice?” Neteyam asks, hand squeezing his shoulder as they stand a handful of meters away from the main circle.

As his eyes wander, he notices you sitting with his sister, head thrown back in laughter that glitters and wafts with the rising smoke of the fire. He swallows turning his attention back to his older brother.

“Just don’t like her,” he admits. “I want her to leave me alone.”

“You don’t like her or you like her too much?” Neteyam asks, brow bone raised.

Lo’ak’s face scrunches.

“Ew, no,” he blurts. “Why would I—”

“________ just wants to fit in,” he sighs. “She has trouble making friends.”

“Yeah, I wonder why,” Lo’ak mocks. “I don’t know why Kiri and Spider are always up her ass, she’s—”

“Lo’ak,” Neteyam warns.

“Dude, everyone is always ________ this, _________ that! I don’t understand what’s so great about her—”

A throat clears and the brothers both turn their attention to the newcomer. Lo’ak could groan in frustration seeing that you’ve abandoned your seat and now stand nearby with two wooden plates.

“They’re going to start cleaning up soon,” you say hesitantly. “Wanted to bring you some.”

Neteyam takes it graciously from you, nodding his head in thanks while Lo’ak stares down at the plate you’d arranged for him, abundant in vegetables and thick cuts of meat.

“No thanks,” he says flatly.

You try to coax him.

“C’mon Lo’ak, you say gently. “I know you haven’t eaten yet.”

“No thanks,” he repeats stonily, holding his hand up.

You offer up the plate again.

“Lo’ak–“

“I said no thank you,” he grunts, annoyed.

He’d only meant to push it back towards you, but one second it’s in your hands, the next you’re wearing dinner, the plate clattering onto the ground.

“Lo’ak!” Neteyam scolds.

“Shit, I didn’t–”

“It’s fine,” you breathe an airy laugh and Lo’ak freezes when he hears your breath hitch. “It was an accident.”

“Oh, ________…” Neteyam sighs, but you’re picking up the plate and scurrying off, ignoring the nearby snickering.

“Whatever you got going on, you need to cool it,” Jake scolds him in the family tent after dinner that night. “________ is a good girl, she’s trying to find her place. Can’t really do that if you’re gonna be a jerk to her all the time.”

Lo’ak resists the urge to roll his eyes because, yet again, someone is sticking up for you, admonishing him about how he could be nicer, how he could take you under his wing, how he–

“What about me?” Lo’ak argues. “I tell her to leave me alone all the time, but she doesn’t listen. Why do I have to be nice to someone who doesn’t respect–”

“Cut the bullshit,” Jake thunders. “You haven’t even tried being her friend.”

“Why should I?” Lo’ak counters.

“Because maybe you two are more alike than you’d care to learn,” Jake says knowingly. “Now go apologize.”

“Dad!”

“Go, Lo’ak.”

Lo’ak sucks in a deep breath before squeezing his eyes shut and blowing out through his nose.

“Fine, fine, whatever,” he grumbles, ducking from the tent into the humid night air.

He starts into the jungle, fingers brushing over the leaves and petals of the plants and flowers. He takes the moment to regulate his pounding heart in his chest before trying to wrack his brain for any words that he could scrounge into a believable apology.

When he crosses the glowing waters of a skinny brook, something rustles nearby and his hand is on the hilt of his dagger in the blink of an eye.

He turns to face the noise, knife drawn, but then you emerge and his body relaxes a fraction.

“Fuck, ________, you scared me,” he sighs in relief.

You fidget and swallow down the lump in your throat.

“Sorry,” you say sheepishly.

A brief silence dawns the two of you and Lo’ak notes that you’ve cleaned up from the evening meal’s debacle, now wearing a longer loincloth threaded with round pearlescent beads that refract the luminescence of the surrounding forest.

Your grasp tightens around a leather bound journal and for a moment, he wonders what you could be writing about.

When you follow his gaze, you shyly tuck the journal behind your back and give him an uneasy smile.

“I wanted to–”

“I came to–”

Your words clash and you breathe a little laugh through your nose as you gaze at him with brilliant eyes. You start closing the distance and Lo’ak’s hands grow clammy.

“You first,” you offer.

Whatever threads of an apology he’d crafted in the moments prior have evaporated now that you stand before him, absolutely glowing.

“Lo’ak?” Your head tilts and his cheeks warm.

“Sorry,” he says hoarsely. “For what happened at dinner.”

You shake your head quickly.

“You don’t have to apologize,” you assure him, reaching out to touch him.

He recoils, clearing his throat as he retreats to put an ample amount of distance between the two of you.

You eye the berth and something shutters across your face as you rock back on your heels and flash him another uneasy smile.

You haven’t even tried being her friend, his dad’s words echo like a call in the night. Maybe you two are more alike that you care to learn.

Were you? You and Lo’ak were as different as they come, you molded by the love and adoration of the clan, him built up by the lessons and lectures he received from his parents and Neteyam.

“Where are you going?” you ask, blowing by the previous conversation.

He shrugs.

“Dunno,” he admits. “I was looking for you.”

The way you freeze is almost covert, your lips rolling as you try to hide the smile threatening to split your face.

“Oh,” you hum. “Wanna go for a walk?”

No, he wants to say. He absolutely does not want to spend anymore time with you than he has to. Likes to believe that he wouldn’t even bat an eye if he were to never see you again, but you’re looking at him expectantly and his dad’s words are like a mantra in his head, so he agrees begrudgingly.

It’s awkward at first, silent except for the natural soundtrack of the vicarious jungle. But like you do so well, you break the silence and Lo’ak has to resist rolling his eyes for the third time that night.

“What are your favorite colors?” you ask suddenly.

“I dunno, green?” he offers.

“Are you sure?” you laugh quietly.

Lo’ak thinks a moment before nodding his head.

“Yeah, green,” he finalizes. “And blue.”

He barely notices that you’d fallen behind, and when he turns to look over his shoulder, he sees that you’re scratching something into your little journal.

“And your favorite fruit?” you press, nose still between the pages.

Lo’ak breathes out a laugh and your head shoots up.

“What? You gonna send this list to the lab?” Lo’ak asks.

You give him a shy smile, shifting on your feet.

“No,” you say softly, then whisper to yourself, “just compiling a list to win your heart.”

Lo’ak barely hears you, ears twitching as his eyes narrow in confusion.

“What?” he asks.

You snap your notebook shut, shaking your head quickly as you pad through the grass to catch up to him.

“Nothing.”

Something ripples in the fabric after that night, you and Neteyam both notice when Lo’ak enters the training clearing the next afternoon and greets you with a nod instead of flat out ignoring your presence like he had the last training session.

And you think that the moment is fleeting, a one off, but as the days progress, you realize that maybe Lo’ak is finally softening around you.

He stays for entire lessons, the most minute of smiles twitching at his lips whenever you compliment his shots. He waits near the edge for you as you pack up your things, and while the walk back to the village is a quiet one, you bask in his company, triumphant when he doesn’t run off.

And while your evening walks are few and far between, you savor the moments he affords you, wedging yourself between him the crumbling walls of his facade.

Tonight is one of those moments, sitting on adjacent branches overlooking the lively forest, when Lo’ak lets you peek farther into his life than he’d originally intended.

“He never understands,” he sighs, popping a few berries from his satchel past his lips.

Tonight’s topic is his father and you listen intently, eyes fixed on the way he reclines on the branch and looks up at the stars.

“I try hard, you know? To make everyone proud, but all they see is my failure,” he says, obviously annoyed. “No matter what I do, it’s not good enough.”

“You do great things, Lo’ak,” you say quietly, the first words you’ve said all night.

And like your voice is a reminder, Lo’ak’s spine goes rigid, throat bobbing as he realizes that he may have said too much to you. He’s getting too comfortable and you’re all the willing to absorb every insecurity and every worry he has.

But something about quiet moments like these makes him loose-lipped, eyes fluttering to where you’ve got your notebook balanced in the seam of your thighs, scrawling something on the pages as you eat your own berries.

The words are leaving him before he can stop them.

“Easy for you to say,” he murmurs. “You’re perfect.”

The laugh that escapes you startles him and a few of the berries he was about to devour slips from his fingers and plunk down the leaves.

“I’m not perfect,” you assure him.

“Only someone who’s perfect would say that,” Lo’ak grumbles, peering over the edge of the branches to spot his fallen fruit. “The whole village loves you, everyone’s always so ready to bat for you.”

You look down at the pages of your journal with a sad smile.

“It’s a lot of pressure,” you admit quietly. “Everyone’s watching your every move, waiting for you to mess up.”

Lo’ak shifts uncomfortably.

You continue.

“And most of the villagers our age don’t like me,” you say, thumbing one of the pages. “They say I kiss ass, that I’m always trying to keep a leg up.”

Lo’ak winces, knowing that he’s the source of at least one of those sentiments.

“The elders think you’re honorable,” Lo’ak argues gently. “You’re talented, you have something to offer the people.”

“Honor means nothing if you’re bound by it,” you say finally, closing the cover to your journal. “If anything, I want to be more like you.”

“Like me?” Lo’ak asks incredulously, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

You nod, smiling at him.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I think you’re brave, fearless. And even if you care what people think, you do what you want.”

Lo’ak is quiet, taken aback by your confession.

Before he can respond, you’re gathering your things, bidding him a warm farewell as you begin climbing down the tree to disappear into the night.

After that night, you think that maybe you’re just imagining things, that you’re reading too much into the fact that Lo’ak has begun to finally act like you exist, but then Kiri says something and the hope sends your heart soaring.

“Seems like he finally got his head out of his ass,” she says a few mornings later as you two stand near a shallow stream, eyes peeled for any fish you two could bring back to the village.

“Think so?” you ask nervously, arrow trapping the flailing fish to the pebbles of the stream’s bed.

Kiri shrugs.

“He actually pays you mind now,” Kiri observes. “That’s a step up for sure. I think you just need to spend more time with him.”

You smile, splashing through shallow waters to capture the fish and add it to the growing pile in the basket between you and the middle Sully.

“Yeah?” you wonder

So you test the theory, basket filled with various peeled fruits and a little container of nectar you squeezed from the petals of a flower.

It doesn’t take long to hunt him down. When you enter the training circle, he’s packing up his things, quiver strapped to his back and bow in his fist.

Before you make yourself known, he’s turning on his heel to face you, eyes wild as he swallows down the lump in his throat.

He’d be the last to admit that the last night you two spent together was branded in his brain, that his mouth had dried up so much so he felt his tongue could crack.

There were so many implications in your words and it horrified him, scared him so much that he knew he couldn’t let you that close again.

But now you stand before him, pretty as can be, hopeful even, and he’s at a war with himself, absolutely caught between resenting you for being everything he’s not and giving into the draw.

“Hi,” you greet, basket heavy in your hands.

You look more radiant than usual, skirt brushing the forest floor, the woven vine of your top banded to expose your midriff.

“Hey,” he replies hesitantly.

“Where you going?” you ask curiously.

His throat bobs as he gestures behind him.

“Hunting,” is all he says.

“Do you want to go for a walk?” you ask eagerly.

He doesn’t. He shouldn’t. Because things are shifting and he’s not sure if he’ll be able to stomach the change. If he’ll be able to admit to himself that you’re wearing him thin, that you make him feel things he’s never felt before and that it makes him feel like he has no control.

Because when it boils down to it, you make him lose control, make him lose his filter, and make him feel every emotion twice as hard.

“No,” he says.

And in that moment, you feel like you’re back at square one, watching as his eyes turn stony and his jaw sets firmly.

“You shouldn’t go hunting on your own,” you say softly. “Will someone be with you?”

“It’s fine,” he argues. “I’m fine.”

“I can go with you!” you offer. “I thought maybe we could sit by the stream and talk, but we can go hunting instead. We can–”

“No,” he says again, pinning you with eyes so lethal, it makes you wonder if you really had imagined the moments you shared with him, if you had imagined Kiri telling you that she saw it too.

You try again anyways.

“It’ll be good practice and–”

“I said no, ________,” he barks. “You’re dead weight and I want to be alone.”

Your lips seal and you bite the inside of your cheek.

Lo’ak could nearly scream in frustration when he notices the way your shoulders sag and it makes something in his heart cinch.

“Okay,” you agree, nodding quickly. “Be safe and–”

The words die on your tongue when you notice the look of annoyance on Lo’ak’s face.

Lo’ak is in deep shit, you come to find out hours later.

You sit outside of the training circle, knowing that Lo’ak will return down the path after his hunting trip. What you don’t expect, however, is Jake and Neytiri emerging with the entire line of Sully kids and Spider.

Jake grips the back of Lo’ak’s neck tightly as they march past wandering eyes, straight to the family tent. You don’t miss his wounds though, varying in depth, some bleeding, some sore.

You’re hot on their heels, standing right outside of the entrance as Jake tears into the middle Sully.

“Time and time again, I have to get on your ass for doing the complete opposite of what I ask you to do!” Jake’s voice is thunderous inside the tent. “Do you not realize that you not only risked your life but your sisters’ too?”

There’s a beat of silence before Jake continues, obviously pacing from the way his volume fluctuates.

“And what were you thinking bringing Tuk? She’s nine, Lo’ak!” he shouts, the anger and the hurt evident in his tone.

“I’m sorry,” Lo’ak mumbles.

“Yeah, I bet you are!” Jake scolds. “I don’t ask for much. All I want is for you stay in line. Just stay out of trouble and work hard on your training. I paired you with ________ and Neteyam in hopes that maybe you’ll tighten up and be more like them, but you’re always disappointing me.”

You frown.

Whatever Lo’ak had done probably didn’t warrant such deep admonishment and something tugs especially hard at your heartstrings knowing that all he wants to do is make his dad proud.

“You’re surrounded by good influences, but you always have to go against the grain, Lo’ak,” Jake says, the edge in his tone softening. “I’m getting tired of the bullshit, son. You need to clean up your act. Hear me?”

“Yes sir,” Lo’ak says quietly, voice almost a whisper behind the hide of the tent.

“Now go get yourself cleaned up,” Jake huffs.

Your spine is straightening when you hear foot steps closing in, holding your breath as the flap to the tent billows open and Lo’ak is emerging.

His eyes flit to yours and his expression sours further.

“Lo’ak,” you murmur, reaching out to him.

He’s shrugging you away, wincing when a wound on his shoulder stretches especially taut.

“You’re hurt,” you say quietly. “I’ll–”

“Leave me alone,” he says, eerily level.

“But you’re–”

“I said leave me alone, ________,” he warns, pushing past you in what should be the pursuit of his grandmother’s quarters.

Instead he’s making a beeline for the jungle.

You’d seen the look in his eye before he stonewalled you, seen the hurt and heaviness that most people didn’t seem to notice because he was always so adventurous and carefree.

You follow after him.

“Lo’ak, you know he’s only worried for you,” you try to reason gently, fingers reaching for his own as you duck under massive leaves and fluttering insects.

He whirls to face you, swatting your hand away.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” he bites. “You don’t know anything.”

You swallow, holding your hand to your chest as you watch him lay down every brick to wall himself off.

He hates it. He hates how you look at him, how you seem to pity the life he has to live. It makes him sick, thinking that you two have it the same. He’d rather be hated for being great than hated for being a let down. It’s insulting, how you think you know how it feels.

“Let’s go back. I’ll wrap your wounds and–”

“Of course, clan’s golden girl is gonna patch me up and make it all better, huh?” he seethes facetiously. “Just fuck off!”

You flinch, blinking at the boy you holds so much rage in front of you.

“I know you’re hurting, but you don’t have to be mean,” you whisper, taking in a shuddering breath to will yourself not to cry.

“Mean? Mean?” Lo’ak bristles. “I’ve tried telling you to lay off nicely, tried telling you to just leave me alone, but you don’t listen. You just pry and overstep and you make every little thing about you! Oh, it’s so much pressure, villagers our age hate me, of course they would! You already have everything and just have to go rub salt in the wound!”

You shrink, eyes welling as your lip trembles.

“Lo’ak, stop,” you whimper.

“We’re not friends, ________.We never were and we never will because I don’t like you,” he spits. “Now please, for the love of god, will you just leave me alone!”

The forest is silent save for Lo’ak’s ragged breathing, fists clenched as he glares down at you.

“I-” Your breath hitches and you choke out an apology. “I’m sorry.”

Lo’ak’s heart softens a fraction as you take a step back, turning quickly on your heel.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” you rasp, tripping over your own feet as you stumble into a run, putting as much space as you can between you and the middle child who stands in the middle of the forest, unable to wrangle every harsh word he’d said to force back down his throat.

You dropped your journal.

Lo’ak is sure you’re looking for it, know that you’ve always got your nose stuck in it. You had dropped it running off and now he has its leather bound in his hands.

It’s been a couple of nights since the faithful evening he’d blown his top and he’d only seen whispers of you. It was so unlike you to disappear, to not be entertaining the masses as they fell to your feet.

He’d cooled off significantly, and when he replayed the conversation in his head, he winced, body folding in on itself as he realizes how harsh he’d been.

“Are you actually thinking thoughts?” Spider claps him on the shoulder, startling him so badly he drops the journal.

It lands spine down, the pages fluttering open.

He chances a peek before Spider is rounding his lithe figure to pick up the notebook. All he makes out is a rough sketch.

“You write?” Spider asks, intrigued.

“No, it’s ________’s,” Lo’ak answers.

“Oh, your little girlfriend’s?”

Lo’ak gives the human a cross look, snatching the book from his grasp as he stands up.

“Trouble in paradise?” Spider pries, scurrying to keep up with Lo’ak’s long strides.

A beat of silence before Lo’ak finally answers.

“Made her cry,” he mumbles, embarrassed.

Spider winces behind him.

“You serious?”

Lo’ak sighs.

“Yes, dude, fuck,” he breathes, hand coming to the back of his neck. “I don’t know what came over me. Dad was ripping me a new one and Neteyam already chewed me out before they got there and she was being annoying, so I just…”

“Bro,” Spider scoffs in disbelief, scratching the back of his head. “You’re a real dickhead sometimes.”

Lo’ak’s eyes wander as he shifts uncomfortably, feeling incredibly small as his friend glares up at him.

“I mean, I told her I wanted to be left alone!” Lo’ak tries to defend weakly. “I- I didn’t mean to.”

“She likes you a lot, dude,” Spider reiterates. “She just wants you to like her back.”

Despite the glaring signs, Lo’ak has trouble believing that your feelings for him far surpass charity work. They couldn’t, it was impossible. Because at the end of the day, you’re you and he’s…him.

He opens his mouth to say something, but Spider beats him to it.

“Did you at least apologize?”

Lo’ak squirms.

“Dude!”

“Look, I know, I know,” he tries to assuage the situation.

“________ is literally the sweetest girl in the entire clan you just–“

“I get it, bro, I get it!” Lo’ak huffs.

“Get your head out of your ass,” Spider says. “She might not stick around long enough for you to realize.”

“Realize what?” Lo’ak snaps.

“Are you really gonna play stupid right now?”

He blinks at the human.

“You like ________,” Spider says matter-of-factly. “You always have, ever since we were kids.”

“Oh, piss off,” Lo’ak grumbles.

“Dude, you’re literally my best friend, but I sometimes I wanna shove my foot so far up your–”

“I do not like ________,” Lo’ak says sharply.

“Everyone sees it but you, dipshit,” Spider scoffs. “You like her, but you’re scared. She’s perfect and she intimidates you. Think she’s gonna see you for what you really are and turn her back on you like everyone else does when you fuck up, but she’s not like that, Lo’ak. She’s been there whether you like it or not. But she might not always.”

Lo’ak swallows down the knot in his throat, fingers tightening around the notebook.

“Everything clicking?” Spider asks knowingly.

Lo’ak throws him a final narrowed glare before stalking off.

It’s Lo’ak’s birthday and just like every orbit, he spends it alone in the forest.

At first, he’d been burdened with the weight of hurting your feelings, but now his conversation with Spider weighs heavy on him as he climbs dirt walkways and flowered paths.

It doesn’t help that your notebook weighs heavy in his satchel, a silent reminder that he still has a piece of you while you cling to his peace of mind.

I think you’re brave, fearless. They’re the words you uttered to him that fateful night you turned the reality of you two on its axis.

As he splices all the moments you two shared like a reel, he realizes that it’s endless. That you’re always there, you’d always been there, like a layer of impenetrable atmosphere surrounding him.

He really should apologize, he knows this much, but you’ve disappeared like a wisp of smoke. Training sessions have returned to a sibling affair and he’s too prideful to ask about you.

It’s almost eclipse when he begins making his way back for the evening meal, knowing that a scolding will await if he arrives even a minute late.

After what had happened with you, he was lying low, trying to diminish his blip from the radar.

As he closes in on the village’s main circle, he notes that it’s quiet. A little too quiet. It puts him on edge, makes him draw his bow and feel around for an arrow in his quiver.

A few more paces and he’s broken into the clearing, a few stragglers milling about. Another half a dozen steps and it’s like the forest melts into a celebration, whorls of blue pouring into the circle as villagers begin trilling.

Lo’ak is hoisted into the air as the dying fire in the center of the camp begins to slowly roar.

“Happy birthday, baby bro!” Neteyam caws loudly as they begin jostling him into the air, chanting and dancing as the dense crowd of clanspeople celebrate him.

It’s like time slows as he peers from side to side eagerly, seeing the way Spider, Kiri and Tuk dance happily among his people. Jake and Neytiri stand near the fire, smiles wide when they see the look of awe on their middle son’s face.

When he’s finally set on his feet, he wobbles, childlike as he turns, taking in the glowing streamers that crisscross between the tents. Flowers of green and blue thread through the vines, gleaming like lamplight as the forest buzzes around them.

“Wha– What is all this?” Lo’ak croaks in disbelief, eyes flitting wildly as he notices Norm and Max standing next to a table they’d hauled from the pod to the circle, piled high with meats and vegetables wrapped in leaves.

A platter of yovo fruits, his favorite, are at the center, surrounded by a painted sign with his name and the handprints of dozens of villagers on it.

“You survived another orbit!” Neteyam laughs heartily, head-locking the younger boy before roughly digging his knuckles into the top of his head.

A laugh bubbles from Lo’ak’s lips, swatting his brother away as villagers and clan members he’d grown up with approach him one by one to greet him.

As the night progresses, he doesn’t even realize he’s searching until your mother approaches and his spine goes rigid, cheeks warming under her piercing gaze.

“From my ________,” she says, setting a pouch into his palms. “She toiled over these for many eclipses. Please take care.”

Lo’ak’s nod is delayed as his satchel shifts on his shoulders, a dull reminder that your journal still remains with him, begging to be read.

“Where– Where is she?” he asks suddenly, feeling your absence all the more now that your gift sits in the palm of his hand.

“My daughter does not feel well,” your mother says simply. “She wished to be excused from the festivities.”

His chest feels hollow, stomach tight as his cheeks burn. You’d mentioned this to him, all those days ago in the training circle, about wanting to celebrate with him.

His eyes flit to the flowers looped through the vines, the mountain of yovo fruits, the gift in his hands. He doesn’t want to be presumptuous. Doesn’t want to fuel the tiniest ember of hope in chest, but he can’t help it.

He can’t help but read into it, into the implications of this celebration you’d planned all for him, into every word you uttered to him in the quiet of the forest’s chirping.

It’s all it takes for him to lock himself in his own head. The feast melts into the background, dull, as his eyes cut the crowd for you.

You have to be here, gotta be hanging around the outskirts silently. The idea taunts him, makes his gut twist hard as images of you dancing in the circle, singing to him, celebrating him, loving him—

Lo’ak freezes, blinking incredulously at the thought that’d just crossed his brain. It makes him queasy, makes the regret and the guilt gnaw at every nerve ending as your crying face flashes like an unwanted slideshow in his brain.

It’s all he can think about as the festivities die, as villagers begin turning in the for the night and he helps his family clean up the aftermath of another orbit finally finished.

Spider helps Tuk and Neteyam near the fire, and as Lo’ak moves through the motions like he’s caught in a tide, Kiri watches, knowing all too well what consumes her brother’s mind.

It isn’t until Lo’ak is shrouded by the stillness of the early morning, his family tucked in their tent, bodies and limbs splayed as they sleep together, that he sits in a swinging hammock, your journal and the pouch in his lap.

It feels wrong, the way he thumbs the cover, working up the courage to turn it open. But Ewya, fate, would have never left it in his wake if it wasn’t meant to be read.

As his finger ghosts the etchings of the front cover, worn and loved by you, something tickles his leg as he admires the leather. He blinks in disbelief when he sees a singular woodsprite resting against his thigh.

Before he loses his nerve, he’s opening the pages with bated breath.

Recipes, nature notes, short thoughts fill the sheets and Lo’ak feels like he’s reading into your brain, seeing all the little things no one bothers to know.

he is like the sun,

shines so bright,

but burns the closer you get.

Lo’ak’s pointer finger glosses over the ink, over your curly handwriting.

he is so incredible, but he doesn’t even know it. i want to shout it to every creature in the forest, every tree and every flower. oh, how i wish to be as fearless as him.

His chest heaves as the words blur.

Fearless.

In this moment, he feels everything but. He feels like a coward.

He continues to flip, throat lodged as he sees drawings, both rough sketches and full renderings. He hadn’t even known that you liked to draw, yet here he was, observing his home through your artistic eye.

Flowers, leaves, trees, creatures, insects, fruits mar the stained papers, etched like it’d been caught in real time.

likes green and blue.

likes yovo fruits.

The entry from the day you’d first walked with him through the forest.

When he turns the page, his breath hitches.

In full color, you’d captured his bullseye from your first training session. His back taut from the release, expression shaded stoic. He looked mighty, like the strongest warrior, and it was all through your eyes.

Lo’ak doesn’t even realize he’s crying until the bullseye in the illustration bleeds from a fallen tear. Another one drips from his chin, then another.

The next page is the night you two had poured your hearts out to each other. Again, in full color, he’s watching the stars. You don’t leave out the glow of the freckles that smatter his face and body, don’t miss the smile that plays at his lips as he quietly points out that his dad had come from a star.

He flips again and different iterations and designs for what seems like jewelry litters the pages, shaded with different colors of blue and green, marked with varying notes, x’s marking through ideas you didn’t like.

Lo’ak remembers the pouch, sitting untouched in his lap, and his shaky fingers undo the ties. He shakes the contents on the flat of the notebook and the most intricate beadwork fits into the crease.

His eyes widen as he picks up the necklace in a trembling hand, the eclipsing sun catching the etching in the flat stones.

Four five-fingered hands and four four-fingered ones, each separated by jewels scavenged and cleaned from the bed of the glowing river.

A small scroll flutters from the pouch and Lo’ak chokes back as sob as he unrolls the hide.

Happy Birthday, Lo’ak. I am always grateful to know someone like you. May your next orbit be filled with endless blessings from Ewya and may you see yourself how I see you.

You see him, he realizes. You’re his supporter, a silent force that consumes every insecurity and swallows every doubt. You believe in him more than he believes in himself.

He stands from the hammock and runs.

You’re sitting in the same tree the two of you had rested in the night you’d confided in Lo’ak, watching as the sun eclipses and begins to light up the sparkling forest.

Something rustles and you sit up, hand on the hilt of your dagger as you search the area for movement.

As your eyes lock on the source, you almost wish it had been a beast coming to devour you whole. But as Lo’ak climbs the branches of the tree quickly, you feel the dread begin to solidify in your veins.

You take your satchel, hanging from a nearby branch and sling it over your shoulder, pulling your shawl over your head to prepare for your escape.

“________, wait,” he chokes breathlessly. “Please.”

You feel like crying all over again, feel so unbelievably stupid thinking that Lo’ak would ever see you the way that you see him.

You pause a beat as he settles on the branch across from yours, chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath.

Something glints in the sun and your eyes widen when you see that Lo’ak has fastened the necklace you made him around his neck, right above the the leather chain that holds his beloved claw charm.

“You’re wearing it,” you whisper, lips twitching into a frown as you try your best to keep your tears at bay.

“I’m sorry, ________,” Lo’ak apologizes hoarsely. “Fuck, you don’t understand how sorry I am.”

The tears well on their own.

We’re not friends. We never were and we never will.

The words haunt you like a broken record and you shake your head, moving from your perch to move down the branches.

“Wait, wait,” Lo’ak pleads. “Please don’t go, I–”

“I hate you,” you whisper. “I hate you, Lo’ak.”

He freezes, watching as you balance on a branch below.

“I tried so hard to be your friend,” you whimper, angrily wiping away your tears. “You’re amazing. You’re strong, and you’re fearless, and you are everything I want to be, but you’re heartless.”

Lo’ak lets out a shuddering breath, a chill running down his spine as you look up at him like he’d smashed every star in the sky.

“I wanted to be with you, you know?” you let out a watery laugh. “I hoped that maybe if I stuck it out, you’d see how much I cared, how badly I wanted to be with you, even if it was from a distance.”

“I do, _________, I do!” he argues.

He hadn’t always, but he sees it now. He sees you.

You shake your head again.

“You don’t,” you sigh, voice trembling. “It’s my fault anyways. You were right. You told me to leave you alone and I was being too much.”

“Stop–”

“Let this be the last time,” you assure him. “Let’s just– Let’s pretend we never met.”

“No, _________. Wait!”

You’re climbing down the tree and disappearing into the brush and, like a fleck of ash, you’re disintegrating into nothingness.

Most people think he’s being moody, that he’s just been scolded by his father or older brother, but Neytiri knows better.

She sees the way her son has changed over the course of the past few weeks. She knows there is a great burden that he carries, but much like her beloved and her eldest, he suffers in silence.

“Maitan,” she says quietly, brushing a braid from his face as he folds the leaves around a chunk of steaming meat.

Lo’ak pauses almost imperceptibly, but continues his task.

It isn’t like him to stay home and work with Neytiri. If anything, he’d be the first one out of the tent, Tuk, Spider, and Kiri tailing after him as they galavant through the endless forest.

“Something weighs heavy in your heart,” she tries again, hand coming over his.

Lo’ak stops and leans back, unable to meet his mother’s searching gaze.

“I hurt someone,” he says quietly.

Neytiri stiffens.

“What?”

“I hurt someone I care about,” Lo’ak admits. You’d called him fearless, strong. He needed to live by your word. “I hurt her and I don’t know how to fix it.”

“Oh, Lo’ak,” she murmurs, squeezing his hand gently.

Her face has softened as she takes in his stony expression.

“My son, some things cannot be fixed,” she says honestly. “But all things require great effort. Sometimes those efforts will fall through, but that is the natural order of life.”

Lo’ak swallows.

“Whoever this special person is, if you have hurt her, she deserves the full effort of your heart, no?”

You do, he knows you do. You deserve every last effort. But a niggling streak of insecurity tells him that you don’t deserve someone like him. You don’t deserve someone who takes your affections for granted. You deserve someone who will love you with every breath, who will love you fearlessly.

“I really messed things up, Mom,” Lo’ak says quietly. “I don’t…”

Neytiri’s hand comes to Lo’ak chest.

“The night I first met your father, Ewya gave me sign,” she says. “He has a pure, strong heart. You do too.”

Lo’ak swallows.

“Be brave, Maitan,” she says. “Sometimes that is enough.”

Lo’ak’s fingers hurt from picking berries.

His cuticles bleed, pricked by the thorns of the fruit’s bush. Kiri hums beside him, weaving a little bag out of ropes of thin vines.

“You’re not gonna help me?” he whines.

“Why should I help you with your mess?”

You look beautiful under the glow of the evening meal’s crackling fire. It’s the first time you’ve emerged since before Lo’ak’s birthday feast and you’re being flocked by elders and villagers, wishing you well and asking about your supposed ailment.

He sits across the fire, fists tight as he searches for a lull in the crowd.

Spider snickers next to him, devouring the contents of his plate like he’s starved, watching Lo’ak’s useless pining like a show.

Be brave.

He’s standing to his feet before he can back out, crossing the circle to approach you. The villagers watch like they know something he doesn’t and the nerves are eating away at him as he steps into your space.

You look up from your conversation with a girl your age, the smile slipping from your lips.

“Can we talk?” Lo’ak asks, eyes wandering to watch the way everyone watches him.

You remain jaded.

“Now’s not a good time,” you say quietly and a few onlookers snicker in the background. “________,” Lo’ak tries again.

You stare up at him, the shadow of the fire dancing over your features as you seemingly look right through him. It’s humiliating, the way you remain seated and watch him fidget, but he figures he deserves the cold shoulder after months, years of casting you to the side.

“Let’s go?” you ask the girl, nodding your head over your shoulder.

The girl chances a glance between you and Lo’ak, noticing the telltale sign of your work etched into the stones of the choker he hadn’t taken off since his birthday.

She gives him a sympathetic smile as she follows after you.

He’s going to have to try a lot harder than he has, he realizes as your birthday looms right around the corner. The next eclipse, in fact.

He’s losing hope, losing courage, but he can’t give up on you two just yet.

He makes sure the berries he picked the days prior are packed tightly in his bag, the lid to the nectar fastened, and his present wrapped nicely.

It’s his last hope, his last shot to make things right.

Spider, Tuk, and Neytiri surround him, Neteyam and Jake off on a hunt.

They’d all been privy to the fact, aiding him in his endeavors as he organized his final grapple with your heart.

“Kiri said she’ll bring her right before eclipse,” Spider says, peeking from the flap of the tent. “That’s in, like, minutes.”

Lo’ak is nervous. Doesn’t know what he’ll do if he loses you for good, but he knows he has to give it his best effort. It’s the least you deserve.

Be brave. Sometimes that is enough.

Lo’ak glances at his mom and she gives him a warm smile, ruffling his braids.

“You are the son of Toruk Makto,” she assures him, pinching his cheek. “There is nothing you cannot do.”

The words are carved into his brain as he rushes through the forest, the the stream that the curls and bends through the forest. It glows beautifully at night and that is his final push.

“Wait, give me like three seconds, I left something.” Kiri’s voice is muffled behind the trees.

“Huh?” Lo’ak sees the way your head tilts through an opening in the foliage.

“I’ll only be a second!”

“Wait, Kiri!”

Kiri is running straight for him, comes barreling through the bushes, and continues down the path.

“Good luck, egghead!”

Lo’ak takes in a final breath to quell the tremor in his hands before ducking through the bushes to reveal himself.

You’re sitting on the embankment, on a woven mat that Kiri had laid out for you two, decorative vines edging the seams.

“Oh, you were–”

You peer over your shoulder and your expression falls.

“Lo’ak…”

“Happy birthday, ________,” he breathes.

You don’t look amused, slinging your bag over you shoulder as you rise to your feet.

“Kiri and I are hanging out,” you tell him.

He scratches the back of his head.

“I…I had Kiri bring you here because I knew that you wouldn’t come with me if I asked,” he admits. “And of course, I don’t blame you, but I– I just really need to talk to you.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, unable to look him in his eyes as he draws nearer.

“Just give me some time, please,” he pleads.

You finally meet his gaze, searching his eyes as he looks down at you earnestly.

You give him the tiniest nod, reluctantly shedding your satchel to reassume your seat on the mat.

The waters rush gently, like a song as Lo’ak lowers himself next to you.

His palms are clammy as he fidgets in his seat, the scent of herbs and flowers wafting from your dewy skin. He can’t bring himself to look at you, afraid that every sentiment he’d crafted in the hours of the night will escape him, so he watches the bubbling of the stream.

“Well?” you whisper, like you don’t want to shatter the fragile sheath of peace that layers you.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “I know I’ve said it already, but I really am, ________.”

“I know,” you murmur and his gaze flits to yours. “Even if you don’t act like it, you have a good heart, Lo’ak. You feel everything, even the things you don’t want to.”

He swallows.

“I didn’t mean it,” he says carefully. “I was mad and I took it out on you. That wasn’t fair.”

You sit silently, knees hugged to your chest. Your cheek rests against your knee, watching Lo’ak with seeing eyes. It makes him trip over his words.

“My whole life, I’ve always been compared to Neteyam,” he says. “The entire village would whisper about me and how I was nothing like the mighty warrior.”

When he glances at you, he notices your fingers twitch, like you want to reach out to him.

He squashes his fears and turns to face you, five-fingered hand coming up to thread with your four. You watch the union, uncertainty obvious in the way you tense, but Lo’ak squeezes.

“And then when we started growing up, you were just another person I had to live up to,” Lo’ak whispers. “You’re perfect, ________. You’re kind, and you’re smart, talented. You’re everything I’m not and it made me hate you.”

You shrink, but Lo’ak pulls you towards him, hand coming up to brush your cheek.

“But you’re all of that and more,” he continues, the words gushing like a river. “You’re always there, you support me and you defend me and see things I don’t.”

You become shy under his gaze because for the first time, he’s seeing you. He’s seeing you for every single thing you’ve been to him and it makes your stomach knot.

“I have something to tell you,” he says. “Please don’t be mad at me.”

Your gaze is soft, palm still in his as he turns and reaches into the bag he discarded next to him. Your eyes widen when he produces your notebook, edges curled the slightest as he hands it to you.

“My journal,” you say, taking it from him quickly. “I’ve been looking for this. Why- Why do you have it?”

He looks guilty, lips rolling as he avoids your gaze.

“Did you…”

“I wasn’t going to,” he admits. “But there were woodsprites and I knew it was a s–”

“Lo’ak this is private,” you murmur incredulously. “Why would you read this?”

“How long, ________?” he asks quietly, grip on your hand tightening.

“Lo’ak, don’t–”

“How long?” he presses desperately.

Your eyes are watering, like that wicked night all over again and Lo’ak begs Eywa for the final push.

“Since we were ten,” you whisper brokenly. “It was my first performance and it was so stupid, but I was throwing up because I was nervous and you talked me through it.”

Lo’ak is stunned, the memory like the faintest of outlines.

“We didn’t even know each other that well,” you hiccup. “But you patted me on the back and you gave me this–”

You pull your fingers from his grasp and flip the journal to the last page, revealing a hidden pocket. Your nimble fingers pull a tattered string, the remnants of a vine, threaded with wilted flower petals, preserved from being pressed inside your notebook.

“You said that they made you make it during lessons,” you say, breath hitching. “That it’d be my good luck.”

He’d forgotten all about the memory completely, too caught up in driving whatever wedge he could between you two, building up walls to seal you out.

“And you kept it this whole time?” he asks, face scrunched in disbelief.

“I’d hold on to anything you give me,” you admit in defeat. “Heartbreak included.”

He lets out a shaky breath.

“________, I’m so sorry,” he repeats, hand coming up to your neck. “You have to know that. I’m really fucking stupid, but if you give us a shot, I won’t mess it up.”

Your hand comes up to his wrist, crumpling as you bow your head.

“Don’t do this to me,” you beg, moving to break away from him.

“Please.”

His hold tightens, other hand twining with yours.

“If I…if I give myself to you, I’m giving you everything,” you say hesitantly. “If you break this, you break me. I don’t think I can come back from this.”

Lo’ak presses his forehead to yours, breath warm against your lips as he searches your gaze for any semblance of hope.

“This is me being fearless, ________,” he whispers.

You melt, pressing your lips to his tentatively. He’s frozen for the shortest of moments before relenting, pushing up onto his knees to deepen the kiss.

He’s cradling your face and your hands are wandering and Lo’ak can’t help but think he could get used to loving you.

To being loved by you.

BONUS

“I was gonna give it to you on your birthday,” Lo’ak says sheepishly a few nights later under the stars. “But, you know…”

Your usual place among the branches of the looming trees have a lot of memories both bitter and sweet, but you suppose you could make new ones.

“You don’t have to give me anything,” you say sweetly, tail swishing to wrap around his ankle. “You’re all I need.”

Lo’ak doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to your saccharine words if the pounding in his chest is anything to go by.

His hands are shaky as he pushes the hide towards you, a bow made of vine tied neatly around the gift.

“Wanted to,” he says simply, moving the hair from you face to see your reaction better. “Open it.”

You’re gentle with the present, like you are with most things, but eager to see what he’d gotten you.

A tiny gasp falls from your lips when you finally see it, wide eyes meeting his as you free the jars of paints he’d mashed up, the brushes he fashioned, and the brand new journal he bound himself.

“Lo’ak, wow…”

“So you can paint me more,” he says, then adds timidly. “Or maybe us. Maybe you could paint us.”

an — holy shit guys, this was such a big project for me because i really wanted to dive into so many different things in this fic. to everyone who was waiting patiently, thank you sososo much. as usual, i took a lot of creative liberties with this one, but i hope you guys enjoyed nonetheless! although requests are paused for me to catch up, like always, if you wanna chat with me about literally anything, my askbox is open. lots of love hehehe :) xx

taglist: @nao-cchi , @jkiminpark , @philiasoul @amart-e , @s-u-t , @netesbby , @tayswiftlovebot , @dumb-fawkin-bitch , @ewackmn

#lo'ak x reader #lo'ak sully #avatar the way of water #avatar way of water #avatar #atwow #avatar the movie #lo'ak imagine #lo'ak avatar #lo'ak angst #lo'ak fanfiction

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captainjonnitkessler · 1 year ago

Note

I understand if you want to stay out of it but I’m curious as to you’re thoughts on this discourse

https://www.tumblr.com/dappercat123/737173649266737152/your-arguments-sum-to-in-my-perfect-world-there

Anon, I'm going to be entirely honest with you. I have been waiting for an excuse to put my thoughts about this down. Forewarning that this is going to be long and take a dim view of organized religion.

TL;DR: I think everyone in that thread is maliciously misinterpreting evilsoup's point, which is basically that they think Gene Roddenberry was right about what a post-utopian society would look like re: religion. And you can agree or disagree about whether a post-religious utopia is likely or desirable, but to say that anyone who thinks it is is actively calling for and encouraging genocide is a gross misuse of the term (especially coming from at least one person that I'm pretty sure is currently denying an actively ongoing actual fucking genocide).

@evilsoup can correct me if I'm misinterpreting their points, but as far as I see it there are two main points being made:

A) In a perfect utopia with absolutely no source of oppression, marginalization, or disparity, religion would naturally whither away with no outside pressure being applied.

B) This would be a good or at least a neutral thing.

As far as A) goes - a lot of the responses evilsoup got were basically "well *I* would never choose to be nonreligious, so therefore the only way to create that world would be by force, and therefore you are calling for literal genocide". But aside from the fact that evilsoup was very, very clear that they thought this would be a *natural* event and that trying to force people to be nonreligious would be evil - we're not talking about (general) you. You can be as religious as you want but you don't get to make that choice for your grandkids, or your great-great-great grandkids, or your great-great-great-great-great-etc. grandkids. Just because religion is an integral part of your identity doesn't mean it's something you can pass down, and if you're not comfortable with the idea that your kids might choose to leave your religion, you shouldn't have kids.

I personally don't foresee religion disappearing entirely, but it is pretty consistent that as a country becomes happier, healthier, and wealthier, it also becomes less religious. Religiosity is inversely correlated with progressive values. And the more democratic and secular a nation is, the less powerful religious authorities become - In the 1600s blasphemy and atheism were punishable by death* in Massachusetts and today I can call the Pope a cunt to his face** on Twitter with no repercussions whatsoever. Political secularism is an absolute necessity for true democracy and it necessitates removing power from religious authorities, which has and will likely continue to lead to a decline in religiosity - not just a decline in how many people identify as religious, but also a decline in how religious the remaining people are.

*Blasphemy laws and death penalties for blasphemers/apostates are still VERY much a thing in many places. It's hard to see a path where those places become more democratic but don't become more secular and repeal those laws.

**Well, to the face of whoever runs his Twitter account, but the point remains.

I also believe that many religious communities have been held together for so long via coercion - either internal coercion like blasphemy and apostasy laws, shunning, and threats of hell or other supernatural punishment, or external coercion like oppression from the majority religious group or ethnic cleansings. In a perfect utopia, neither form of coercion would exist and I don't think it's crazy to think that religiosity would drop severely and become a much less important part of people's identities, in the way I think the queer community would not exist in a world where queerphobia didn't exist.

ANYWAY, all this is actually kind of moot. It could happen, it could not, nobody is calling for it to be forced so we'll just have to wait and see. The real point of disagreement is on B).

I'm gonna be honest - I think a lot of the responders are rank hypocrites and are really hung up on the idea of cultural purity, which is something I'm wildly uncomfortable with.

First of all, the idea that a deeply-held religious belief could be diluted until it's just a cultural thing that nobody really remembers the origins of isn't some evil mastermind plot evilsoup is trying to concoct, it's just how cultures work. There's tons of stuff about American culture that are vaguely rooted in what were once deeply-held beliefs and are now entertainment. Halloween is rooted in sacred tradition and now it's a day to dress up and get candy. Christmas is one of the most sacred holidays in Christianity but nobody bats an eye if a non-Christian puts up some lights or decorates a tree just because it's fun. I have no doubt that every culture on Earth has traditions that used to be deeply sacred but are now just fun family traditions. People in Japan use Christian symbology as an "exotic, mythical" aesthetic the exact same way people in the West use Eastern symbology. And if you're okay with it happening to Christianity, why wouldn't you be okay with it happening to any other religion in the absence of oppression?

And there's the idea that if a culture fails to get passed down *exactly* as it is now, it's a terrible loss and the result of malicious outside influence. But . . . cultures change over time. No culture is the same now as it was two or five or eight hundred years ago and I don't believe that change is inherently loss. The things that are sacred to you may or may not be sacred to the people of your culture in the future. That's just the way things work, and I don't think it's inherently good or bad.

And finally, people keep accusing evilsoup of "just wanting everyone to assimilate to your culture", but it absolutely does not follow that a lack of religion means a lack of diversity. Different nonreligious cultures are every bit as capable of being diverse as different religious cultures, so it's weird to insist that evilsoup wants there to only be one culture when they never said anything to indicate that.

#me still nursing the burn i got from touching the Discourse Stove last week: well surely it's not still hot #time to hit post and then log off for the night #atheism #skepticism umbrella

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foreverisntenough · 3 months ago

Text

‘Act II’

Summary: Attraction is like a gravitational pull that is undefinable and unavoidable. Unbeknownst to you, Jude had been keeping an eye on you since he caught a glimpse on his best friend’s girlfriend’s Instagram but he’s been loving his single life. You always were independent and know how to swim on your own but maybe you have been just treading water. Could the tides change on a holiday in Greece when you finally meet? It might get a little rocky but maybe you could be his paradise.

Index

Warnings: This series is 18+ MDNI

Note: Thank you for reading! Please be sure to like, comment, or message me what you think of the series! ‘Act II’ is interconnected to the 'You’re Mine' and 'Ours' Series but can read it independently.

Chapter 3 - Mr. Madrid | ‘Act II’

word count - 12.4

(bare with me my french is rusttty)

The soft hum of the plane's engines filled the cabin, a gentle, rhythmic sound that lulled most of your friends into a quiet, sleepy state on the flight from Greece back to the north of England. The lights were dimmed, casting a warm, golden glow over everything, creating an intimate atmosphere that felt worlds away from the hustle of the airport just a few hours before. You and Jude were nestled together in a secluded corner of the cabin, the luxurious seats providing a cocoon of privacy. But instead of sitting in your own seat, you were curled up in Jude’s lap, your body pressed against his in a way that felt both comforting and electrifying. His arms were wrapped around you, holding you close, the heat of his body seeping into you, making you feel warm and safe. The flight attendants had long since stopped passing through, leaving you in a pocket of stillness, as if the world outside your small bubble didn't exist. The intimacy of the moment was heightened by the darkness outside the windows, the only light coming from the small reading lamp above them, which cast a soft halo around your heads. You tilted your head back slightly, looking up at Jude with a smile that was equal parts playful and content. His hand was resting on your hip, fingers tracing lazy, absentminded patterns against the fabric of your joggers. You could feel the strength in his hands, the possessiveness in the way he held you, as if he didn't want to let you go-like he was afraid this moment might slip away if he loosened his grip even a little.

"Comfortable?" Jude murmured, his voice low and quiet, sending a shiver down your spine.

"Mmm, very." You replied, your voice soft as you shifted slightly in his lap, feeling the warmth of his body beneath you. You nestled closer, your cheek resting against his chest, your fingers playing with the collar of his shirt. "I could stay like this forever." You told him earnestly. Jude chuckled, the sound rumbling in his chest.

"I wouldn't mind that." He said, his hand slipping in the waistband of your joggers teasingly, his fingers brushing against the bare skin of your stomach. The touch was light, teasing, but it sent a spark of heat through you, a reminder of the chemistry that had been simmering between you since that night on the beach. You looked up at him again, your eyes dark with the same unspoken desire that had been growing between you throughout the holiday.

"What are you thinking about?" You asked, your voice taking on a sultry edge as you traced your fingers along the line of his jaw, your touch light but suggestive. Jude’s eyes darkened in response, a slow, lazy smile curling at the corners of his mouth. "I was thinking," he began, his voice a low murmur that sent another shiver of anticipation through you, "That maybe this doesn't have to end when we land." Your heart skipped a beat, your pulse quickening as you read the meaning in his words.

"Oh?" you breathed, your lips brushing against his ear as you spoke, the nearness of him making your head spin. "And what do you suggest?" Jude’s hand slid further up your thigh, his fingers grazing the top hem of your lace panties, a touch so light it was almost maddening.

"Come with me to Spain," he said, his voice rich with promise, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin just below your ear. "We could... extend our holiday. See how well we do together in the real world." He cooed.

"Spain, huh?" You whispered, your fingers gripping his hair, pulling him closer until your lips were almost touching. "And what would we do there, Jude?" You felt a rush of excitement and something more…something that felt dangerously close to hope. He smiled, a slow, wicked smile that sent your pulse racing.

"Oh, I have a few ideas," he murmured, his voice dripping with insinuation. His hand moved higher, his fingers brushing just where you wanted him most, his touch sending a jolt of pleasure through you that made you gasp softly. "For starters, l'd finally get you all to myself. No distractions, no friends around... just you and me." Your breath hitched as he pressed a kiss to your neck, his lips soft and warm against your skin.

"And what else?" You asked, your voice trembling slightly as his fingers continued their slow, torturous exploration. Jude chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against your skin.

"I think you know exactly what else," he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. "Imagine waking up every morning in my bed... No rush, no interruptions. Just us, enjoying each other, exploring everything we've been holding back." His words sent a delicious shiver down your spine, the idea of spending days, nights, every moment with him making your blood run hot.

"That sounds... tempting," you breathed, your hand sliding down to rest on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm. "But are you sure you can handle that, Jude? Just the two of us... no escape?" Jude’s hand tightened on your thigh, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your heart skip.

"Oh, I'm sure," he said, his voice low and sure. "The question is... can you handle it, Y/N?" You smiled, a slow, seductive smile, as you leaned in and kissed him, your lips soft and teasing against his. Why didn’t you just go straight to Spain? It was valid question but then Jude would’ve had less time with you, and less time to work up the courage to ask you to come back with him. Jude’s flight time was doubled but at least he was bringing you home with him now.

"I guess there's only one way to find out." You spoke hushly against his lips. The flight back from Greece to England was a whirlwind. As soon as the private jet touched down, you felt the eagerness of getting back onto another plane, your mind was already elsewhere. Spain was calling, or rather, Jude was. The plan to switch destinations wasn’t the most practical, albeit not the most environmentally friendly choice either, but there was no denying the pull to be with him. As you disembarked, Whitney was her usual playful self, teasing you the moment your feet hit the tarmac.

"Switching flights to follow your heart, huh? So you don’t need me to keep you company while you wait for the next jet back to New York?" Her grin was infectious, but before you could even think of a witty comeback, Jude was behind you, his lips trailing soft, lazy kisses along your neck. It was a wordless response that left no room for doubt—you weren’t going anywhere without him. Whitney raised an eyebrow, her teasing turning into a knowing smirk. "Alright then, I see how it is. Safe travels, lovebirds." She winked and walked off with Trent who was immediately in her ear asking for more details that she didn’t have and frankly, you didn’t either, leaving you with Jude, who hadn’t let go of you since you landed. You knew this choice was impractical but it was what you wanted. The thought of being anywhere else felt wrong. As the private jet bound for Spain awaited you both, there was a comfort in knowing that you were choosing this. Choosing him. The moment felt right, even as you boarded the plane, hand in hand with Jude, ready for more of each other. The gentle hum of the airplane engines created a soothing backdrop as you rested in Jude’s lap once again, your fingers still lightly tracing the patterns on his shirt. The intimacy of the moment felt fragile, like a delicate balance between the comfort of your closeness and the unspoken tension hovering in the air. You shifted slightly, turning your gaze back up to Jude’s face. His expression was relaxed, but you could see a flicker of something more in his eyes—something that mirrored the uncertainty you felt in your own heart. You took a deep breath, gathering the courage to ask the question that had been nagging at you since the end of your holiday.

“Jude,” You began softly, your voice barely above a whisper, “can I ask you something?” You mused a bit more shy than you would’ve hoped. He looked down at you, his hand absently stroking your hair.

“Course, angel,” he replied, his tone gentle, though you could sense the underlying tension in his voice.

“Why didn’t you… you know, sleep with anyone else while we were in Greece?” You hesitated for a moment, then pushed forward with a question you had to know the answer to. Jude’s confessional about you being a big factor in choosing to come on the trip had weighed on you. You weren’t sure if it was all a ruse or if he was serious. Jude’s hand stilled in your hair, and you could feel his body tense beneath you.

“I… I don’t know,” he admitted after a long pause, his voice uncertain. His brow furrowed slightly, as if he was searching for the right words. Jude was no longer swayed by the moonlight, bottles of wine, and the bliss post sex. “I guess I thought I would. That was kind of the plan, you know? Have some fun, no strings attached…” He explained. You nodded, a small, tight smile on your lips. You knew exactly what he meant, and it made your heart ache a little. This had all started as something casual, something easy and uncomplicated. But somewhere along the way, it had changed.

“I mean. I know I was the convenient option but why didn’t you?” You pressed gently, needing to hear his answer even though you weren't sure if you were ready for it. You being down the hall was convenient for Jude, but it wasn’t like he would've had a problem finding convenience elsewhere.

“A very sexy convenience.” Jude quipped with a smug smile but your expression didn’t crack. You were serious. Jude sighed, running a hand over his hair, clearly struggling to articulate his feelings. “I don’t know, Y/N,” he repeated, frustration creeping into his voice. “I thought maybe it was just because we were spending so much time together, and I figured it would go away… but it didn’t. Every time I thought about being with someone else, it just… it felt wrong. Like I wasn’t supposed to.” His words hung in the air between you, heavy with meaning. Your heart pounded in your chest, the vulnerability in his confession striking a chord deep within you. You could see the confusion in his eyes, the way he was grappling with emotions he wasn’t used to feeling. A part of you felt guilty because he made it sound like you forced him into hooking up with you and told him he couldn’t get with other girls. Sure, you probably would’ve been a bit hurt but you didn’t say that. Another part of you was confused when he said he thought it ‘would go away.’ You couldn’t decide if that was a good thing, a bad thing, a jab maybe? You weren’t sure so you stayed quiet. “I… I guess. I guess I just wasn’t interested.” Jude continued, his voice quieter now, as if admitting it to himself for the first time. “I don’t know what it is about you but you’re different. You make me feel things I’m not used to feeling, and it’s… it’s scary as hell.” Your eyes narrowed. You could see Jude struggling to accept the fact that his silly idea to fuck his best mate’s girlfriend’s friend had back fired when he had caught feelings. You felt a lump form in your throat. To no surprise you were feeling just the same. You understood exactly what he meant. The way your heart raced whenever he looked at you, the way your entire world seemed to narrow down to just the two of you whenever you were together. But that only made it scarier. You had always prided yourself on being independent, on protecting your heart from getting hurt. And now, here you were, on the brink of something that could tear it all to shred, either be beautiful or devastating.

“I��m scared too if that makes you feel any better, Jude,” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly. “I’ve been trying to protect myself, to keep my distance, but… it’s not working. The more time I spend with you, the harder it gets.” The problem you and Jude were having was that your bodies and emotions were betraying you. Neither of you were looking for a relationship. Neither of you thought you wanted more except deep down that’s all you could think about. Jude’s arms tightened around you, pulling you closer as if he could shield you from the fear you were both feeling.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “But I don’t want to lose you either. I don’t know how to explain it, but being with you just feels… right.” Jude explained. He knew his playboy lifestyle was in great jeopardy when he invited you back to Spain with him. He didn’t want to let you go, he didn’t want you fucking anyone else but he didn’t know if he could give you a relationship. The thing was, you didn’t want to let him go, you certainly didn’t want him fucking anyone else and you also weren’t sure you could give him a relationship. You were on the same discombobulated messy page. You closed your eyes, resting your forehead against his chest, trying to steady your breathing. Both of you well aware a situationship would only result in someone’s feelings getting hurt. The fear of getting hurt was almost overwhelming to both of you but god was the sex good.

“We can just hang. You know? No big deal.” You softly told him, your voice barely audible. You opted to keep the massive issues that were rapidly rising to stay under the surface. Jude leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head.

“Good by me.” He told you, his voice full of raw apprehension. “No pressure, hmm?” You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest. You wanted to believe him, to trust that you could navigate this together. But the fear was still there, lurking in the back of your mind, in his mind, reminding you both of how much was at stake. If you caught feelings, real feelings, past a holiday fling, if you ever found yourself truly in love with him and then he left… you weren’t sure you could manage. Your best friends were dating, your pretty damn sure they’d get married and you would have to stomach seeing Jude’s stupid pretty face still but future you be damned you wanted this now.

“Okay,” you whispered, your voice shaky but determined. Jude smiled, a small, reassuring smile that made your heart ache with hope. You sat like that for a while, wrapped in each other’s arms, both of you feeling the weight of the moment.

When you arrived in Madrid it was very clear that you were now on Jude's home turf. The massive Adidas ad you passed on the way from the airport to his home serving as a glaring reminder of just that. As you drove, the car turned a corner, and suddenly, the massive billboard of Jude loomed over you. You couldn’t help but smirk, turning to Jude with a teasing glint in your eyes.

“Wow, what a model.” You drawled, nodding towards the billboard. “Mr. Madrid himself. What a welcome, Jude.” You fell into a giggle. Jude chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck, a faint blush creeping up his cheeks.

“Yeah, well… welcome. You’re in my city now.” He pointed out the window to a kid wearing a Real Madrid Bellingham jersey. You laughed a little more, the playful banter easing the nerves you hadn’t realized were there.

“Clearly. Can’t drive one block without being reminded I’m in the Jude Bellingham’s city.” You emphasized his name. Jude’s smile grew, a mix of pride and embarrassment, as he glanced out the window at the towering image of himself.

“Well, I hope you don’t mind being reminded a little more while you’re here.” He draped his arm around you in the back seat of the car and pulled you into him.

“Oh, I don’t mind at all,” you teased, you wiggled in his embrace to get more settled before reaching for his hand to give it a squeeze. “As long as the real thing lives up to the hype.” You cooed. You and Jude were seeming to have an issue where you were actively saying you didn’t want anything more but you were instinctively acting as if you were in a relationship. He shot you a look, one filled with a mixture of amusement and something deeper, something that made your heart skip a beat.

“Trust me, I never disappoint.” He quipped with a wink and you were pretty sure that your heart may have stopped beating for a moment. When you got out of the car, the air was warm, the sky a cloudless blue, and the city seemed to buzz with an energy that reached all the way out to Jude’s private neighborhood outside of it. The buzz mirroring the tension between you. You’d just spent a blissful, yet confusing, week together on holiday, filled with stolen glances, flirty banter, and nights spent tangled up in each other. Now, back in reality, at least Jude’s reality, you were unsure of where you stood. As you walked through Jude's front door, you couldn't help but feel a knot form in your stomach. You didn’t know how to label what you were, if you were supposed to label it —friends with benefits, something more, or just two people afraid to confront your feelings. Jude seemed equally unsure, his usual confident demeanor replaced by a hesitant awkwardness as you entered the house. "So," Jude began as he set your bags down in the entryway, his voice lighter than usual, "what exactly do we tell my mum about why you’re here?" He asked with a childishly smile thinking the circumstances were slightly funny.

“Erm… We could just say I'm just here because of Whitney and Trent,” You suggested, your tone half-joking, half-serious. You bit your lip, trying to hide your nervousness with a casual shrug. Jude chuckled, though it sounded forced.

“Yeah, because that makes perfect sense. 'Oh, Y/N’s just tagging along all the way back to Spain with me because her friend is dating my friend.' That won’t sound weird at all.” You both laughed, Jude pulled you into a hug, the air between you remained thick with unspoken words. Your heart raced as you tried to find the right thing to say. Why was this so complicated? You had been so open and relaxed with each other just days ago, but now it felt like you were walking on eggshells. Denise Bellingham entered the room just then, her smile warm and welcoming.

“Well, well, well,” she said with a playful tone, “look who decided to finally come back home… and with a friend.” Her eyes widened a little inspecting you head to toe but she kept her sweet disposition. “Hi sweetheart, I missed you.” Denise gave Jude a hug while you watched on in a panic. Of course Jude had told Denise you were coming but it still felt pressure packed. “Hi hun, I’m Denise, it’s nice to have you with us. You’re friends with Whitney?” She asked kindly after she gave you a quick hug.

“Hi, it’s really nice to meet you. Yeah, Whitney's plus one on the holiday and I guess in life but I’ve been replaced by T lately.” You giggled trying to act as natural as possible. “Thank you so much for letting me come stay.” You awkwardly got out not wanting to lose your manners despite the circumstances.

“Oh, it’s no trouble at all. Happy to have you” Denise replied, her eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief. “You’re gorgeous, hun, I’m sure Jude doesn't mind stealing you as a plus one of his own, right?” She raised an eyebrow to Jude, her subtly trying to deduce what your and Jude’s relationship was thinly veiled. Your cheeks flushed, and you laughed nervously. “Just coming to visit Madrid. I haven’t been in ages. Figured who better a tour guide than the boy plastered on every building in the city.” You giggled a little. Denise gave an unconvinced nod, clearly not believing a word of it.

“Of course. But whatever the reason, I’m glad you’re here. It’s been a while since Jude brought a girl home. Maybe he just needed some time with Trenty to get his head on straight.” She teased, her voice light, as she pinched Jude’s side.

“Mum.” Jude groaned, shooting her a look of mild exasperation, though his lips twitched with a smile. “I don’t need anything from ‘Trenty,’ thank you.” He shook his head less impressed with his mum’s infatuation with Trent. Although you were still fixated on who or when Jude last brought a girl home.

“Oh, hush, Jude.” Denise waved a dismissive hand at him, her grin widening. She turned back to you, her expression softening. “Really, though, Y/N, you’re always welcome here. It’s nice to have some new energy in the house.” She said sincerely. You muttered a ‘thank you’ feeling genuinely touched by Denise’s warmth. It was a stark contrast to the guarded front you often encountered, and it made you feel unexpectedly at ease. Denise winked at you. “Go unpack and settle in. Jude, show Y/N to … or I don’t know… you can sleep wherever you’d like. Dinner will be ready in a little.” Denise cooed and you felt anxiety wash over you. You really hadn’t thought too much about the sleeping arrangements. You were always fine meeting parents but a mum outright knowing you were sleeping with her son while you very clearly had just met and were not in a relationship… It wasn't a great look. Jude rolled his eyes good-naturedly, taking your hand in his, grabbing your rimowa in the other to lead you upstairs. As you walked through Jude’s home, you couldn’t help but marvel at the luxurious space. The house was modern and expansive, with clean lines and sleek architecture, all accented by large windows that let in the warm Spanish sunlight. The pool outside shimmered invitingly, framed by rolling green hills that stretched as far as you could see. It felt like stepping into a dream, where everything was perfectly curated yet still managed to feel like a home. You followed him through the hallways, your footsteps muted by the plush carpets beneath you. The walls were adorned with minimalistic art, a few pieces of Jude’s memorabilia but it was subtle, the decor was understated yet sophisticated, just like him.

“Sorry about that. My mum can be… a bit much. She thinks she’s chill but she’s just… I don’t know.” Jude muttered not really anything in particular in a whisper leaning in close to you as you walked.

“No, she’s great, I get it. She just cares about you a lot. It’s nice to see.” You shook your head, smiling. Jude’s expression softened, his thumb brushing lightly over the back of your hand.

“Yeah, she does but if it wasn’t already clear upon invitation you will be staying in my bed. My room’s on this side of the house. Mum’s is on the next floor and the opposite side so no stress, yeah?” Jude explained and even though it wasn’t your favorite thing to think about he was right, no stress. You looked up at him, your heart fluttering at the sincerity in his eyes interwoven with a bit of mischief. As you continued up the stairs, the awkwardness seemed to fade, replaced by a sense of possibility that neither of you were quite ready to define, but both of you were willing to explore. When you entered his bedroom, you were struck by how calming it felt. The space was large but not overwhelming, decorated in dark neutral tones that exuded warmth and tranquility. The bed, dressed in soft linens, was the centerpiece, inviting and perfectly made, you were pretty sure he wasn’t the one who had done it. The room carried a subtle, woody scent, like cedar and sandalwood that smelt just like him, making you feel instantly at ease.

“This is really nice,” you murmured, taking it all in. Jude smiled, setting your bags down gently by the wardrobe.

“I’m glad you like it. I do too.” He laughed. You walked further into the room, running your fingers lightly over the polished wood of the dresser, then over to the large windows that offered a stunning view of the pool and the hills beyond.

“No, like it’s really nice,” you said, turning back to him. He stepped closer, his presence warm and reassuring, just like the room.

“I know you said that.” Jude chucked. “Even nicer when you’re in it though.” He cooed. You immediately rolled your eyes at his cheesiness. Jude flopped onto his bed with a playful grin, patting the space beside him. "C’mere, lay down with me," he invited, his voice light and teasing. You shook your head, trying to suppress a smile.

"Jude, we cannot. It would be so blatantly obvious to your mum right now." You reminded him, raising an eyebrow. Jude groaned at you being so mindful of his mum, clearly disappointed.

“You’re killing me here,” he muttered, though his tone was playful. You couldn’t help but laugh at his reaction, shaking your head once more.

“Well, someone has to keep you in line,” you teased, enjoying the way his frustration melted into a grin. He laughed, the sound warm and carefree, before sitting up and wrapping his arms around you, pulling you into a hug.

“You’re right, can’t risk getting caught… at least not yet. I want you here for more than just a day.” He joked, his breath tickling your ear as he held you close. After a moment, he pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes softening. “How about we go downstairs and watch some TV instead? Keep it PG for you.” He laughed. You nodded. “But just know I’m impatiently waiting till you let me bring you back up here.” He teased, feeling the comfort of his embrace.

"Patience is a virtue, baby. I’ll make it worth your while later. I promise.” You whispered, before you let go, leaning in close, your lips brushing against his ear. A shiver ran through him, and he let out a low chuckle.

"Now that's something to look forward to," he murmured, his voice a little huskier, the hint of anticipation between you electric. You went downstairs and plopped yourselves in the living room on an expansive velvety sage couch. As you nestled into the warmth of Jude’s embrace on the couch, the cozy atmosphere around you was momentarily interrupted by the sound of your phone ringing. Glancing at the screen, you saw it was your mum calling. You answered with a smile, your voice subconsciously shifting into French as you greeted her.

“Salut, Maman! Comment ça va?” [Hello, Mum! How are you?] You cooed sitting up a bit more. Jude flinched a bit taken aback by the switch of languages. You had said you barely knew Spanish, you said nothing about being fluent in French. Jude could hear your mum's affectionate murmur on the other end of the call. “Tu me manques aussi.” [I miss you too!] You responded, your tone softening as you settled back down into Jude’s side. “Je suis en Espagne en ce moment. Juste à l'extérieur de Madrid. C’est magnifique ici.” [I'm in Spain at the moment. Just outside Madrid. It's beautiful here.] Your mum rarely knew where you were but she cared enough to call and ask. Your mum asked you why you were in Spain so you glanced up at your reason why, Jude, who was watching you with a curious smile, though he couldn’t understand what was being said. “Ah, Maman, il s’appelle Jude. Il est… bon,” [Ah, Mum, his name is Jude. He's... good] you said, a shy smile playing on your lips. Jude raised an eyebrow playfully, clearly picking up on the way your tone softened when you had just said his name, even if he didn’t understand the words. “Moi aussi,” [me too] you agreed. “Je te raconterai tout plus tard, d’accord?” [I'll tell you everything later, okay?] You told your mum you’d tell her about him later although you probably wouldn’t. Your mum and you were open about a lot, boys always being a hot topic but you be weren’t sure how you would explain Jude. “Je t’aime aussi, Maman. À bientôt.” [I love you too, Mom. See you soon.] You ended the call and placed your phone on the coffee table, feeling the weight of Jude’s gaze on you. He looked at you with that same curious expression, like he was trying to piece together the parts of you he hadn’t yet discovered.

“So... are you French?” he asked, his voice tinged with a hint of surprise, but also amusement and a little laugh. It was clear he was learning something new about you that fascinated him. You nodded, a soft smile on your lips.

“Well… Yeah.” You laughed. “I am. My parents are French, but they moved to the States when I was born but we moved back to Paris and then I went back to the US for Uni.” You smiled. You were a little confused because you thought maybe this would’ve come up already or somehow Jude just should’ve known. Jude grinned, his eyes shining with interest.

“I never would’ve guessed, but it suits you. The way you speak—it’s beautiful,” he murmured, his voice laced with admiration.You felt a blush creep up your cheeks at his words, and you shifted slightly in his arms, feeling more vulnerable than you had moments ago.

“Thank you,” you replied softly. “You know, I sometimes forget that you don’t know everything about me yet. I just feel... so comfortable with you.” You smiled back at him. Jude’s hand found yours, his fingers lacing with yours in a gesture that was both reassuring and intimate.

“I’m glad you do,” he said, his voice tender. “You make me feel the same way. It’s like... I don’t have to try so hard around you. It just feels right.” He sheepishly admitted. “

You looked up at him, your heart swelling with a mix of emotions—comfort, affection, and something deeper that you were still trying to define. “You know you’ve got layers, I'll give you that.” Jude laughed trying to snap back to something more lighthearted.

“I’d say you do too. You’re not exactly just throwing on a jersey every weekend.” You admitted, your voice muddied in a giggle. Jude’s thumb brushed over your knuckles, his touch gentle and reassuring. His eyes holding yours with a sincerity that made your breath catch. In that moment, as you sat there wrapped in his arms, you realized just how much this connection meant to both of you. What were you two doing? There was way too much emotion happening for this situationship and that emotion continued after your lazy afternoon post traveling. You sat at the dinner table late that night, your heart racing. You were trying your best to focus on the aroma of the food Denise had prepared, but your mind was a whirlwind of thoughts. You were torn between the undeniable warmth you felt as you watched Jude interact with his mum—how his eyes softened when he spoke to her, the affectionate way he teased her, the easy smiles he shared—and the rising panic of sitting across from Denise, Jude’s mother, for the first time. Denise was exactly as Jude had described her: warm, witty, and welcoming. But still, you felt a little out of place. After all, the real reason you were in Madrid wasn’t exactly something you’d share over a family dinner. It wasn’t that you and Jude had agreed to continue exploring whatever was going on between you or even that you were considering some sort of future together. No, the reason you were here, at its most basic, unfiltered truth, was because you wanted to keep having sex. And you definitely couldn’t share that with Denise.

“So, hun,” Denise began with a warm smile, “You said you hadn’t been Madrid for a little bit…

Have you been here often before? Can’t get enough of the Spanish sun?” She asked. You shifted in your seat, trying to suppress a blush as Denise turned her attention to you. You smiled nervously, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. You could feel Jude’s eyes on you, almost as if he was silently urging her to say the right thing.

“Yeah, I’ve come on holidays, or just visits in general. Sometimes my dad’s work took him here and I’d tag along. Jude had told me there were some must do things I apparently have been missing out on though so,” you added quickly, trying to sound casual, although Jude thought your comment was an innuendo. A cheeky smile grew on his face believing he was a thing you needed to do in your time in Spain. And while that was true, you weren’t telling his mum that. “When Jude extended the invitation, I thought it would be nice to explore a bit more” Denise nodded, seeming to accept your answer, but there was a twinkle in her eye that suggested she wasn’t buying it completely.

“I see,” she said, her voice light and teasing. “And of course, having a personal tour guide like Jude must make the trip even better, right?” You laughed softly, a bit too quickly, and took a sip of your wine to hide your nerves.

“Yeah, yeah, he’ll be a great guide, knows the language… I don’t” You managed, glancing over at Jude, who was watching you with an amused expression. You could tell he was enjoying your discomfort a little too much.

“Eh, don’t know your spanish is arguably better than mine.” Jude chimed in, leaning back in his chair with a grin. “Doesn’t have that brummy charm to it, sure, but it’s good.” He winked at you. “You know, Mum, I’m just trying to make sure Y/N gets the full Madrid experience. Can’t let her leave without seeing all the sights.” He spoke to his mum despite his eyes being locked on you. Denise chuckled, her eyes shifting between you knowingly.

“Well, I’m glad you’re here, Y/N. It’s nice to see Jude spending time with someone who keeps him on his toes.” She cooed. Your cheeks warmed again, this time with a mix of embarrassment and affection. You really appreciated Denise’s kindness, but you were acutely aware of the awkwardness of the situation. You wished you could just relax and enjoy the evening, but the truth of why you were here—why you were really here—hovered in the back of your mind like a secret you were desperately trying to keep. As the conversation continued, you found yourself caught between moments of laughter and tension. You loved watching Jude with his mum, the way he softened in her presence, the way he seemed to genuinely enjoy making her laugh. Hearing stories about him and his brother made you miss your own. It was sweet, endearing even. Yet, every time Denise looked at you with that knowing smile, you felt a jolt of panic. You knew Denise was cool, but how cool could any mum be when it came to their son’s “friend” who was really just around for… extracurricular activities? Denise poured more wine into your glass, her smile never wavering. “I hope you’re enjoying dinner,” she said. “I’m glad you could join us. It’s always nice to have good company around. Always thought it makes every meal even better.” Denise mused. You smiled back, grateful for Denise’s warmth but still feeling the weight of the unspoken.

“Thank you, Denise. I agree. Good company is essential to any good meal but this has been delicious. Steak always pairs really great with Vega Sicilia as well.” You blabbered before picking up your wine glass. Denise’s eyes widened, taken aback by the comment. She didn’t even think you had seen the wine bottle so she was surprised by your call out. Jude chucked to himself. Clearly your pass at ‘liking wine as much as the next person’ was a farce. You knew from the first sip and that white label spotted from the corner of your eye what wine it was. “This is all wonderful. I’m really happy to be here, so really thank you.” And you were happy to be there, despite everything. You were happy to be here, with Jude, in this strange in-between place you had found yourselves in. You just hoped you could keep everything else under wraps a little longer. After dinner you returned to the comfort of the sage velvety couch nestling back into Jude's arms, feeling the warmth of his body against yours as you both relaxed on the couch. The soft hum of the TV played in the background, but your thoughts drifted back to the sun-soaked days in Greece, thinking you wouldn’t mind if you and Jude were cuddled just the same but in bathing suits on the beach.

"I think I really miss Greece." You murmured, your voice filled with a hint of nostalgia. "The drinks, the sunsets, just the vibes. I hate when holidays end." You giggled. Jude tightened his hold on you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

"Yeah, really good holiday. Don’t think I’m sad it’s necessarily over though." He smiled, his voice soft and comforting. "Best part of my holiday came back home with me." You smiled, feeling your heart flutter at his words. There was something about being with Jude that made everything else fade away.

"You always know just what to say, huh?" You teased lightly, but your voice was tinged with sincerity. It actually made you a bit nervous he seemed to have these lines written for cinema at the ready. Jude's hand began to trace slow, lazy circles on your back, his touch growing bolder with each passing moment.

"I mean it though," he said, his tone deepening. "I’m really not complaining. I might even think you look sexier in Spain than you did in Greece." He smiled at you with lust burning behind his eyes. The heat between you began to build, the air around you thickening with unspoken desire. His hand drifted lower, sending a shiver down your spine. You could feel his breath quickening, matching your own as the tension grew.

"Jude..." you whispered, your voice a mix of longing and hesitation. You turned your head slightly, your lips brushing against his jaw. He looked down at you, his eyes dark and full of intent.

"Besides, your holiday isn’t over. I plan on extending it right here," he suggested, his voice rough around the edges. Your breath caught in your throat as you met his gaze, the intensity of the moment pulling you in. You nodded slightly, your body already responding to his closeness, the world outside the two of you slipping away. As Jude’s kisses grew more urgent on the couch, you felt your resolve crumbling. You tried to voice your hesitation, your words coming out in breathless gasps.

“Jude, wait... we need to slow down,” you managed, though your own hands betrayed you. They continued to roam over his body, your lips eager to meet his. Your mind was racing faster than your heartbeat. This was what you had come to Madrid for—a chance to be close to Jude, to continue your passionate connection. Yet, as your bodies pressed together, a sudden and sharp ache struck your chest. The intensity of the moment and the emotions swirling within you became almost unbearable. You pulled away, your breath ragged, your heart pounding not just from the physical exertion but from a deeper, more unsettling realization. The room seemed to spin for a moment as you tried to ground yourself, your eyes focusing on the familiar yet suddenly distant features of Jude. Your thoughts spiraled. ‘Is this what Jude does?’ You wondered. ‘Does his mum know about all this?’ ‘How many girls has he returned from holidays with.’ The questions collided in your mind like a storm, leaving you feeling exposed and vulnerable. How many women had been here with him before you? Were you just another fleeting encounter, another notch in his bedpost? The discomfort you felt was more than physical—it was emotional, raw, and real. The intimacy of your situation suddenly seemed tainted by a sense of insignificance. You felt a pang of self-doubt and regret, an acute sense of having misjudged the situation and your place within it. “Jude, I… I need a moment,” you said, your voice barely a whisper as you gently pushed him away, your own emotions threatening to overwhelm you. You stood up, your movements shaky, trying to regain your composure as you stepped back from the couch.

“What’s wrong? Did I do something?” he asked, his voice laced with genuine worry. Jude looked up at you, confused. You shook your head, struggling to find the right words amidst the turmoil inside you.

“No, it’s not you,” you said, your tone heavy with a mix of sadness and frustration. “It’s just… I need to think.” Sensing your shift, Jude immediately pulled back, concern etching his features.

“Y/N, talk to me. What’s going on?” Jude reached out to you, his hand brushing yours gently. Why all of a sudden did this matter so much to you. You’d never had a problem with hook ups before. Why did any of this matter? Tears stung your eyes as you fought to hold them back. As Jude’s touch grew more insistent on the couch, your mind started racing. You weren’t sure if it was the thought of his mum being in the house or the nagging question of whether you were just another one of many women he brought home. You felt a tightness in your chest, a lump forming in your throat—an unfamiliar ache that almost made you want to cry. You never cared like this before.

“I just… I don’t know.” You tried to steady your breathing, feeling foolish for getting so worked up. “I don’t know why I’m feeling like this,” you admitted, your voice trembling. You weren’t sure you had ever halted a hook up you wanted as bad as this one. Jude sighed, running a hand over his hair as he looked at you earnestly. He pulled at your arm for you to sit next to him although he allowed for some distance between you both now.

“I don’t know how to say this…” He took a deep breath. “ I don’t know what we’re doing or where this is going, but I like you. A lot. And as confusing as it is, I care about you. I don’t just bring anyone home to meet my mum, I want you to know that.” You bit your lip, feeling a mix of relief and embarrassment. He didn’t tell you everything he was feeling because he wasn’t quite sure he wanted to acknowledge it but there was a shift in the air between you—like the tides were changing, pushing you both closer to something neither of you were quite ready to name. As you both settled a little further apart on the couch, the air between you felt charged with something unspoken. Jude reclined against the pillows, his arm casually draped around you, but there was a tension in his posture, like he was trying to find the right words. You felt it too, a knot of nerves tightening in your stomach as you stared at the ceiling, trying to make sense of the confusing emotions swirling around in your head.

“So…” Jude started, his voice low, hesitant. “This… whatever this is… it’s kind of crazy, right?” You let out a small, awkward laugh, nodding in agreement.

“Yeah, it is. I mean, we haven’t even really talked about what we’re doing here… you know besides the sex.” You awkwardly explained, not sure if it was something he wanted to hear.

“Exactly. I mean, it’s not like… we’re not looking for anything serious, right?” He turned his head to look at you, his eyes searching yours for some kind of reassurance. You felt your heart skip a beat, unsure whether you were relieved or disappointed by his words.

“Yeah, totally,” you replied, trying to sound casual, even though the thought of keeping things light made your chest ache. “Neither of us needs to complicate things right now.” You hummed.

“Right,” Jude echoed, but there was a slight tension in his voice that made you wonder if he was just as unsure as you were. He reached for your hand, lacing his fingers with yours, the touch sending a shiver down your spine. “But… we’re obviously into each other. I mean, that’s pretty clear.” He tried to rectify things. You nodded, biting your lip as you tried to ignore the flutter in your stomach.

“Yeah, that’s obvious.” You cooed. Jude’s thumb gently stroked the back of your hand, and the small gesture made your breath hitch.

“But then there’s this thing, right?” he continued, his words careful, almost cautious. “Like, if we keep… doing this, it might not just going to stay casual.” He hesitantly admitted both of you very aware you were walking a very fine line.

“I know,” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. You could feel the weight of what he was saying, the unspoken acknowledgment that this was more than just a fling. “It could get a little messy.” You slowly added. He nodded slowly, his gaze dropping to where your hands were intertwined.

“But it’s hard to stop, you know? Like, we know where this is headed, but we keep… we keep ending up here.” He whispered with sincerity but a bit of desire. The honesty in his words made your heart clench. You knew exactly what he meant. Every time you were with him, the pull between you was undeniable, even though you both kept trying to convince yourselves that it didn’t have to mean anything more.

“Yeah,” you agreed softly. “It’s like… we’re playing with fire, but we can’t help it.” You tried not to smile. You also tried not to kiss him because that’s what you wanted to do right now. He looked so patient, so kind, his lips perfectly pouting, mocking you with how good of a kiss you would get.

“And we know that if we keep going, it’s only going to get more intense. More… complicated.” Jude’s lips curved into a small, almost bittersweet smile. You met his gaze, feeling that familiar tug in your chest, that longing that you both were dancing around but not quite willing to confront.

“So what do we do?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper, as if saying it out loud would make everything too real. Jude was silent for a moment, his thumb still tracing gentle patterns on your skin.

“I don’t know,” he finally said, his voice thick with uncertainty. “I don’t want to stop, but… I don’t want to mess this up either.” He shyly told you, thinking honestly was best. You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Same. I mean, I’m not looking for a relationship or anything serious, but… this doesn’t feel casual either.” You sighed awkwardly hating that you even said the word relationship. He let out a soft breath, shifting closer to you, his warmth seeping into your skin.

“I guess we just… see where it goes? No pressure, no expectations. Just… take it one step at a time?” You felt a wave of relief wash over you at his suggestion, but it was mixed with a lingering unease. You both knew it wouldn’t be that simple, but it was the only option that didn’t involve walking away.

“Yeah,” you agreed, trying to convince yourself as much as him. “One step at a time.” You softly smiled. Jude leaned in, his lips brushing against your temple, the contact sending a shiver down your spine.

“And for now… we just enjoy it,” he murmured, his voice low, almost daring you to argue. You turned to face him, your breath catching as you met his gaze. The tension between you was palpable, the air thick with the promise of what was to come.

“Yeah,” you whispered back, your voice shaky with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation. “Let’s enjoy it.” The words hung in the air between you, a tentative agreement to keep playing with fire, knowing full well that you’d both get burned. But as Jude’s lips found yours, the heat of the moment drowned out any lingering doubts, leaving only the electric thrill of what you both knew was inevitable. His lips felt better than you could’ve ever imagined at that moment.

“Maybe we should… move this somewhere more private,” you suggested softly, your heart still pounding but the anxiety slowly ebbing away. Jude nodded, his expression softening as he stood up, offering you his hand.

As the sun dipped below the horizon it casted a soft glow across the room, you sat cross-legged on his bed, staring blankly at your laptop. You had spent a few more days loving this messy little holiday extension with Jude and a few more nights wrapped up in him and in his sheets. The words blurred together on your screen, your mind too distracted to focus on anything but the tangled mess of emotions you found yourself in. The feeling of Jude’s t-shirt against your skin and his lingering scent on it only making matters worse. You had never meant for things to get this complicated, but here you were, caught up in something that felt far more serious than you had ever intended. Every time you tried to push the thoughts away and get back to work, your mind drifted back to Jude. How did you end up here, in his house, tangled up in something that was supposed to be casual, but now felt anything but? You sighed, closing your laptop and setting it aside, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on you. When Jude finally returned home, it was late. He looked exhausted from his workout, his hair damp with sweat, his movements sluggish as he kicked off his shoes and dropped his bag by the door. You offered him a small smile as he walked into the bedroom, but the air between you was thick with unspoken words.

"Hey, angel." he cooed softly, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it into the laundry basket. His voice was tired, and you could see the weariness in his eyes.

"Hi," you replied, your voice just as soft. There was so much you wanted to say, but you held back, unsure if tonight was the right time to have another heavy conversation. Jude glanced at you, sensing the tension in the air.

"How was your day?" He asked, though you both knew that was just small talk, a way to avoid the real issue. He came towards you and cupped your cheek.

"Fine," you answered, shrugging. "I tried to work, but... my mind was kind of elsewhere." He nodded, understanding without needing to ask more.

“Yeah, I get that." The room fell silent, the only sound the rustling of sheets as Jude climbed into bed beside you. You both laid there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, the weight of the day pressing down on you. Neither of you seemed ready to dive into another conversation about where this was going or what you were doing. But as you shifted closer to him, seeking the comfort of his presence, Jude turned onto his side and pulled you into his arms. The familiar warmth of his body against yours, the steady rhythm of his breathing, soothed the tension that had been building all day. You closed your eyes, inhaling his scent, feeling a sense of calm wash over you. For a while, you simply lay there, wrapped up in each other, neither of you saying a word. It was enough just to be close, to find solace in each other's arms without having to define what you were. The comfort of his embrace eased the knots in your stomach, the doubts and uncertainties melting away in the quiet intimacy of the moment. But even as you settled into his embrace, the proximity and warmth between you started to stir something deeper. Jude's hand slid up your back, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. You felt the tension shift, the air between you thickening as his lips brushed against your neck, his breath hot against your skin. You turned your head to meet his gaze, your eyes locking with his. There was a hunger there, an unspoken need that neither of you could deny. The conversation that had been avoided all evening seemed to dissolve into the background, replaced by the heat building between you. Without a word, Jude leaned in, capturing your lips in a slow, deliberate kiss. The tenderness of his earlier touch gave way to something more urgent, more intense, as his hands roamed over your body, pulling you closer. You responded in kind, your fingers gripping his hair, your body arching into his. The kiss deepened, growing more passionate as you both gave in to the desire that had been simmering beneath the surface all day. His hands moved with purpose, sliding under your shirt, tracing the curves of your body, igniting a fire that spread through you like a wildfire. You felt his weight shift as he moved over you, his kisses trailing down your neck, your collarbone, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. The earlier hesitation, the unspoken tension, seemed to vanish, replaced by a desperate need to be closer, to lose yourselves in each other. Things heated up quickly, the room filled with the sounds of your breathing, the rustle of sheets, the quiet gasps and moans as you both gave in to the moment. Jude shifted you so that you could feel his hard on, only the thin material of single layers of clothing separating you two.

“You want to be a good girl f’me tonight?” He whispered as his hand snuck up your torso until he tortuously toyed with you stroking underneath your tits. You nodded desperately. All the questions, all the doubts, melted away, leaving only the overwhelming desire to be with him, to feel his touch, his kiss, his body against yours. He pulled you on top of him, letting his tired body relax beneath you. His hands held you by your small waist before trailing lower and gripping onto your ass not without a firm slap.

“Please. I want to be a good girl for you.” You pouted at him as you sank you hips down rubbing yourself against the tent in his boxers. “You feel so fucking good.” You moaned before he pulled you down to him for another kiss. He smugly smiled letting his hands slid under the tiny silky shorts you were in, squeezing and massaging your ass. Hi hands making quick work to get under your shorts, forcing your thinly covered pussy to grind against his throbbing erection.

“Yeah, be a good girl f’me. Show me how good you can be.” He bucked his hips up into you whilst pushing you to sit back up. His hands traveled from your ass back around to your waist, easing your his shirt up and over your head. You watched his pupils dilate when he drank in your naked form. You gasped as his thumbs played with your nipples. In swift succession he removed his hands from your boobs, grabbed your leg and flipped you over to be underneath him. You loved when he took control of you. He smirked looking down at you. He guided your leg up so your foot was next to his head and began placing slow kisses against your ankle bone working all the way down your leg to your core. He ate you mercilessly for what felt like an age and three orgasms later that had you whining that you needed him. "I need you too, baby, fuck, feel how wet you are." He told you, taking your hand and placing it between your legs. "Touch yourself, angel. There you go. Play with that pretty pussy for me, hm?" His deep voice vibrates in your head, sending a fresh rush of lust through your veins. Judes exhaustion from his workout dissipated and evidently he was on a mission of some kind because his hands pushed your legs against your chest, knees over his shoulders, fast. He positioned you, just how he wanted to fuck you, slapping his heavy cock against your clit. He rubbed the tip of his hard cock leaking precut against your sopping wet folds. You shifted beneath him to pick your hips up allowing him to guide himself inside with ease. Greedily, he bottomed out in a swift thrust. You gripped the sheets in an attempt to ground yourself at the sudden stretch. The feeling was enough to wipe your mind clear of anything other than him and how he was making you feel. “I know, I know, doing so good f’me though.” He kissed your lips gently as you adjusted. It felt like every time you fucked Jude it was the first time. You just couldn’t get used to his size and you didn’t want to. You craved this. He kissed down your neck as he pulled out slightly before easing back in slower, fully burrying himself one more.

"Feels so good. You always feel so good.” You whined. Jude gave you a devious smirk in return, giving your tender neck a break and resting his forehead against yours while he flexed and undulated, putting his abs, back, entire body into it, hitting spots deep inside of you that you didn't think were even there.

”No one fucks you like I do, baby. No one will ever fuck you as good as I can.” He told your harshly as he began to rail into you harder and faster. You were moaning his name incessantly. “I know, angel. Take my cock so well. Hmm?”

“Uh-huh,” you moaned, letting your eyes close. Your head tipped back onto the pillow with one hand squeezing your own nipple. As the minutes passed Jude kept his strokes steady and rough as you desperately whined for a release. He would edge you again and again because he was entranced by the way your tits were bouncing, the sound of wet pussy, his balls slapping against your ass, the way your legs wrapped around him tighter, dragging your heel down his muscular back. Every part of this was textbook definition of what Jude considered perfect sex. It didn’t get better than this

“Good girl,” he groans the praise, pinning your hands above your head as he rammed his hips against yours, your cute moans and squeals sounding like literal music to his ears. “Just like that, fuck baby.” He moaned watching the way his length disapeared inside your pussy. You tipped your head back further as his pace became more relentless. Your jaw slack, eyes closed tight. “Fuck!” the timbre of his voice wavered, he was embarrassingly weak in you.

“Oh, oh my god, Jude. I’m… I’m going to cum” You mewled and he felt dizzy from the sound of his name from your softly parted lips. “I’m cumming.” You couldn’t ask for any sort of permission any more. This was uncontrollable pleasure rifling though you. Your muscles tensed as white hot pleasure coursed through you.

“Yeah? Cum f’me angel.” Jude bit his teeth into your neck as his one of his hands dropped to squeeze your already sensitive nipples. “Mmmm such a good fucking girl.” He groaned as you cried feeling himself barreling close to his own release the way you were squeezing his cock now. Your body succumbing to pure euphoria and seeing whites but that wasn’t enough for Jude. He wanted more from you. His hand found its way between your legs as he began tracing harsh figure eights against your clit. You gasped as your hands desperately clung to his biceps digging your nails into his arms. “Gonna cum. Where do you want me to cum. Tell me now.” He demanded. You cried out ‘inside’ with a ‘please.’ A cheeky smile pulled on his face as he nuzzled his nose against your cheek in a juxtaposed and tender moment. ”Atta girl.” He cooed smugly. Jude had you fucking dick whipped in a matter of days and it was only getting worse the longer you spent with him. He shifted to push your ankles back towards your head, folding you in half. He fucked you like you had never been fucked. Both his hands held you down. His mind had gone blank. The only thing on his mind was you. He painted your walls with his release continuing to thrust over and over again. He groaned as he felt your pussy convulse almost involuntarily into another earth shattering orgasm. Both of you completely spent. You laid there for awhile until he pulled out. He smiled at the sight of his cum slowly dripping out of you. He swiped his fingers through your folds but you we’re quick to grip his wrist tightly stopping him.

“Enough.” You giggled, his laughter marrying yours in the thick air as he plopped beside you pulling you into him after he promised to clean you up in a moment. When you finally came to, both of you breathless and flushed, the intensity of the moment lingering in the air. Jude's forehead rested against yours, his breathing heavy, his hands still cradling your face as if he couldn't bear to let go. Neither of you spoke, the silence thick with the weight of what had just happened. But as you lay there, still wrapped up in each other, you knew that tonight had changed something between you. Whether or not you were ready to face it, the connection between you had deepened, and there was no going back now.

The next morning was serene, the soft light filtering through the curtains and casting a golden glow across Jude’s room. You had been up for hours, already having completed a workout, indulged in your full skincare routine, and taken a long, hot shower. By the time you were dressed and ready for the day, Jude was still sound asleep, tangled in the sheets, his dark curls splayed across the pillow. Your alarm began to chime, breaking the peaceful silence. Jude groaned, pulling the pillow over his head in protest.

“Angel….” Jude mumbled. “Baby…” he groaned. “Turn it off, please," he mumbled once more, his voice thick with sleep. "It’s one of my last days before footie starts. Let me sleep in.” He complained. You chuckled softly, moving to silence the alarm.

"It’s also one of your last days with me, Judey." You reminded him, your tone light but laced with a hint of sadness. Jude’s heart squeezed at your words. The reminder that your time together was fleeting stung, and it made him reluctant to fully wake up and face the day. When he finally opened his eyes, they were immediately drawn to you. The morning light played off your skin, making you look even more radiant, effortlessly stunning in a way that took his breath away. You were already dressed in Dior shorts with a knit corset top, a simple but stylish outfit. Your hair pulled back and your skin seemed to glow from your meticulous skincare routine.

“How long have you been up?” He asked you with a strained voice. You gave him a knowing look. He knew you woke up early. This wasn’t shocking news. Jude couldn’t believe how beautiful you were, especially in the early morning light. As he continued to stare, his thoughts drifted back to the previous night. The intimacy you’d shared lingered in the room, the memory of your touch and the way you’d let him explore parts of you that you rarely allowed others to. It had been a powerful moment, one that deepened the connection between you, even if neither of you was ready to fully acknowledge it.

“You’re gorgeous, you know that?” He looked up at you with a tender expression, Jude reached out, his hand finding yours. He gave it a gentle squeeze, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. You hummed appreciating the compliment. “Stay in bed with me, hmm?” He cooed pulling you closer to him, his hands dropping to palm your ass

“Tempting but no.” You smiled. “Come on. Please get up from bed, you promised!” You dramatically pouted at him.

"Where am I taking you?” He asked, his voice still heavy with sleep but laced with sincerity and a light laugh. His words hung in the air, filled with the unspoken tension that had been simmering between you since the beginning. You smiled softly, your heart doing a little flip at his touch and the way he looked at you, as if you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

"Barrio Salamanca. You need to wake up, sleepy boy. You’re forgetting everything you told me last night." You replied, your voice just as soft riddled with a giggle, your fingers curling around his hand. "Because I was really looking forward to today just the same way you were really looking forward to last night.” You raised your eyebrow at him. Jude sat up slowly, the sheet falling from him revealing a delicious deep v as he propped himself up on one elbow. He studied you for a moment, his gaze intense and full of something you couldn’t quite place—something that made your pulse quicken and your breath catch. In the post sex haze Jude began to ramble on about just how much he loved cumming inside you and that he’d buy you anything you’d like tomorrow now today, if you let him do it again. And so you did. You went three more rounds after that first one before you went to bed.

"I was looking forward to it and I’m gonna look back on it very fondly.” He gave you a devilishly handsome yet cheeky smile, his tone teasing but with an edge of vulnerability. "You should look forward to today. A day out in Jude Bellingham’s city with Jude Bellingham… lucky you.” He smirked. You laughed, the sound light and genuine, easing some of the tension that had been building.

“Lucky me.” you admitted, your eyes sparkling with mischief. Jude chuckled, shaking his head as he pulled you closer, his hand wrapping around your waist.

"You know," he began, his voice low and husky as he leaned in, "I wouldn’t be opposed to getting into a little more debt.” He laughed pulling you a bit harder towards him.

"You are plenty indebted to me," you teased back, leaning into him, your lips brushing against his ear. "But after last night, I think I deserve to be spoiled a little, don’t you?"

You giggled. Jude’s breath hitched at your words, the playful tone in your voice doing little to mask the deeper emotions that were swirling beneath the surface. His heart raced as he thought about what you had shared, the vulnerability, the connection, and the unspoken promise that lingered between you.

"Yeah," he whispered, his lips ghosting over your neck as he pulled you even closer. "I think you do." For a moment, neither of you moved, the air thick with tension and unspoken words. The memory of last night was still fresh, the way you had let him in, both physically and emotionally, had changed something between you. It was a line that had been crossed, one that neither of you could pretend didn’t exist anymore. Finally, you pulled back slightly, your eyes meeting his. "So, are you ready to get up now?" you asked, your tone light but with a hint of challenge. Jude smiled, his hand sliding up your back, his touch warm and comforting.

“I suppose we should get up. We do have plans, I promised, after all." His voice low and full of promise. You nodded, a soft smile playing on your lips as you leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. You pulled back, standing up, your hand still in his. Jude watched you for a moment longer before he finally moved, sliding out of bed and standing beside you. He wrapped his arms around you from behind, pulling you against him as he buried his face in your neck, inhaling your scent deeply. "Today’s going to be a good day," he murmured against your skin, his voice full of determination. You leaned back into him, closing your eyes and savoring the moment.

"I think so too," you replied softly, your heart full as you stood there, wrapped in his arms. As you both got ready to head out, the memory of last night lingered between you, a reminder of how much things had changed, and how much you both wanted to hold onto what you had, even if neither of you was quite ready to admit it yet. Shopping in Salamanca with Jude felt like something out of a movie. The neighborhood was breathtaking, a place where Madrid’s vibrant history met the height of modern luxury. The streets were wide, lined with trees whose leaves danced in the gentle breeze. Elegant boutiques with polished glass windows displayed the latest fashions, while the scent of freshly brewed coffee wafted from the nearby cafés. Jude guided you through the streets with a casual confidence, his hand resting on the small of your back. You couldn't help but admire the architecture—grand buildings with ornate facades, some of which had stood for centuries, now housing some of the world's most prestigious designers. The sun bathed everything in a golden light, making the whole scene feel almost surreal.

"Shall we? C’mon I told you I’d buy you anything. You held up your side of the deal let me do mine. I know ‘anything’ to you means Chanel.” His voice was light but with a hint of something more serious. As you passed by Chanel, Jude paused and nodded towards it with a smile.

"I was kidding, Jude. I don’t need a Chanel bag. I have Chanel bags" You emphasized the plural with a soft laugh, shaking your head picking up the bag hanging off your shoulder. “It was sex… I was kidding.” You couldn’t drop your smile but he wasn’t laughing. He looked at you with those deep, serious eyes, the kind that always made your heart skip.

“Yeah, but it was very very good sex. I know you don’t need one. But I want to get it for you. Because I want to, not because I have to." The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard. Jude had always been generous, but this felt different—more personal. Your heart practically exploded at the thought. You could afford the bag on your own, of course, but this wasn't about the price. It was about the gesture, about him wanting to spoil you just because he could. The bag, which you might have once seen as just another luxury item, now felt like the most special thing you’d ever own. Inside the store, the world seemed to slow down as you selected the bag, with Jude watching you closely, his gaze soft and warm. When the clerk handed it to you in its pristine packaging, you couldn’t help but smile, feeling a mixture of excitement and gratitude. Leaving the store, you and Jude found a quiet café just off the main street, nestled between two elegant buildings. The outdoor seating was shaded by large umbrellas, offering a perfect spot to people-watch while enjoying a coffee. You sat down, placing the Chanel bag carefully beside you, its significance still making your heart flutter. As you sipped your drinks and chatted, the atmosphere around you slowly began to shift. You noticed a few glances in your direction, whispers spreading among the other patrons. It wasn’t long before you realized that Jude had been recognized. Unlike you, he seemed completely unfazed, accustomed to the attention that came with his fame. But for you, the sudden shift in energy was unsettling. Jude, ever in tune with your feelings, noticed the moment your comfort started to waver. He reached across the table, taking your hand in his and giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Home. Hmm?” he offered gently. You nodded, grateful for his understanding. Jude signaled for the check, and before you knew it, he had paid the bill and stood up, coming around to your side of the table. He helped you with your things, then wrapped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close as you left the café. As you walked down th double stone street, his hand never left you, a protective and reassuring presence. “Had enough of being out. Want you back home with me now.” When you were finally alone again, away from prying eyes, he whispered once more in your ear as you got into a car.

"Good," you teased, "because I want you all to myself. Tired of sharing." You giggled, a warmth spreading through your chest as you leaned into him. Jude grinned, his eyes sparkling with a mix of affection and something deeper.

“I’m all yours,” he replied softly, his voice filled with a sincerity that made your heart race. It was moments like this where it was abundantly clear you two were lying to yourselves about not wanting more. Once back at the house, you both walked through the door with an ease that came from spending time in each other’s company. The luxury of the place still hadn’t lost its charm on you, but now it felt even more like home because you were there with Jude. As the door closed behind you, shutting out the rest of the world, you felt a sense of peace settle over you.

•

🪩🫶❤️‍🔥🍹🌞🍒 Thank you for reading! Please like, comment, or message what you think of the chapter 🍒🌞🍹❤️‍🔥🫶🪩

Next part - Chapter 4 - Oldest Friend xx

#footballer x y/n #footballer x reader #jude bellingham smut #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham #jude bellingham fanfic #jude bellingham x reader

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