#i'm always focusing in on the wrong things and then the wrong things become everything

[astrangerlately]

[livvivviss]

lazy people probably won't want to read it 🙄🙄 HAHSHDA

How to shift: EMBODY YOUR DR SELF!!

Fuck the five senses

Most of us always focus on the process of shifting, the symptoms, the 5 senses, overanalyze our process and being very critical of ourselves, we try to analyze why we don't shift, giving ourselves excuses and explanations Saying "I didn't do enough", "I should have tried harder" I wish you guys to STOP THAT.

Actually, none of the above matters. The reason you think the methods, meditation, etc matters it's because of your assumptions and beliefs because you didn't get there and you think "you're doing something wrong" and you ARE NOT, leave that mentality behind and stop seeing shifting as a task or obligation, as something with steps that must be followed to the letter.

Stop and get back to BASICS, When you are trying to get to your DR, stop thinking and focus on "I have to get there" just think that YOU ARE THERE, think ABOUT YOU, about your dr self, who are you in your dr? This is why it is very important that you like your dr's self, and not just an "improved 2.0 me, now with ultra-powered engines" because it just makes you feel uncomfortable, and you need to feel comfortable with being your dr self, You must like being yourself, you must know yourself, dive into your brain and connect with your dr self and with who you're there.

And when you connect with who you are there, forget about everything else, forget how many breaths you have to take, what number you are on, or if you visualize enough, just connect with you, with who you are. By connecting with your 5 senses and with the environment, you are not traveling, I mean this is okay but when you're trying to shift, the shift it's in the mindset, not in the around, it happens in your subconscious, it happens when you become that person, you are becoming your dr self not your environment, WHO ARE YOU? Connect with that person. Start with "Who am I?" "What am I doing here?" "What is my name?" Until it becomes a natural flow, connect with your thoughts until it becomes a natural flow. You did it, you've shifted, when you are fully connected to your dr self and you no longer need to think like your dr self thinks, you are there, and nothing else matters, fuck if "your environment tells you otherwise", It doesn't matter what you see, hear or feel anymore, you are in your dr and you are your dr's person. You know that you're there because of your mindset, enjoy that because that is shifting, that is change, YOU HAVE TO CHANGE, this is manifesting, and manifestation happens instantly when you change your mindset.

The process of shifting doesn't have to take a long time, it doesn't have to take years, the only reason it takes you so long is because you see it as homework. Get out of that mindset, connect with yourself, change your mindset, delate everything else, stop making everything so difficult. "I didn't shift last night because-" STOP, there's no reason you haven't shifted. We shift in every decision we make, when you go to bed YOU HAVE ALREADY SHIFTED, but you are not going to accept it and you MUST accept it.

Why you should embody your dr self (good for lazy shifters):

You should try to connect with your dr self instead of using the five senses or connecting with your dr it's because:

1. It's a bit backwards to try to connect with your surroundings instead of yourself. As I said before, you are not shifting to be your environment, you are shifting to be you, to be your dr self. (Although I'm not saying that using all 5 senses is a bad thing, but you shouldn't focus only on that)

2. Embodying your dr self bypasses all the extra shit about you just lying in your bed trying to shift. The moment you connect with your dr's self, you have already shifted, because if you were not in your dr you would not be able to access the thoughts of your dr self. And when you are focused on this, you are no longer focused on the symptoms and that is the best thing that can happen to you because YOU SHOULDN'T FOCUS ON THE SYMPTOMS because it's not a physical process, physical change comes after the change of mentality. Connecting with your dr self's thoughts is much better than memorizing affirmations and meditating, it's more natural, you enjoy it more and it's less tiring.

3. In the case that your physical environment does not end up changing, you end up connecting with your dr self (THAT IS SO IMPORTANT) you alredy had the mindset shift. And many people when they start doing all this, they start having dreams about themselves being their dr self, and having experiences in their dreams being their dr self, and that is SO GOOD (it's literally happening to me) Taking this post into account, I assure you that YOU WILL SEE CHANGES YES OR YES this is a connecting point.

• Please make this post viral, shifters need to know this 🙏🙏

This was a summary of @shaysplanett's 7 and 10 minute videos. We love her (she was really helpful to me)

[cute-sucker]

you loved your little routine with rafe

it always included a quick snuggle with him in your bed before he went to work. most of the time you would hope that he wouldn't leave to early before you could kiss him softly. he would always scrunch up his eyebrows before giving you scowling and tell you to stay safe. after that he'd put on his sunglasses and off he was. you felt like a real housewife as you leaned against the patio railing, watching his truck become smaller and smaller. you would stay there for a while, soaking up the fresh air in your white bathrobe.

really, the morning kiss was one of the reasons you woke up to see him go.

there was something soft about the way he looked at you in the morning. it was all creases and a low murmur about being late to work as you scrambled to get him closer. after that he'd open his steely eyes, and then chuckle to himself—you'd be stuck to him so close that he couldn't barely move.

then the two of you would brush your teeth. you'd glance up at him, his focused face as he furiously scrubbed. he would always look at you earnestly as if he was sneaking small looks. you would always catch him and laugh wide with toothpaste in your mouth. then rafe would grab you and tell you stay still while he changed. there would be this relaxed look on his face as if he couldn't believe what he was in.

obviously, you'd be doing your skincare routine before he popped in again, as you gently rubbed at your face before seeing the way he was wearing his work polo, and a easy going smile on his face.

then came the part you liked the most. the part where it felt like it was a fairy tale. the part where your heart was swiped off the floor, as you would pucker up your lips, on your tippy toes as he gave you a gentle kiss. he would taste all minty, and as you grabbed him to get him closer to you—he'd groan in your mouth. he was all yours, and just like clockwork, the dominoes cascaded in a line as you got what you wanted. it was the life you had always wanted.

now the morning kiss was important. it was something that needed to be in your routine. or else you felt everything else would come falling down. and that all started with the morning things went wrong. you wake up finding his side of the bed cold, soft creases on the comforter next to you, and you felt like throwing up. as you got up, you spot him.

he was grinning at you, "sleeping beauty is awake. did you, uh, get enough sleep?"

you gaped at him, before putting a reassuring hand on your chest, "what are you doing?"

he gave you a confused look, while tucking his coller. you felt all stuffy in bed with your hair stuck up as he walked in circles getting ready.

"shit, don't worry about it. i'm just getting ready to go do some business," then he smiled, kneeling down to brush a tendril of hair out of your face, his voice a gruff whisper, "i'll be back soon. alr' get your nails done or whatever you want." then rafe grabbed some money off the dresser, and then gently put it on your makeup table.

then he was gone.

and from there on the whole day went wrong. or at least thats what it felt like. you stubbed your toe on the way getting up, ran out of flour to make pancakes. you lost your favorite gym set, and then after your favourite nails place was shut down. to make things worse, the women at the ice cream place gave you one scoop instead of the two scoops you desperately needed.

you came home tired, heaving as you put your bags down. nothing was right. everything felt wrong. you jumped onto the couch, staring at the celling, and somehow you felt your fingers travelling to your lips that never got the kiss you had every morning. it was a far stretch you knew, but somehow you felt emptier not spending the morning with rafe.

as the minutes ticked by, you found yourself pacing the living room, unable to sit still. you needed to see rafe, you needed him to put his arms around you and kiss your forhead. just as you seem to get ready for bed, you heard the familiar rumble of his truck pulling into the driveway.

you rushed to the window, peering out to see him stepping out of the vehicle. Relief washed over you, but it was tinged with frustration from the day's chaos.

the door opened, and you heard rafe's steps as he walked up the stairs. he walked in looking tired, but his face lit up with a smile when he saw you. “hey, sweetheart,” he said softly, setting his keys down on the table.

and just like that everything came crumbling down, "rafe. everything went wrong today. it was awful," you murmered, and suddenly you crossed the room to wrap your arms after him. he rubbed your back gently, jerky motions as he played with the strings of your hair.

he pulled back slightly, looking down at you with concern. “what happened?”

you recounted the day's mishaps—the stubbed toe, the lack of flour, the missing gym set, the closed nail place, and the disappointing ice cream. as you spoke, he listened intently, his thumb gently rubbing your back. but the more you talked, the more petty you felt, until finally, you blurted out, “and all of this happened because you didn’t kiss me this morning!”

rafe blinked, taken aback. there was a cruel quirk in his mouth as he tilted his head, “do you hear yourself? that sounds crazy. you think everything went wrong because i didn’t kiss you?"

"yes!” you exclaimed, even though everything in you was screaming no. it was just a bad day, you knew it but you ruined it. now you could feel the tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. “our routine got broken, and it just set off a chain reaction. that kiss... it’s like my good luck charm. without it, nothing goes right.”

"jesus," he looked tired looking back at you, "alright now. i promise i won't skip it. i swear i'll kiss you every morning," then he tilted your chin trying to look at you properly. you felt a bit stupid, biting your lip.

you nodded, sniffling a bit. “i'm being silly. sorry. i just needed something to blame and that just happened to be you.” now you felt even worse, looking at him for the green light.

"arh, listen now, i'm gonna turn on the tv and we're gonna order some food and forget about this, okay? it's stupid," he groaned, before pulling you in closer.

"you wanted a kiss?" he grumbled, "heres a kiss."

then he pulled you in, and you felt all of your worries float away.

[kaysungshine]

𝓛𝓸𝓯𝓲 𝓛𝓾𝓼𝓽 ♡

{ Pairing } - Producer.bf!Jisung x afab.gf!reader

{ Genre } - NSFW; s/f/d(dark)*, PWP, established relationship

{ Synopsis } - Your boyfriend doesn't know any other method of stress relief, other than creating music. He can get so consumed by it, it can become the stressor. So you decide to present him with a new method. That's how you found yourself walking down the street in nothing but lingerie and a long coat.

{ WC } - 2.9k

{ Warnings & Tags } - 18+ MDNI, *forced orgasm/slight dubcon if you squint, everything is consensual but there is begging for more when reader might be at her limit so that's why I'm including dubcon (for those who may find it triggering)*, use of pet names (baby, angel, mine, my love, good girl & Ji), very lowkey needy/soft dom & romantic sub dynamic, worshipping reader, oral (f. recieving), squirting, overstimulation, unprotected piv (do as I say & not as I write, pee after sex too!), creampie, cum feeding & eating, fingers in mouth, pussy worship, I may just have gotten carried away with oral fixations okay? FORGIVE ME.

{ Disclaimer } - This work is in no way associated or depicting the actual life of the members of SKZ. It is a fictional piece of work, and I do not own Stray Kids. All works of fiction are loosely inspired by SKZ, and in no way am I saying it is true to their character.

{ A/N } - I originally was going to post a Hyunjin oneshot next, but I wanted to finish this one in time for Jiji's birthday! It's 2 am on the 14th where I am heheh. Hopefully you all like it. Han producing music will always be hot asf for me personally lmao. Barely proofread.

The air was cool, seeping underneath your long wool coat. In any other circumstance, on a late fall night, the coat would be enough to keep the chill out. Today however, it wouldn't. But you still kept walking, determined to make it to Jisungs studio. 

You focused on the clicking of the heels on the boots you wore. And the sound of the wind picking up, signalling a blustery night ahead. The small sounds calm your nerves. 

You were anxious about Jisung's reaction, he was in one of his moods again. You understand, you truly do. Juggling everything he has to on his plate, it was no easy feat. There were times he'd just let that dark veil take over, and shut everyone out without even meaning to. 

You knew he was in that state again when you hadn't seen or heard from him in three days. It wasn't for lack of effort on your end either. Every phone call sent to voicemail, every text sent by you was met with the same response;

'At the studio, I'll text you after, angel'.

You knew it was time for intervention when Chan texted you that he was only coming home, at 2 in the morning no less, to shower and change. No eating, no resting, just back to the studio afterwards.

This had happened twice before in the almost year you've been dating. Each time you remember talking with him afterwards, he always said the same thing;

'making music is my stress relief.'

That may be true, but it doesn't change the fact that he is also a workaholic. One who easily gets lost in the creative space he has built a career off of. And once that diligence sets in, it's hard to shake off. 

So here you are, ready to try a new approach. Ready to offer a new kind of relief. An alternative. 

You and Jisungs sex life was far from boring. Far from infrequent, you'd say too. But it surely was more... monotonous. You'd never complain about it, and neither would he. There was nothing wrong with it. It just happened at the 'perfect' times in your relationship. 

Before bed, after date nights, on monthly anniversaries, to express massive amounts of love, etc. 

It was never to celebrate happiness, calm anger, or comfort sadness. Never to relieve stress. 

You were determined to change that. There was no reason you could not help him in any way you could. And in this aspect, you knew you could. 

Still, you were nervous. This would be new, he never did well with new. 

Your footsteps stopped, leaving only the sound of the wind in your ears. Until you pressed your badge against the card reader, listening to the beeps, to the gears unlock. 

Once inside the lobby, the clinking of your heels against the vinyl tile filled your ears. Each step matches the thumping in your heart, you find yourself speed walking.

 You smiled and gave a little wave to the staff in the lobby, and they returned it. 

In the elevator, the sound of its melodic music filled your ears next. The whirring background noise the machinery made, stopped, as you reached your desired floor. 

There was silence when you stepped off. The flooring is carpeted now, and soundproof rooms lined the hallway leaving the night quiet. 

You took a deep breath and made your way to the door you knew was your boyfriend's. It was unlocked, thankfully. 

You let yourself in, seeing the silhouette of your boyfriends back facing the door in the blue lighting. 

He was all about ambiance in this facet of life, having LED's lining the ceiling. The only source of light in the room, besides the glowing screens of his monitors. 

He was sat in his chair, headphones on, hood up, head nodding in tandem with his fingers tapping. 

You took the opportunity to slide your boots off. Opting to keep your coat on, you brushed your hair over one shoulder. You took your badge from around your neck, and tossed it on the leather couch that was against the wall. 

Padding your way over to him, you place your hand on his shoulder lightly. He tenses under your touch, and turns his head. He's frowning when he first faces you, eyebrow furrowed together. 

When he sees you though, he softens. The corners of his mouth slightly upturning to a small smile. 

"Baby..." He whispers, sliding his head phones off. Soft lofi music is filling the room from them. 

He grabs your hand off his shoulder, bringing it to his lips. He's pressing soft kisses to your palm, and placing it on his cheek. 

"It's late my angel, why are you here?" He says in a husky voice with more volume. 

Your heart flutters at his gentleness, and you bend down to press your own lips to the top of his head. A musky, yet spicy vanilla scent fills your nostrils. His scent. 

"I'm here to help you baby." You murmur to him softly. 

That caught his attention. He fully swivelled around to face you, taking both of your hands in his. He gazed up into your eyes, a curious look on his face. 

You smiled down on him, feeling nothing but love for this man. You'd relax him in any way you can. You placed a hand on each side of his face, bending down again. No more words were said as you kissed him. As your hands slid down his neck, his found themselves on yours, pulling you closer to him. Matching your eagerness.

You let your hands fully slide off him, and tilted your head to deepen the kiss. Your trembling fingers were working the buttons on your coat. One by one, releasing the fabric from your bare skin. 

You stood up, letting the coat fall from your shoulders.

Jisung lets out a soft gasp, and licks his lips. 

Exposed to him, was his favorite lingerie you owned. It was a bra and panty set, satin and lace. Revealing. 

All white. 

Your boyfriends favorite part. He always said that the contrast against your melanated skin was a work of art. He joked about commissioning Hyunjin, if he didn't have to see you essentially naked.

So here you stood before him, presenting yourself to him. Silently willing him to do as he pleases. To take your body and use you to decompress. You were too nervous to say it.

He traces the swell of your breast with a finger, curving around the delicate lace. It's a simple touch, but it still sends a shiver down your spine. Goosebumps blooming on your skin. 

"So sexy." He mumbles, eyes roving your whole body. 

He stands up, kissing you desperately, and walking you back to the couch. Your knees hit the back of it, and you're forced to sit. Lips ripping away from his, panting at the desire in his eyes. 

All your nerves were gone. New or not, it would never change the fact that Jisung craved you as much as you craved him. 

He held himself up with his hands on the back of the couch, and hovered above you for a moment looking you in the eyes. 

Then he was sinking to the ground, on his knees, between your legs. His hands smooth over your thighs, making them pliant with soft kisses, before he spreads them open. Your pussy is glistening behind the lace, and he licks his lips again. 

His hand glides from your thigh, to your heat. Thumb brushing against that sensitive bud, the friction eliciting a whine from you. 

His eyes snap up to you, and he holds your gaze as his tongue licks a stripe up your clothed core. The tip of it flicking deliciously against your sensitive clit. 

"Mmmm..." He groaned at the taste of you, "All for me?"

You moan at his tongue swiping against you again, and again, "All for you, my love." 

His fingers hook underneath the band of your underwear, and he peels them off you. He's whimpering, watching as strings of your arousal stick to them. The cool air is hitting your sex, before puffs of hot air from his mouth is. And you're shivering again at the sensation. 

A gasp escapes you when his tongue slides between your folds. Lapping up your juices, and suckling at that bundle of nerves. You listen to the wet sounds his mouth is making against you, along with the broken melody coming from his head set. You get lost in it. 

Your hand finds his hair, and you're grinding against his mouth. He's whimpering and moaning with you, one hand palming at his bulge. The other has fingers teasing your entrance. 

You let out a loud moan when two fingers push into you, and your grasp on his hair loosens. He takes the opportunity to get air, panting, mouth hanging open. His cheeks, chin and lips all shine in the dull blue light. 

His fingers continue to pump into you as he watches your face contort for him. He's smiling with lidded eyes, basking in the fact that he's making you feel so good. 

"Ji..." You moan, needing more.

"My beautiful baby, let me worship you a little longer." And he's diving back down.

His tongue focuses on your clit, and fingers coaxing that gummy spot inside you. He's pulling moan after moan from you, making out with your lower lips, bringing you closer to the edge. Your thighs start trembling around his head, and he has to grip the fleshy part of one of them to stop you from squeezing him before he's finished. 

You're spilling over the edge, body alight and your release coating his fingers, and face. He's lapping up every little bit, determined to taste your pleasure on his tongue. Only when you start to whine from constant overstimulation does he stop. 

He's kissing his way up to your lips, leaving a wet trail behind him that you couldn't bring yourself to care about. 

You're not sure when he managed to discard his pants and boxers, but you feel his hard, bare length pressing against your inner thigh. 

He's rubbing his member against your pussy now, letting your slick and his saliva cover him. Kissing your neck as he's rocking against you, he whispers, "Angel, do you have another one for me?"

Of course you did, you knew you did. You needed to feel him, you needed to please him. So you started nodding fervently, eyes rolling in the back of your head when he sucked lightly near your ear and jaw. 

He had a grasp of his cock now, dragging the head through your folds with added pressure. Each squelch of your juices sounds like music to your ears, anticipation building in your body.

"'Gonna make you feel s'good." He's whining into your neck. 

He has your legs around him now, as he fills you slowly, both of you savoring the sensations it brings. Your pussy spasms around him, and it has him grunting. 

"Always feel so good squeezin' me..." He mumbled, letting you adjust, "...exactly what I needed..." 

Then he was pumping into you, and you felt it. All the frustrations he was holding onto, all the stress, all the vexation. He was translating it into the energy he used to pleasure you. Letting go of it all. 

You couldn't hear the soft lofi music coming from his head set anymore, instead the slapping of skin and heavy breathing mixed with moans were filling the room. You'd never be more thankful for a soundproof space. Neither of you were holding back. 

Your moans only being interrupted by quiet curses, and his being peppered in between praises of how good you feel for him. He made it known he was chasing your high before his, begging you to cum for him. 

"Please angel," he whispers against your lips, "need to feel you cumming on my cock."

His pace became quicker as he kissed you, and his hand slithered down to play with your clit. Your back arched off the couch at that, angling him deeper inside you. He groaned, and his thrusts faltered for a second indicating he was close. 

Regardless he was determined to finish you, and his tone grew more demanding, "Be a good girl... cum for me, angel."

And that was all your body and mind needed to let go, legs locking around him and body shaking. Your hands slid under his hoodie, and nails dug into his back. It was the kind of intense orgasm, that your moan got stuck in your throat, instead a rough growl coming out. 

You sounded absolutely feral for him, and you were. 

That was what pushed him over the edge, a slew of curses leaving his mouth as his hips stuttered. With a final harsh thrust, he cums deep inside you. All of the negativity has dispersed from his body, and he collapsed back to his knees. 

You're both panting, trying to catch your breath. You jolt when you feel his fingers in your folds, over sensitivity taking over yet again. He's spreading you open, hypnotized by the way his cum is drooling out of you. 

"So perfect, fuck." He says as he drags his finger through it. 

He's bringing it up to your lips, and your mouth opens instinctively. You're sucking his finger into your mouth, his essence salty but familiar on your tongue. 

His eyes are locked to yours as you work his finger, licking it clean. He slips a second finger in your mouth, letting you cover them in your saliva before he dips back down for a taste himself. 

You're whining around his fingers when his tongue glides against your clit, and your hips try to retract into the couch. Quickly, he has both hands on your hips, securing you in place so he can continue tasting you. 

"We taste so good together, my love..." He's mumbling against you. 

His words will never fail to coax submission out of you.

Your hand flies back to his hair, as good as it feels you're trying to pull him away. He's just burying his face deeper, tongue dipping into your entrance to make sure he's tasting everything. 

"Ji... s'too much... I can't-" You're pleading, even though you feel yourself succumbing to the overwhelming brushes of his tongue.

He hisses when you finally succeed in pulling him off you, "Please angel," He's begging again, "Just one more. I know you have one more for me." 

"Fuck, Ji, I-" 

He silences you with his tongue flat against you, another lick up to your clit "Please, need to hear you cumming one more time for me." He whines and starts leaving sloppy, wet kisses on your pussy. 

You always knew he was more of a giver. That even though it was you who had cum twice, and he only once. He preferred it that way. Even if he was the one needing the release more, he thrived more on your pleasure.

"Just be gentl-" You try to say, but cut yourself off with a groan. 

He's eagerly slurping at your core. Lost in the moment, all he has is your pussy on his mind now. Messily licking and lapping at every inch. He's shaking his head and moaning into it, keeping you pinned in place by your hips. 

You feel another orgasm starting to build quickly, clenching around nothing. He risks you bucking your hips roughly into his face, and takes a hand off your hip. He's pushing two fingers into you yet again, and you're seeing stars. 

His fingers curl, and his lips close around your clit, sucking lightly. You feel your release slip away from you, and your cumming on his face again. Yelling his name. He only grows more determined.

He leans back so he can watch the beautiful, writhing, mess he reduced you to. The thumb of his other hand is replacing his mouth, continuously flicking your bud. He doesn't slow his movements as you ride out your orgasm, instead picking them up. 

Your world turns white, and you feel yourself squirt on his hands. He's watching you in awe, whispering more praise for you as your juices spray over him. 

"So fucking sexy, my good girl."

"That's it, let go for me, let it all go."

"Knew you had one more in you, all for me."

"My perfect angel."

It's when you start to slip into that floaty space that he finally stops. He doesn't want you too gone, he's limited in the care he can provide here.

He's positioning you to lay on the couch, and he's laying behind you. You're both wet and sticky, and heaving for air. Yet, it's blissful. 

You lay there for what could've been minutes or an hour, you weren't sure. You were content in each other's touch. Your arm reaches back to caress his head, fingers combing through his hair. He's humming. 

"I love you." You finally murmur. 

"I love you more, angel. Thank you for this." He says, and kisses your shoulder. 

"You caught on quickly to my idea." You giggled.

He laughed with you, "I caught on halfway through it, actually. I was just beside myself with desire for you." 

You blushed at that, and you were thankful he couldn't see it. 

"I mean you showed up in my favorite set..." He whispers and starts toying with the lace on your bra, his finger slipping underneath to flick your nipple, "In ONLY my favorite set. How could I not show you how much I admire you." 

You felt his length harden against you again, and he rolled his hips slowly as he gripped your hip. 

You knew the night was far from over. 

As for how you were both going to escape and clean up? Well that was a problem for future you. 

Taglist:

@eczlipse @sailor--sun @maisyyyyyy @jupire @prettiichocolateprincess

@meowmeowminnie @joyofbebbanburg @adieu-lisette @sleeping-beau-tay @staytinyluv

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@adieu-lisette @loud-minhoe @juwire @anylady-fics @antisocialties

@nebugalaxy @wowitsafemale

As always, please let me know if you'd like to join the taglist. And if you do, pretty please interact with my fics besides liking (ie; replying/commenting/reblogging). Although I will always appreciate liking as well! Feedback is always cherished! ♡

But again, please be gentle in your criticism! I am but a sensitive soul.

[sceletaflores]

it’s the easiest thing (just love me and eat me)

pair: logan howlett x mutant!fem!reader

wc: 6.1k

anon says: nat pls speak on sub!logan...people are hating on the sub!logan agenda and someone needs to show them that they're wrong and it can be done cuz if anyone can convince them it's you mommy!

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, crimson! again! she's back!, slight angst, swearing, violence, light gore, somewhat dark content, religious symbolism? (idk this one got weird babes), established relationship, lowkey a toxic relationship but you didn't hear that from me, sub!logan-ish, handjob, p in v, slow sex turned rough, unprotected sex, riding, creampie, pain kink, scent kink, blood play, blood...eating (drinking? idk), porn with a tiny bit of plot, no use of y/n.

author’s note: anon i'm so sorry this took me so long...i hope it was worth the wait! it started as a short smutty drabble that somehow turned into…this? idk it got out of hand so fast. i am a proud member of the sub!logan nation but that's mostly because i think that ALL men have the potential for sub vibes like doesn't matter who he is if i want to fuck him he's probably a little subby. special shout out to my baby boo and fellow sub!logan truther @avocado-writing <3 tysm for sharing anon! xoxo mwah.

dividers by icon @saradika-graphics!

psst! want more logan and crimson? here's the to the bone au masterlist!

it’s not often that logan needs this, but you’re always more than happy to give it to him when he does…

The team had a big scare earlier in the day.

It was supposed to be an easy mission, bust a mutant trafficking ring in Albany. You do assignments like these every week, and as sick as it sounds, it’s almost routine.

But this one was different. It was an ambush, and you were compromised.

Only humans, but they were smart. Waited until the team split up to attack. They had tech, things you'd never seen before.

Big guns loaded with tiny darts full of an ominous red liquid.

It was your fault really. You didn't clear your surroundings, so focused on getting to the kids that you let yourself get sloppy.

The tiny sting in your back barely registered, you don't think you would have even noticed if it didn't kick in so fast.

You'd never felt anything like it before in your life.

It didn't hurt. The rush of pain you braced yourself for never coming.

The sensation was strange—like your body was shutting down, piece by piece. You fell to your knees, shaky legs folding under you in less than a second.

You felt empty, wrong. An eerie silence trickling in to fill your insides.

Panic bubbled beneath your skin, but you were too numb to feel it. Trapped in the mounting weight of your limbs, the slow blink of your eyes, the shortness of breath despite hardly moving.

Your hand slipped across the gritty cement, reaching for support that wasn't there.

That was when you saw it, the shock of it was enough for your heart to drop. Your skin, blanched and sallow, the veins in your arms black and spreading like spilled ink.

You tried to fight it, tried to will your body to move, to react, to do something. You had to get up. You had to. The kids.

As hard as you willed yourself, there was nothing. It was like your body wasn't your own, like it had become something completely foreign.

You could barely make out the tiny voices calling for you. Pleading, frantic yelps of your name fading into a dull hum as everything went hazy. The edges of your vision blurring into a narrow tunnel.

He stepped in front of you, the same one who shot you. A cynical grin on his face and collar in his hand. You'd seen collars like it before, used on mutants to muzzle their abilities, to weaken them.

You tried, fingers barely twitching by your. Nothing. Just another shock of that cold, unfamiliar feeling shooting through your body.

“Got a big one, boss.” The man boasted into a comm strapped to his wrist, his voice sharp and grating. He took a single step towards you, smug grin still stretched across his face. “Yeah, real nice lookin' one too. She'll sell for—“

A muddy roar pulsed through the molasses filled haze of your ears, six claws flying through the air to embed themselves on either side of the man's skull with a wet, stomach-churning sound.

The collar dropped from his slackened grip with a dull bang, shattering into different pieces that slid across the floor haphazardly. A mess of wires and metal.

There were rushed footsteps before he dropped to his knees in front of you, his torso bathed in a dull glow from the overhead lights yellow shine.

There was blood splattered across the side of his face, slicking the front of his suit enough to reflect light off the leather.

Logan, perched in front of you like an angel.

Not one with a golden halo and a harp, but a indescribable mess of eyes and wings looming over you calling 'be not afraid'.

You'd never seen him so shaken before. All wide-eyed and pale as he checked you over for any major injuries. His breath coming in short bursts, hands frantic and shaky as they skated along your body for the viscosity of blood or uneven shift of a break.

He refused to let you even try and walk on your own, swept you off the floor and cradled your trembling body to his chest as he called for help. The beat of his heart was fast beneath your cheek, strong enough that you could feel it even through the thick leather of his suit.

You buried your face deeper in the crook of his neck, the pit in your stomach barely warmed by the feel of him. His scent is strongest there, so much so that in a room full of spilled blood, you could only smell him.

He was careless stepping over clawed up bodies littering the floor like a messy maze of twitching limbs and entrails. You didn't even know there was more than one guard in the room.

The evidence of his love for you, of his devotion, oozing red on the concrete.

Logan didn't even give the carnage a sideways glance as he raced you outside, back to the jet.

Trusting Scott and Jean to take over getting the kids out. The unsteady murmurs he pressed to the top of your head the last thing you heard before there was nothing.

You woke up six hours later.

The sterile hum of medical equipment was the first thing you heard. The sharp scent of antiseptic filled your nostrils, and the faint pressure of a needle in your arm confirmed that you were hooked up to an IV. 

Your muscles felt heavy, like someone had filled them with lead. But you were alive.

You could feel your body working overtime, fixing itself. The sickening shift of your insides falling back into place. 

It took a few more moments for you to realize you weren’t alone.

A low, familiar rumble caught your attention. You turned your head to see Logan slumped in a chair by the bedside, his face buried in his hands, elbows resting on his knees. His hair was mussed, his usually sharp features softened by exhaustion. 

He looked different, smaller, as though the weight of what happened was pressing down on him, making him fold in on himself.

You’d seen him bloody, beaten, on the verge of death, but you’d never seen him like this–completely and utterly human.

Your throat was too dry to speak, but a small sound escaped you, and Logan's head snapped up. His eyes met yours, and in a heartbeat, he was at your side, his large hands hovering over you, unsure where to touch, like he was afraid you’d shatter under his fingers.

“You’re okay,” he whispered, more to himself than to you. His voice was hoarse, cracked with a mixture of relief and something else, something deeper. His eyes darted over your face, your arms, as if memorizing every detail just to make sure you were real.

“I'm sorry,” you managed, your voice barely more than a rasp.

Logan's eyebrows furrowed, the lines in his forehead deepening. "What the hell are you apologizing for?" His voice was gruff, but there was a tenderness beneath it. A gentleness he only reserved for you.

Your lips cracked into a weak smile. "It was my fault. I messed up."

A growl rumbled low in his chest, and you could feel the anger simmering just beneath his skin, not at you but at the situation, at whoever had dared to hurt you.

“Don’t,” he said, voice like gravel. “Don't start, none of this is on you.” His voice softened slightly as he leaned closer, the warmth of his presence enveloping you. “What matters is you’re here.”

The reassurance wrapped around you like a warm blanket, grounding you.

Logan’s thumb traced the line of your jaw, his touch sending a spark of warmth through your veins. “When I saw you on the floor like that…I thought—” He shook his head, jaw clenched as he forced himself to meet your gaze again. “I thought I lost you.”

Your fingers twitched slightly, managing to catch his wrist, squeezing it with what little strength you had. “I’m right here,” you said softly, voice clearer than before. “I’m okay.”

Logan’s gaze softened again as he looked down at your hand, his rough exterior cracking just a little more. He gently pried your fingers from his wrist and pressed your hand to his chest, right over his heart. “You scared the hell outta me, you know that?”

You tried to laugh, but it came out as more of a breathless huff. “Didn’t mean to.”

He shook his head, but there was a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You never do.”

You were fine an hour later. 

The color of your skin had returned, glossy and like new. The hollow emptiness inside of you long gone. Your abilities passed every test Charles threw your way with flying colors.

Fully recovered and finally excused from the med-bay after Hank and Jean checked you over one last time, you were given your strict marching orders in the form of extra fluids and bed rest, no matter how much you argued that you were fine.

Your health was the last thing on your mind, just a distant phantom ache each time your eyes would find Logan.

He was still shaken up, even after all the reassurance from Charles and Hank. He kept close the rest of the day, hovering, his presence more protective than usual, but he didn’t talk much.

You could see it in the way he moved, slower, less sure, like he was carrying around something too heavy to shake off. It lingered in the tight set of his jaw, the way his hands flexed as though still looking for something to fight, to protect you from.

It wasn’t hard to guess what it was. 

You hated seeing him like this, burdened by a guilt he didn’t deserve. 

It gnawed at you, that heaviness. The way he started to shut down, to close himself off in the face of fear. It was the only way he knew how to cope.

After seeing him like that, bed rest was the last thing on your mind.

You knew Logan. Knew what he needed when his thoughts got tangled up like this, dragging him under. He wasn't the type to sit and talk through it, not easily anyway. 

And even though you know he’d never ask for it himself, you knew what he needed—to be reminded, physically, that you were still here, still his.

Later that night, when the mansion had quieted and the others were tucked away in their rooms, you found him exactly where you thought you’d find him—in the room you shared, sitting on the edge of the bed. The yellow light from the bedside lamp cast soft shadows across his face, the tension in his jaw still there.

A frown tugged the corners of your mouth as you moved towards him, catching his attention with the rustle of the sheets as you sat next to him.

“Logan,” you say softly, breaking the stillness. He doesn't respond, only the slightest twitch in his shoulders indicating he even heard you. “Hey,” you try again, your voice a little firmer this time.

He turns his head just enough for you to catch the edge of his profile, the crease between his brows, weariness etched into his features.

But he still doesn't speak.

You shift, moving closer until your fingers brush his arm, the heat of his skin radiating through the fabric of his shirt. “Look at me,” you whisper, and finally, his gaze lifts to meet yours, guarded and pained. “I’m fine. I’m right here.”

Logan shakes his head, bringing a hand up to run it through his already messy hair. “You could’ve died,” he bites out, tone rough and low. “We should've never fuckin' split up. I should’ve been there faster, sooner. I should’ve–”

“Logan.” Your voice cut through his, sharper than you meant it to. You catch his hand in yours, thumb brushing against the pulse point of his wrist. “You saved me, I’m not going anywhere. I need you to hear that.”

He meets your gaze then, eyes dark with something vulnerable, something raw. He nods weakly, like he only half-believes it. You can still see the hesitation swirling through his eyes, the reluctance in the stiffness of his muscles against yours.

He needs something more than words, something to bring him back to you.

With that, you move to straddle his lap, your knees pressing into the mattress on either side of his thighs. His body stiffens under yours, his breath hitching slightly as his hands fall to your waist almost instinctively.

“Hold on,” Logan starts, tone hesitant and hands light as they hover over your hips like he’s still scared to touch you. “You heard what Hank said–”

“I’m fine,” you repeat, finality lacing your tone and leaving no room for argument. You reach down, taking his hand in yours and bringing it up to press flat directly over your heart. The very same way he did your first night together. "Can you feel me?”

The question hangs between you, soft but weighted with purpose.

Logan’s breath catches in his throat, fingers splaying wider across your chest. The heat of his palm sinks through to your skin, lighting a fire in you. 

The steady beat of your heart under his touch is an undeniable reminder–alive, strong, with him. You can feel him relax, just a touch.

The tension in his muscles breaking down beneath you piece by piece as the rhythm grounds him, helps to pull him out of his spiral.

“Yeah,” he mumbles, barely audible. His eyes drop to where his hand rests, his thumb absently grazing the space just above your sternum. “I feel you.”

“Then trust it,” you murmur. “Trust me.”

A deep, slow breath escapes him, and something in his eyes softens just enough. You lean closer, your fingers trailing up his arms, over his shoulders, until they thread into the hair at the nape of his neck. 

You smile softly, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. He sighs deeply, leaning into your touch like a dog starved of attention from its master. His grip on your waist finally tightens, fingers pressing into your skin just enough to feel that edge of need—the need to let go.

“You’ve been taking care of me all day,” you murmur, scratching your nails along his scalp softly. “Now let me take care of you.”

You feel him shudder, a weak groan escaping from his slack lips. His hazy eyes search your face, pupils blown out and seeping into the warm hazel color like an oil spill over a lake.

You tilt your head, lips grazing the stubble on his jawline, moving slowly, deliberately, until you can capture his mouth in a kiss.

It’s soft at first, gentle, but you feel him melt into it, the sharp edge of his restraint crumbling as he kisses you back with a kind of hunger that fuels you.

Logan’s hands slide up your back, fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt as you take control, deepening the kiss, coaxing him further into the moment.

His mouth is warm and wet and urgent against yours, the scrape of his teeth along your bottom lip sends a thrill down your spine. 

His lips move over yours with a reverence that makes your chest tighten, as if each slick glide of your lips together is an apology, a promise, and a plea all rolled into one.

But you don’t want his apologies. You want his surrender.

His breath stutters in his chest when your fingers twist in his hair, tugging just enough to remind him who’s in charge tonight.

When your hand finds his chest, pushing him down gently, he goes without protest. His eyes never leave yours as he settles against the pillows, following your every movement as you crawl closer.

Climbing over him to perch on top of his thighs, you waste no time in reaching for the hem of his shirt, gently tugging on it in a silent question. Logan’s breath comes in shallow puffs as he nods, fingers twitching on your hips. 

You can feel the way his chest rises and falls under the tips of your fingers, the sharp intake of air when your hands ghost across the skin of his lower stomach as you lift his shirt up and over his head.

You toss it over your shoulder carelessly, it lands with a muted thump somewhere behind you, leaving his chest bare. His muscles taut and rippling as he forces himself to stay still, the dim light plays across his skin, highlighting the contours along his torso.

You take a moment to just admire him, trailing your fingers along the familiar planes of his skin. Your touch is feather light, tracing over the spots that should be littered in scars. 

The place in his shoulder where he got shot two weeks back, or where the loose shrapnel that embedded itself in his side on the last mission should be, or the skin where his shoulder meets his neck after you dug your teeth into it hard enough to bleed a few nights ago.

The way his body responds to you makes your pulse quicken—the way he finally relaxes completely under your touch, melting into the mattress. 

You continue your path down, fingers slipping through the ridges of his abs, scratching your nails through the dark hair that disappears into the waistband of his bottoms teasingly. The muscles of his stomach jump under your touch, the power of his need thrumming beneath your touch.

You drag your hand over the hard length of him, his cock thick and hot as it twitches beneath your fingers. There’s a sharp hiss bleeding through grit teeth as his hips twitch up off the mattress ever so slightly.

You lean forward, hiding a small smirk in the crook of his neck. “Logan,” you whisper, voice dripping with intent, “I want you to beg for it.”

A deep, guttural growl rumbles through his chest. It shakes your body like thunder, finding a home between your thighs. Logan’s head falls back against the pillows, exposing the tan column of his throat to your hungry gaze.

It’s almost immediate, your reaction, your bodies reaction. The pulse of your blood starts to simmer with that telltale heat, slowly bubbling beneath your skin in anticipation.

Your gaze traces along where the vein of his jugular presses against his skin enticingly, barely suppressing a full body shiver at the sight.

You slip your index and middle finger beneath his waistband, brushing against his hard cock with barely any pressure. His hips buck up again, seeking more friction, but you pull back slightly, making him chase it.

“I said beg, Logan,” you murmur, your voice low, teasing, a sharp edge to it now. Your free hand comes up, gripping his jaw tightly, forcing him to look at you.

His eyes, dark and blown wide with lust, meet yours, and you can see the war raging inside him—the urge to dominate, to take control—but then he’s giving in to you, surrendering so beautifully.

“Goddamn,” he rasps quietly, his voice rough, broken. It’s barely a word, more of a growl torn from his throat. He bites it out, quiet and foreign sounding coming from his tongue. “Please, I need—”

“Good boy,” you purr, and finally, drag the soaked fabric of his bottoms down. His cock springs free, slapping against his stomach lewdly.

You moan softly, deftly wrapping your fist around him loosely. Logan groans, you swear you can hear his teeth grind together at the first feeling of your touch where he wants it most.

He’s scalding to the touch, velvety skin throbbing in time with his heartbeat. Rock-hard and flushed an angry red, darkening even more the closer you get to the tip.

You keep the pace of your strokes tortuously slow, letting him feel every movement, teasing him. It’s addictive, watching the way he starts to unravel beneath you at the slightest touch.

His legs kick out against the mattress minutely, hands falling from your hips to grip the sheets as hard as he can in a failing attempt to calm himself.

You lean down, slick lips brushing against his as you speak, your voice soft but commanding. “You’re going to let me do whatever I want to you tonight, aren't you?”

Logan nods, his breath coming in quick pants, his sweaty chest rising and falling rapidly. “Yes,” he chokes out, eyes brimming with need. “Fuck, do whatever you want, baby. I’m yours.”

The usual dominance he carries like a second skin has been peeled away, leaving him vulnerable, laid out beneath you, at your mercy.

Your hand speeds up, grip tightening as you twist your wrist over his leaking tip. Your knuckles shine with pre-come, slick from the gratuitous amount of wetness steadily drooling out.

“You’re being so good for me, Logan,” you whisper, your voice soft and laced with praise. “So good, letting me take care of you like this.”

His response is a loud moan, his hips arching up off the bed, but you’re quick to press them down with your free arm, your thighs tightening around him.

“Not yet,” you warn, strength on display as you stop his movements. “You’ll come when I say.”

A strangled sound escapes him, somewhere between a growl and a whimper, and it sends a thrill through you. He’s right there, teetering on the edge, but he’s holding on—for you.

“Poor thing,” you mumble, idly pressing your thumb into his slit, gathering the precome there to spread it along the flushed crown. “So hard, so needy for me.”

“Jesus, fuck,” Logan whines, his head tipping back against the pillows a second times, eyes squeezing shut tighten enough to wrinkle the skin around them.

You smile, your nails digging into his chest as you shift, positioning yourself above him. The heat between your legs is unbearable now, slick all along your inner thighs as it pools from your aching cunt, drenching the soft cotton of your panties.

So desperate to be stretched around Logan’s cock, to be filled the only way he can. You roll your hips forward, the hard jut of his cock sliding through the sticky mess of your panties.

“Shit, baby,” he groans, loud and hoarse. “Fuck, give it to me, I’m ready–”

You press your finger to his lips, silencing him as you hover over him. “Not yet,” you whisper, a wicked grin on your face as you slide your panties to the side and take him in your hand, letting the tip brush against your soaked entrance, still not giving him what he craves.

Your own patience is starting to run thin, but the sound of his begging is too good.

“Tell me how bad you want it,” you say, your voice sharp and commanding as you rub the tip of him along your cunt, teasing. “Tell me what you need.”

He’s trembling beneath you, a soft whimper leaving his lips as you sink down slightly, barely letting him inside. "Please, darlin'," he groans, voice rough with need. "I need to feel you—need you so fuckin’ bad."

You finally give in, sinking down onto him in one slow, deliberate motion.

His body jerks beneath you, a choked growl spilling from his lips as you take him in, inch by inch. You don’t stop until he’s buried deep inside you, your walls clenching around him as you settle into his lap.

The feeling is overwhelming, the stretch, the heat, the way he fills you completely.

You both groan at the same time, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you roll your hips, savoring the way he pulses inside you, how his entire body reacts to every little movement.

“God, you’re so big,” you whisper, your voice heavy with lust as you look down at where your bodies meet. “You gonna be a good boy and let me ride you?”

“Fuck,” he grits, voice like gravel crunching underfoot.

His hands slide up your back, desperate and needy as they cradle the back of your head softly. “I’d kill them all,” he pants, lips messily searching for your own, desperate for more frantic kisses. “Fuckin’ all of them, all for you.”

You moan loud and unabashed, eyes screwing shut as your nails rake down his chest hard enough to break the skin. The smell of his blood breaks through the air, heady and sharp. He throws his head back, a broken gasp dragged out of him as his hips speed up.

You think back to the room in the warehouse, the floor slick with stray remains and viscera. Think back to him lifting you to his chest, of the blood spattered across his suit and face slipping against your own clammy skin.

Flashes of Logan running to you like a loyal livestock dog, covered in the blood of any wolf that dares attack his precious sheep. Staining the white of your wool red with the righteous wrath of his sacrifice. 

You roll your hips faster, bouncing with enough force to have you crying out. The tight suction of your walls pulling him as deep as he can get at this angle.

The coarse hair along his stomach drags against your throbbing clit, making white hot sparks of pleasure zing up your spine to light up each vertebrae. 

Logan presses his forehead to your chest, hot breath puffing out over your sweaty neck. You tilt your head to the side almost subconsciously, bearing more of yourself to him.

“Can’t hold back much longer,” he admits weakly, blunt nails digging into your skin sharp enough to sting. “Feels so good, so fuckin' good."

He trails off, face pinched with ecstasy as he gazes up at you. You smile, rolling your hips slowly, tiny figure eights that let you feel every inch of him pressing against your walls.

“You're not supposed to hold back," you whisper, your voice thick with need as you lean down, kissing along his jawline. "I want you to let go, Logan."

His eyes snap open, the hazel gone wild and desperate, and it’s like you can see the exact moment he breaks. The tiniest shred of self control finally crumbling under the weight of his instincts. With a low, feral growl, he surges up.

You’re on your back quicker than you can blink, stomach surging with it. You hardly have any time to react, Logan punching all the air out of your lungs as he sets a brutal pace.

The sudden intensity has you gasping, your body jolting as he takes over, fucking you like his life depends on it. 

Each thrust is hard and deep, hitting the spot inside of you, over and over again until you’re a trembling mess above him, moaning his name, your nails digging into his chest.

Logan’s grip on you is ironclad, pulling you back onto him harder, faster, his breaths coming out in ragged pants as he loses himself completely in the heat of your body.

"That's it," you pant, feeling the way your body tightens around him, the tension building deep inside you. "Fuck, Logan, just like that—"

He growls again, the sound vibrating through his chest as he slams into you harder, his pace relentless. You can feel the sweat slick between your bodies, hear the wet, filthy sounds of your bodies coming together as his control snaps completely.

“Mine,” he growls between thrusts, voice low and rough as he pounds into you, his eyes locked on yours, full of possessive need. "All fuckin’ mine."

Your body responds to his words, tightening around him as your orgasm builds, every nerve in your body on fire. "Yes," you gasp, your voice barely more than a broken moan as he hits that perfect spot again and again. "Yours—only yours."

Slowly, deliberately, you bring your hand to your mouth, biting down on the pad of your thumb hard enough to draw a thin line of blood.

The scent of iron fills the space between you, mixing with the musk of sex and sweat. Logan’s nostrils flare as he takes in the scent, his pupils dilating further, and you feel his cock twitch inside of you.

You raise your thumb to his mouth, sliding it along his bottom lip to leave behind a thin trail of red. “Suck,” you whisper softly, pressing your thumb into his mouth ever so slightly. 

And he does, without hesitation. 

Logan’s lips part, and he pulls your thumb into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the taste of your blood. The look in his eyes as he does sends a wave of heat crashing through you.

The pure devotion of the act thickening the air around you to coil the spring of pleasure winding in your lower stomach tighter.

You groan, your own restraint folding like a house of cards as you drag your nose down the column of his throat, stopping right at the base. You press a quick kiss over the rapid fluttering of his pulse before you bite down, hard.

Logan keens around your thumb, teeth digging into your skin roughly as his blood floods your mouth. 

You get lost in it, the familiar taste of him seeping onto your tongue as his cock jerks and pulses in your clenching cunt. Getting lost in the way you can feel the rhythm of his heart against your lips, each strong beat sending more blood pumping out to leak along your taste buds.

You press your chest to his, not leaving an inch of space between you. It’s still not enough, it will never be enough.

You need more, so much more.

You want to encompass him completely, to be encompassed by him.

You want to dig your hands into his skin–to peel back each layer of flesh and fat and muscle, snap each of his ribs back so you can bury yourself in the cavity of his chest before you bend them back into place. Burrowing yourself deep enough inside him to watch him heal all around you, to watch his skin stitch itself back together.

It’s a sick feeling, the need to take and take until he has no more left to give. Sick and all consuming, lighting you up like the raging flames of a forest fire that destroys everything in its path. 

When you finally pull your hand away from his mouth, he lets out a breathless moan, and you lean down to press your lips against his in a bruising kiss.

The coppery tang of your blood lingers between you, mixing with Logan’s as your teeth clash together violently, as you devour him, pouring every ounce of your control into the kiss.

You press your palm to his chest, powers surging to life over his heart. You don't need to open your eyes to see what you leave behind, the red and blue pulse of his blood lighting up beneath his skin like the neon sign hanging outside his favorite bar.

Logan moans into your mouth, tongue dragging along the point of your canines. "Don't stop," he pleads, “Please, baby, don’t fuckin’ stop.”

You can feel the energy coursing between you, a tangible thing that's threading itself between your fingers. It’s intoxicating, a connection deeper than flesh, a binding of souls fueled by blood and lust. You lean into the heat radiating from him, urging your energy to flow freely, wrapping it around his heart like a warm embrace.

“Logan,” you whisper breathily, breaking the kiss just enough to look into his wild, pleading eyes. “You feel that? You and me, we’re connected.”

“I feel it, honey,” he groans, bucking his hips, forcing you to take him deeper. “You’re everywhere. It’s all I can think about all the goddamn time, drives me fuckin’ crazy.” His words tumble from his lips, raw and unfiltered, sending another thrill of desire through you.

You whine, head tipping back to the ceiling. Drunk of the feeling of him, of his cock, of his blood on your teeth.

You've come to think that being in bed with Logan is like being in church.

There's a holiness to the way he holds you—like you’re the only thing worth believing in.

The familiar weight of his body pressing you into the mattress is the alter. The heat of him like laying in the burning flame of a candle. The strong planes of his muscles each a different scripture that you take in by touch alone, skating your hands over his skin with something close to worship.

Each bead of sweat on his skin feels sacred, a testament to the intensity between you, as though every part of him has been crafted for this moment of devotion.

The hard length of his cock carves a place for itself inside you, each heavy smack of his hips punching another desperate sound out of your slack lips. 

His breath, deep and ragged, is a chant that pulls you into reverence. It puffs against the wild beat of your pulse, his lips brushing over the fever hot plane of your skin. 

The sound of your name falling from his mouth sounds like a prayer answered.

You can’t help but close your eyes, not in exhaustion, but in a kind of spiritual surrender, like by shutting out the world, you can truly grasp the divinity of it. His blood, mixing with yours on your tongue feels like a sacrament—an unholy communion.

The air between you crackles with heat, your bodies moving together in perfect sync, each thrust driving you closer to the edge. Logan’s head tilts back, his mouth open in a silent scream as he claws at your hips, pulling you down harder, deeper.

“I’m close,” he groans, his voice strained, desperate. “Please—fuck—I need to—”

You reach up quickly, grabbing his jaw and forcing him to look at you. “Look at me when you fuck me,” you demand, your voice sharp, dripping with authority. “I want you to watch me when you come.”

That’s all it takes.

 Logan’s entire body goes taut, a strangled roar tearing from his throat as he buries himself inside you one last time, the force of his release crashing through him. The hot spray of his come floods your insides, drenching your walls in thick spurts of white. 

His hands grip you so tightly you’re sure there’ll be bruises blooming later, but you don’t care. You wish they wouldn’t fade. You want them. You want to wear his mark, to feel the evidence of this moment lingering on your skin long after it’s over.

His hips don’t stop even as he comes, a sharp cry ripping its way from his throat as he keeps fucking you, pumping you full of him like he can’t stop. 

When you feel him start to lose control like that, feel the frantic twitch of his cock inside you, you finally let go, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave. The force of it rips a scream from your throat as you clench around him, your body spasming with the intensity of it.

Your abused cunt gushes around his cock to seep into the mattress, soaking both the sheets and his lower body all at once as you let out a weak mutter of his name.

For a moment, the only sound in the room is the ragged, uneven breathing between you as you both come down from the high. Logan collapses on the bed, arms circling your waist to drag you along with him. His cock stays inside of you, plugging you full of his come.

Your body trembles with the aftershocks of your orgasm, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. 

Logan is warm and grounding under you, soft and lax. You can feel his heartbeat, strong and steady beneath your cheek, and you press a soft kiss to the skin there, a silent reminder.

His hand comes up to thread through your hair, his touch gentle now, his body relaxed in a way that it wasn’t before.

“I love you,” he whispers against the crown of your head, his voice soft, vulnerable in a way that makes your heartache.

You smile, soft and secretive in the valley of his pecs, “I love you too.”

It’s a quiet admission, the first time you’ve ever said that to each other with words. The first time you both felt the need to, because it’s nothing you didn’t already know.

Your blood dripping from his teeth lays the same claim over you as his come dripping down your thighs.

It means you're his, and he’s yours.

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

[sparklingblu]

Inferior Activities

Lia x M Reader

"How's the salad?"

"Oh, it's great" you answer as you try not to grimace after swallowing the lettuce that taste no different from paper.

"I made few twists to the dressing, you know. A family secret" The bald man winks as he takes another bite of the potato that would have turned to coal if it have been roasted a minute more.

Studying the plates of green laid out all across the table, you make a firm decision never to become a vegan. At least not if your father in law is gonna be your chef. Lia has warned his cooking skills are terrible but you didn't expect it to be this awful. The only tolerable content of the table seems to be the so-called vegan meat and even that's starting to taste lesser and lesser like meat with each bite. No offense to all those animal loving vegans out there but they really are missing out a lot in their life. You wouldn't have lasted a day if you have to survive without meat.

Your eye flicker up to Lia, seated across, to see if she's on the same page with you on the matter. She lazily plops a broccoli into her mouth, her eyes betraying no signs of disappointment. The corner of her lips twitch in a thin smile as if to mock your suffering. She looks contented even.

In the end, you only have yourself to blame. When Lia suggestsled you visits her dad on the weekends, you agreed with a simple nod. Sure, it's your first time meeting her old man but what could go wrong? Right?

Except that everything does. As soon as you enter the house, the first thing the dude asked you was your opinion on wildlife conservation. At first you thought he was joking then you find out he's actually very serious about the matter. Weather talk would have been a good starter. Seriously, who starts a conversation like that?

Then after seeing the dishes he has prepared, you find out making conversation is the least of your worries. He's your father in law and you have respect for him and all but this dude is horrible at being a vegan. If he calls his mushroom soup which tastes more like mushroom-flavored dishwater 'a masterpiece', you might as well consider becoming a chef. Who knows? Maybe you will even get a couple michelin stars.

You are thinking of a way to escape this organic hell and the constant ear rape about how billions of animals are killed per year for human consumption when Lia finally comes to your aid.

"Dad, we are nearly done. Why don't you go make your signature smoothie? I haven't got the chance to taste it since I left for college" she suggests and the old man's eyes twinkle with maddening joy.

"Oh, of course! How could I forget that? It was your mother's favorite" his tone turns solemn at the mention of his late wife but you are too focused on the idea of finally getting some breathing room to care. "Two smoothies. Coming right up! You will absolutely love it" He winks at you again and leaves the table.

You drop your utensils and exhale in relief. "Finally. I was gonna turn into stone if I hear one more second of his animal talk"

Lia chuckles. "I get used to it after living with him for 18 years. He's actually a really sweeet guy. He just tries to focus on something else after my mom passed, I guess"

If the fact is supposed to make you feel sorry, it doesn't work. But you are not gonna tell her that. "How do you survive with this kind of food all these years?"

"It wasn't always that bad" Belle protests. "And sometimes he even cooks meat. But his skills get rusty with old age"

"Yep, I'm never becoming a vegan"

Lia pouts in annoyance. "Oh, come on. It's not that bad"

"Suits yourself"

"You just hate vegetables in general"

You roll your eyes in feigned annoyance. "Look, who's trying to follow her father's steps"

"Whatever" Lia finally gives up, pushing up her glasses from her nose. "I'm still hungry you know...."

"Maybe we can go to McDonald's or something later"

"No, daddy" Lia's voice turns low and sultry. "You know exactly what I want"

You look around in a panic to see if her dad has overheard your conversation. Thankfully, the guy's busy cutting carrots on the kitchen counter.

"Lia, I told you not to call me that in public. Especially not when your literal dad is right here" you warned, though you can't deny the fact that hearing her call you the name get your blood flowing backwards.

"Oh, come on, daddyyyyy" she pushes on, stressing the last word to make it sound even more fervorous. "I know you secretly love it"

"Look, babe. I love the name but this isn't the right place. Seriously, your dad's right there"

"So what?" Lia puts her elbows on the table, propping her chin in her palms. "Don't you enjoy a little risk?"

"Come on, babe. Not right now. I will make it up to you when you come back"

"But I want it now" Lia whines, the pout reforming on her lips. "Need to taste daddy's big cock. Need it shove down my throat"

"Lia...." you hiss, becoming aware of her tone, increasing by the second.

"Daddy pleaseee" she gives you those bambi eyes she knows you can't resist. "Let me suck your huge cock. I need you to fill up my mouth with your hot cum. I have been a good girl, haven't I? I deserve my reward" Lia runs her tongue along her top lips to punctuate her wish.

With the way her words get your asleep mamba waking up, you already know you are fighting a losing battle but you still need to be the one in charge here. "Alright, fine. But-"

"Oops. I drop my spoon" The metal hits the floor with a loud clang and Lia immediately dives down the table. It's an overused trope. You have seen it in hundreds of porn videos and you are no stranger to it. But you have never thought you would be in a similar situation and this time, the risk is very real. Her dad is not a paid actor who would pretend to be oblivious at the scene which would soon unfold.

"Is everything ok?" Lia's dad shouts from the kitchen counter, now washing.....are those eggplants?

"Yes, mister! We are gold!" You replies, hoping he would stay focused on his veggies.

You look down and find Lia already kneeled between your legs, a flicker of amusement in her eyes behind those glasses. Her lips curve into an impish smile. "Just stay still and let me do all the work, daddy" she whispers, her hands already working on your zipper. With one swift pull, she opens it up, revealing your red underwear underneath. "Oh, daddy's wearing my favorite colour today" Lia muses as she grabs your cock over the thin fabric, her thumb tracing slow circles. "Daddy, you are already so hard"

As much as you want to prolong this pornographic session, her dad is not going to be in the kitchen forever and you don't want to give him a heart attack. "Babe, enough teasing. Make it quick" you warn and her thumb rests on your head, pressing down on that sensitive spot she only knows. You let out a half-formed moan, not daring to be loud.

"You know the magic word, daddy. No need to be so formal" she presses again and you grit your teeth.

"Start sucking my cock, you slut" you calls her by her favorite nickname, which intsantly gets her engines revving.

"Yes, daddy" she release her grip, pulling down your underwear. Your rock hard cock springs out in a flash, hitting her spectacles. "Someone's eager" Lia chuckles, placing her brown locks behind her back, preparing for the main course. Her left hand close around your base, pumping it up and down in an agonizingly slow pace. She looks at your cock like it's something glorious, something she should be worshipping. But that's not so far from the truth. If this slut wants to choke on your cock, you are gonna permit it happily.

"Daddy, you are so big" Lia mutters dreamily, her free hand fondling your balls each at a time. The combination gets your mind cloudy, basking in the pleasure you nearly forget the whole point of this.

"I don't see you sucking my cock?" Lia stops her movements at your words and you nearly reget telling her to stop. But that doesn't last long because Lia instantly starts obliging to your command.

"Patience, daddy" With that, her rosy lips seal around your tip, taking you partly into the warmth of her mouth. Meanwhile, her hands grab your shaft, working in unison with each drag of her lips. The twist of her fingers along with her tongue that swirls around your slit gets you throwing your head back, letting out a graon. Then you quickly recompose not to expose yourself.

Lia doesn't seem to be bothered. Getting caught seems to be the last thing on your mind as she slurps on your head with fevorous vigour. Like it's the most delicous lollipop she has ever tasted. Her tongue gathers up any pre cum that leaks from your slit, taking it straight down to her stomach. She would takes anything your cock has to offer.

Every moment or so, you would check on her dad, making sure the guy's still busy brewing his organic potion which contents are starting to get weirder. But as long as he's busy, you don't care what he's putting into that blender. It's the best for him and you. You doubt the old man would be as merciful to you as he is to wildlife if he finds out his daughter is giving you head under his table.

But the task proves to be harder because Lia's dad would throw you ocassional glances and you have to put on this stupid grin everytime, which is not so easy with how Lia's sucking you off. Now she has taken half your cock into her mouth, her cheeks hollowed with unfathomable suction. Her hair sways with every bob of her head, forming silky waves of hazel. All the while, she keeps her eyes on you behind those circular frames, those pools of black seems to be asking if she's doing a good job.

"God, Lia....just like that" you grip the edge of the table to compensate for not being able to rejoice in the bliss of Lia's wet hole freely. Your head darting up and down as you keep watch on her father as well as enjoy the view between your legs.

Your shaft is now ringed with red as Lia leaves tarces of her lipstick mixed with her saliva while her lips glide smoothly along your cock, making it a red wet mess. Not like you mind. She can keeps messing it up all she wants.

Her tongue action doesn't waver either, licking up any available part but escpecially under your tip to tackle your weak spot each time she takes you in. To add icing on the cake, she has her left hand wrapped around your base to pump the lengths unattended by her mouth, not leaving out any throbbing vein.

You are helpless against her attack, the only action from your side to keeps grabbing the tablecloth into an unshapely tangle. And even that's starting to fail at holding back your moans.

A loud whirring sound fills up the place as Lia's dad starts brewing all those green stuffs in the blender. He gives you a thumbs up and you smile back, shammming excitement. The sound of the blender blades reminding you of the disguisting smoothie you will soon have to drink.

However, Lia takes advantage of the noise by taking your whole length down on her throat, the loud gagging sound lost in the echoes of spinning blades. You take the chance to make any audible sound that would let you express your euphoria. A moan. Then two. Then a couple more. It no longer seems to be ending as Lia devour your cock like a hungry animal, hitting the back of her throat each time she deeothroats.

Drops of saliva litters the ground. The evidences of Lia's godly work. Gags after gags escape her mouth in rhythm with your moans. However, escape won't be suitable here with the way your cock is blocking her airway. But that isn't a problem because she would choose your dick over oxygen.

The blender keeps whirring and Lia keeps choking on your cock. Her glasses now tilted at a strange angle from the force of her movement, the temple hanging on one ear only. Currently, her vision isn't as important as the taste of your dick on her tongue.

Lia finally pulls back, trails of saliva running from your tip to her lips. A waterfall of saliva staining her white shirt. Her tongue rolled out and her temples dripping with sweat.

"Daddy....am I...good?" she pants like a bitch in heat, all her lipsticks all gone.

"Very. But you gotta finish what you start my little slut"

"Yes, daddy. Feed me your thick cum. I want it all"

"Then come and take it"

Lia dives back on your cock, immeditaely swallowing your whole length. You groans out at the burst of pleasure, her throat constricted around your shaft. Lia holds her position, her nose pressed to your pelvis for a few moment before pulling back, just to start fucking her throat on your cock again and again.

The sound of the blender stops and you hear the clink of glasses. Turning your head, you find Lia's dad pouring the green liquid into two glasses. It would only be a few minutes before he comes back.

Lia seems to realize to because her lips form an airtight seal around your head and her hands satrt pumping your shaft furiously. Using all your willpower to hold out from finishing earlier leaves no strength left to withstand Lia's final assault. Your cock starts throbbing and soon you are spilling your cum into her mouth. Some reaching her tongue, the other flowing straight down her throat. Lia's fingers keep twisting back and forth and you empty the last drops of your protein rich fluid into her welcoming hole.

You close your eyes, breathing hard. The relief is instant as much as the build up is agonizingly blissful. Lia releases your cock with a pop and lick up the remnants of cum on the tip. You are too lost in the euphporic finale you totally forget the perilous situation you are in. When you realize, it's too late.

Lia's dad is near the table, two glasses of the green smoothie in his hands. His face is a mixture of shock and distress as he stands rooted to the spot, his eyes fixed on her daughter's face a few centimeters away from your spent cock. His mouth opens but before he can speak, Lia chimes in.

"Thanks for the meal daddy. But I don't think I'm going to need the smoothie. I already have dessert"

◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇

[pomefioredove]

hello hello! i see that the headcanon requests are open, so i have arrived 🐺🐺 i'd like to request the housewardens + chenya, neige and ortho with a reader that's mute! i feel like this would be an interesting thing to go off of. feel free to write it as something reader gained after a certain event, or as an illness that they were born with. platonic would be great, but i think romantic would be absolutely adorable too (minus ortho obviously) so go wild, do whatever you want >:) if this is fine for you to write of course!! love your writing, youre my favourite blog on tumblr hehe (runs away)

thank you so much!! and ofc ofc. I'm writing this based off my own experiences with being semiverbal so if I get something wrong,,, that's on me 😔

summary: nonspeaking reader type of post: headcanons characters: riddle, che'nya, leona, azul, kalim, vil, neige, idia, ortho (platonic), malleus additional info: romantic or platonic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu

I think Riddle is more adaptive than others give him credit for

it's not like there's any rule about not speaking

(and if there was, he would make an exception for you. he's not completely unreasonable)

I can see him learning sign language with you

and if that's not your thing, he'll figure something else out

he's a fast learner, after all

and he wants to make you comfortable, too. not that he'd ever outright admit it...

(obvious favoritism)

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Che'nya is always quick on his feet

or... on air?

anyway

that means that he isn't one to let the absence of conversation stop him from his usual mischief

and he does love charades...

it's almost like he can read your thoughts. or your... hands? expressions?

whenever someone is giving you a hard time, they miiight just end up talking back to a floating head

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Leona actually never really... brings it up

before he had the full story, he just figured you were shy around him

(which went straight to his head, of course)

so he was already used to it when he found out it's not something you can control

and... he treats you no different for it

he knows you're not stupid or rude just because you're not yapping all the time

and if anyone else gave you a hard time about it... they'd be answering to him

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

no worries with Azul

I mean, the guy can really do it all

sign language, pen and paper, text-to-speech, body language...

he's rather adaptable, and, trust me, being unable or unwilling to speak won't stop him

the offer to give you the voice of a beautiful singer is still on the table... but he can't blame you for not taking the deal

of course

in the meantime, you can come to him for anything and he'll help you out

on the house <3

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Kalim's heart is in the right place

is he disappointed you won't be able to talk and sing and cheer with him? a little

you're used to the disappointment, unfortunately

but he doesn't give up so easily

or... at all

no singing? he's handing you an instrument

no talking? no problem, he knows you're still listening!

no hummin, shouting, cheering? he can make enough noise for the both of you

he makes sure you're included in everything

very sweet

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Vil has high expectations, but he isn't unreasonable

if you can't talk, you can't talk, and that's final

that doesn't excuse you from everything else in his strict regimen, though

what may be a weakness to others is a strength to him

you can improve yourself tenfold by focusing on what you can do rather than what you can't

writing, dancing, music...

however you choose to express yourself, he's very supportive

much like Kalim, he includes you in every conversation, every decision, every yes/no question

he's pretty great

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Neige! Neige is a sweetie

I like to think of Neige as someone who's actually quite timid in person, despite his career

it's probably your quietness that draws him to you in the first place

he is so very supportive

he's the kind of introvert to suddenly become extroverted when someone needs help

"excuse me, they asked for no pickles" type of guy

he'll hold your hand through everything if you need it, and remain by your side if you don't

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Ortho and Idia are probably the best people to have on your side

Idia just feels so much more... comfortable around you, since he struggles with speaking, himself

he'll let you use his tablet if you need it to speak

...and then he'll get you one of your own, so he doesn't have a heart attack when you accidentally switch tabs

he'll even program a custom voice or two for you

Ortho is a walking translator for you

with a database full of information on body language and expression, he can determine your emotional state in a single glance

he's happy to help in any way he can, of course!

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

at some point, Malleus needs a shirt that says "#1 Prefect Defender"

you haven't said a single word to him but if anything happened to you he would curse everyone in this room and then himself

(he means well, I promise)

he's never minded, nor questioned your silence

certain fae communicate through lights or movement rather than sound, so it isn't even anything strange to him

you fit right in at Diasomnia

and you're welcome to stay here for as long as you please

(hint hint)

[ask-the-rag-dolly]

okay unhinged essay about ragatha probably #1 idk i don't think this is all of my thoughts but here's what i could actually put down

i think the most surprising thing for me Personally is getting a lot of my interpretations of ragatha correct ? like . the thing that almost destroyed my motivation for this blog is the fear that my unhinged overanalyzation of her mannerisms in the pilot were Wrong - i actually thought about canceling everything when i was off from canon - but now ... yeah i'm not doing that

i guess it's just that we had so little of her in the first episode that i thought i was Manifesting her issues but Nope she really is this much of a Loser

first of all ! i suspected that she has low self-esteem but Goodness Gracious !! i didn't expect it to be Actually almost non-existent ?? like i thought i was Exaggerating for this blog but no , no person with a normal amount of self-esteem would Warp an incident so much in their head that they somehow believe something going wrong is Their Fault .

like she's so focused on pomni the entire episode because she Genuinely believes that the fiasco in the first day was her fault ( even though IT WASN'T , but she's really that used to quickly blaming herself ) and wants to make it up to her . but of course pomni is still adjusting and is Overwhelmed by everything ( which is understandable ) so she's not really in the mood for ragatha's bullshit

but with how ragatha reacts and what she subsequently tells kinger - she read those more as ' i do not like you ' than ' i am too fatigued to care about anything right now ' which is such a Large leap , but considering she was the one who Apologized to pomni for giving her a stressful first day ( which was COMPLETELY out of her control , ) it makes sense that she assumes that pomni has something against her - which was not helped by how none of ragatha's attempts of starting a friendship were reciprocated

i do understand why she would Think it's her fault - as pomni's a newcomer and More Stress is the last thing she needs , especially in her first day - but ' oh she doesn't like me ' is still Such a hasty conclusion that someone who already ... Doesn't Like Themself would jump to .

of course i can't not talk about the potential history between her and kinger . through their dialogue you can tell that ragatha's one of those people that took a batshit long time to truly adjust to the circus - which has a lot of interesting implications . with how she seems to understand the process of finding an exit in episode 1 , it explains a lot . my girl was so Not well when she entered the circus .

honestly it's just nice seeing that ragatha at least has Some support despite her being the one who holds everything together - it makes the ending impactful in my opinion ; they do really care for each other and will be saddened if one of them is gone .

also of course she asked if everyone's alright despite having a cleaver to the head ...

something that also has been nagging me for a long time is how much she always gets the short end of the stick . like , literally every time she's on screen , she Has To Get Harmed in some way . i would brush this off as slapstick when her official pin doesn't have her HAVING A KNIFE TO THE CHEST ???

Maybe it's just slapstick . maybe with her having parallels to kaufmo considering how he's said to be a goofy toxic positivity type guy like ragatha and is the one that has abstracted thus far is just a coincidence and doesn't speak levels to what might become inevitable as the series goes on ,

[yjhzies]

“Cheers to youth.” — YJH

⸝⸝୭ ˚. fluff . comfort . angst

⋆ pairings : jeonghan x gn!reader ⋆ warning : reader being scolded by their boss, crying (there shouldn't be any more, lmk! <3) ⋆ wc : 0.8k [✉️] · Always portrayed as "perfect" feels like a nightmare now. But with Jeonghan, everything will be fine.

⋆ - note : got scolded by the teacher for no valid reason and my inner writer came out ^^ (ty ig and welcome to depression era) | trying angst for the first time, I think I'm going insane :( stay safe jeonghannie 🌷

"Love?" Your boyfriend's voice was soft, and everything you needed to hear after a disastrous day at work.

You gripped your phone tighter and gathered the courage to respond.

"Hm, hannie,"

"Are you almost off work? Do you want me to pick you up?"

"I'm almost done with work, it's okay, I'm fine." Your voice breaks with the words 'I'm fine', because you were clearly not. But, he didn't have to know.

You, who is known as the 'Perfect' one in your workplace, were feeling like a failure. Not that you liked the way people labelled you as 'perfect', but you did want to meet the expectations of your boss. You've always had this habit - feeling the need to meet people's expectations, afraid of disappointing others. This, something you have had since school days, was becoming a nightmare.

Your boss was rumoured to have had a break up; something that is completely none of your business - you knew. So when he lashed out at you, simply because of his gloomy mood, you were in disbelief.

"I heard you've been focusing on everything except for work? I remember the time you were considered as the perfect manager, but now? I doubt that. You've been lacking behind everything. From doing the files to arranging the meetings properly. If you keep doing this, I doubt you'll be here in my company for long."

Those words haunted your mind, and it kept repeating. For no reason. You knew you did nothing wrong, you knew you were not in the wrong here.

But words hurt so much.

Especially when you're trying your best.

Especially when you feel you've done enough, and you hear this.

"Are you sure?" Jeonghan asked, worried because you have had to stay at work for long, and it was unusual.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

Silence soon followed, and you took a heavy breath to stop the tear threatening to roll down your cheeks.

"Are you really, baby?" He asked softly. As if he knew everything despite not knowing anything.

You didn't expect that question. All the tears you had held back finally escaped your glossy eyes, and you broke down. Right in the middle of a bus stand, but thankfully, no one was there.

"Baby?" Jeonghan felt a surge of panic wash over him. The sounds of your muffled sobs echoed in his ears through the phone.

The last thing Jeonghan wanted was you crying all alone.

You slowly lowered your hand, the phone in your hand dropping to the floor as you continued weeping. There was no one around to help you. To ask if you were okay.

"Please, baby," he softly pleaded. You were there alone. All by yourself. "Please answer me."

He grabbed his car keys, opened the location tracking app that you both agreed to use in emergencies and rushed out of his apartment. The drive was gonna take at least 20 minutes, but he couldn't care less.

All he knew right now was that he had to be by your side.

"I'll be there, don't worry, okay?" He tried to calm you down, despite panicking himself.

Everything faded into the background, as you finally let all the feelings burst out in the form of tears. All the taunting you had endured throughout the day was driving you insane.

It wasn't your fault. You did nothing.

You don't know when time passed by, and Jeonghan's car pulled up on the road - but you felt a hint of relief at the sight of him.

He got out of the car in a hurry, running up to the bus stop where you stood. Very slowly, you turn your gaze on him and he catches a glimpse of you - puffy eyed, cheeks red with warmth, tremors still coursing through your body, dried tears that were being replaced by fresh ones.

"Hannie..." You choked out, sobbing.

Without wasting a second, he threw his arms around your torso, engulfing you in a warm hug. He rested one of his hands on the back of your head, caressing it, as he wrapped his other arm around your waist protectively.

You've never felt so secure and safe in someone's embrace before.

You closed your eyes, placing your hands on either side of his shoulders, and began sobbing again. But this time, you knew Jeonghan was there to protect you.

"Shh, I'm here, it's all gonna be okay." His voice was barely above a whisper, as if those words were only meant to be heard by you. So soft, so loving, and it conveyed so many emotions to you.

He felt like home. Like the warm hug and kiss you crave after a long tiring day at work. Like the cold, but relaxing drop of rain on your skin.

"I'm- I'm sorry..."

"It's okay, don't be, please."

You're grateful. So grateful that you both don't have to know the reason to simply be by their side. The reason can be unknown, or known later, but what matters is that you're there for each other.

– taglist : @gyubakeries @k1eev @haowrld @armycarat2612

[check out masterlist - pinned post to be added to the taglist!]

[lostfracturess]

remedies and reasons | ch. 03

pairing — professor geto x law student reader

summary — this wasn’t supposed to happen. not that miserable internship at the law firm you hated, not him becoming your doctor, and definitely not that drunken night at the bar. but he helped, and god, you needed a friend. and he did too. except it's never just friendship with him, is it? it could be perfect—messy, complicated, but perfect. if only his heart wasn’t already taken.

word count — 11.8 k

warnings — 18+ ONLY. contains explicit sexual content, age difference (10 years), doctor-patient relationship, smoking, alcohol use, mature themes, and depictions of illness. reader discretion is advised.

author's note — hey everyone! i'm back with a new chapter, and i know it's been a while. this time, we're diving back into suguru's head to explore his conflicting feelings. as always, this story is a spin-off of symptoms and causes, starting after chapter 12, but it can be read as a standalone. this chapter takes place during the events of chapter 14, where things were pretty intense, so get ready for suguru's perspective on those events, plus some extra bonding time with a certain law student.

series masterlist + playlist + ao3 + wattpad

<- prev chapter | next chapter ->

(note: r&r reader)

What a strange fucking day.

The coffee from the hospital cafeteria tasted like burnt rubber, leaving a bitter aftertaste that matched my state perfectly. Everything felt slightly out of sorts, like the world had shifted two inches to the left while I wasn't looking, and I was the only one who noticed.

I'd put on mismatched socks this morning, didn't notice until I was already at work. Stepped in a puddle that somehow soaked through my supposedly waterproof shoes. Small things, really. Inconsequential. But they piled up like evidence that I wasn't quite myself lately.

And on top of that, my mind kept drifting back to the sports bar, to easy laughter and surprisingly good conversation. To someone who actually managed to make me forget about work for a few hours. It was... nice. Different. Unsettling. Probably why I let things get carried away. 

What the hell had gotten into me?

I wasn't the type to hook up in bar bathrooms. I didn't do reckless. I was the responsible one, always cleaning up other people's messes — usually Satoru's. 

Yet here I was, distracted and unfocused because of a law student who somehow got under my skin without me even realizing it. Frustrating. That's what it was.

I stared at the ruined samples in front of me, the third batch I'd had to throw out this morning. A stupid beginner's mistake — mixing the reagents in the wrong order like some first-year med student. The solution had turned an ugly shade of red instead of the pale blue it was supposed to be, completely useless now.

I slammed the test tube rack down harder than necessary, making the glass containers rattle. A few drops of the failed experiment splashed onto my lab coat. Perfect. Just perfect.

I glanced at Satoru across the lab bench. He'd been staring at the same equation for twenty minutes now, his leg bouncing that infuriating rhythm that made me want to stab him with my pen. The same nervous energy that had been radiating off him all morning. Neither of us was really focused on work it seemed.

"You going to tell me what's wrong, or do I have to guess?" I finally asked, perhaps partly to distract myself from my own thoughts.

He blinked, as if just remembering I was there. "Nothing's wrong."

"Really? Because you've been glaring at that formula for like an hour."

"Maybe I just enjoy looking at my own handwriting. It's pretty, isn't it? Unlike yours."

"At least the nurses can read my prescriptions without three callbacks."

"That was one time." He spun in his chair to face me. "And the pharmacy figured it out eventually."

I need a cigarette.

No, I need several cigarettes.

I was about to retort when a soft knock echoed through the lab. We both turned toward the door, and suddenly all my annoyance vanished. It was her.

Standing there in the doorway, clutching a folder to her chest, looking almost nervous. Her eyes darted between Satoru and me, and I could see the moment she registered the awkwardness of the situation.

She was wearing a crisp blazer, her hair pulled back neatly — every inch the professional law intern. Maybe it was the confused sleep deprivation talking, but I swore I caught a hint of pink creeping across her cheeks when our eyes briefly met before she looked away.

"Oh," she said. "I didn't expect to find you both here."

Satoru straightened up, his demeanor shifting instantly to doctor mode. "Everything okay? Is it your medication?"

"No, no," she quickly assured him. "Actually, I'm here about the... um, the legal consultation from the other day?" She held up the folder. "Mr. Higurama asked me to get both your signatures on these forms."

"More paperwork?" Satoru groaned theatrically. "They really love their forms at that firm, don't they? I bet they have forms for their forms."

She laughed — not the bold, uninhibited laugh from the bar, but something smaller, more contained. Professional. It was strange seeing her like this, all sharp edges and formal wear, when just days ago we'd been trading stories over beer and darts.

"Well," she said, stepping fully into the lab, "we do love forms, yes." Her eyes landed on the mess of failed experiments on our benches, the chaos of scribbles on the whiteboard. I just now realized how utterly chaotic the whole lab was. "Bad time?"

"No," I said, maybe too quickly. "Just a rough morning in the lab."

"Rough morning?" Satoru raised an eyebrow. "This is the first time I've seen him mess up this experiment since university. Usually he's annoyingly perfect."

I shot him a look that promised murder. Or at least severe bodily harm.

She glanced between us, a hint of unease, her fingers tightening on the folder as she took a small step back. "Should I come back later? When there's less...chaos?"

"No, it's fine," I said, reaching for the folder. Our fingers brushed as she handed it over, and I found myself wondering if she was still thinking about that night too. Probably not. She was just here doing her job.

I opened the folder, scanning the documents inside. More forms about professional conduct and boundaries. The irony wasn't lost on me.

"These need both our signatures?" I asked.

She nodded. "Mr. Higurama was very specific about that."

I grabbed a pen and signed where indicated, then passed the folder to Satoru. As he signed, I caught her stifling a yawn.

"Long night?" I asked.

"Just law student things," she replied with a tired smile. "Coffee and case studies until 3 AM."

"Sounds familiar," I said, thinking of my own sleepless night, though for very different reasons. "Though I prefer my all-nighters with better coffee than whatever they serve at that firm."

"Our coffee is not that bad actually—"

Before she could finish, Satoru thrust the folder at her. "Here," he said. "All signed and ready to go back to the fun police." He glanced at his phone, then suddenly stood up. "Speaking of which, I need to go. Got a... thing."

A thing? I raised an eyebrow at him, but he was already halfway to the door. "Don't mess up any more experiments, Suguru," he called over his shoulder, and then he was gone, leaving us alone in the now quiet space.

She stood there, folder clutched to her chest, looking unsure. "Is Dr. Gojo okay? He seems a bit on edge."

"Not more than usual, I guess."

"So that failed experiment over there?" She gestured past me with her finger.

I glanced at my failed experiment, which had now turned an alarming shade of green that definitely wasn't in any textbook I'd ever read. Either I'd just discovered a new chemical compound, or I was about to violate several safety protocols. Possibly both.

"Observant. They teach you that in law school?"

"No, that's just natural talent," she said, some of that bar night ease creeping back into her voice. "Though I have to say, watching things change color isn't usually part of my job description."

"Consider it a bonus lesson in chemistry." Before I could overthink it, I heard myself asking, "Have you had lunch yet?"

She hesitated, shifting the folder in her arms. "I should probably get these back to Mr. Higurama—" Just then, the folder slipped from her grasp, papers scattering across the lab floor. "Oh god," she muttered, immediately dropping to her knees to gather them.

In her haste to collect the papers, she bumped into the lab bench. The rack of test tubes rattled precariously. I lunged forward, managing to catch the rack just as it started to tip, but not before one of the tubes spilled its contents onto the counter.

"I'm so sorry!" She scrambled to her feet, papers clutched messily to her chest, her cheeks now bright red. "I swear I wasn't trying to sabotage your experiments. Though they were already ruined anyway—not that that makes it better! I just meant—"

I watched her frantically trying to collect the papers, a small smile tugging at my lips despite the chaos. "I'll pay," I offered, cutting off her rambling. "Besides, we should probably get going, that failed experiment's probably going to turn purple next and who knows what happens then."

She paused mid-reach for another paper, looking up at me with wide eyes. "Are you threatening me with your failed experiment to get me to have lunch with you?"

"Is it working?"

She glanced at the door where Satoru had disappeared, then back at me, fidgeting with the crumpled papers in her arms. "You know what? Yeah. If you really want to—I mean, after I almost destroyed your lab—"

"Well, you're certainly making my morning more interesting."

She tried to smooth out the crumpled papers, only managing to wrinkle them more. "Oh, I mean—Is that a good thing? Because I can't tell if you're complimenting me or—"

"Come on, Attorney, let's get you away from any breakable objects," I said, already shrugging off my lab coat and heading for the door. "I know a good place and trust me after that, you'll never defend that law firm sludge again."

─────── ౨ৎ ───────

(note: r&r reader)

The café was tucked away in a narrow alley, the kind of place you'd walk right past unless you knew what you were looking for. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of freshly ground coffee beans and something sweet baking in the back.

She looked around, taking in the worn leather chairs and mismatched mugs, the walls lined with old medical textbooks and vintage anatomy charts. "So this is where all the doctors hide out?"

"Best kept secret in the hospital district," I said, leading her to a small table by the window. "Though I'm pretty sure I'm violating some sacred code by bringing a lawyer here."

The owner, an elderly man who'd been serving coffee to sleep-deprived medical staff for longer than I'd been alive, brought over two cups without us having to order. The coffee was served in glass cups, the dark liquid nearly black, with a perfect crema on top.

"What is this?" she asked, leaning forward to inspect the cup.

"Just trust me."

She raised an eyebrow. "The last time a doctor told me to 'just trust them,' I ended up with a prescription that made me sleep for sixteen hours straight."

"Satoru's work, I assume?"

"Maybe."

I watched as she lifted the cup, inhaling. Her eyes widened slightly. "Oh."

"Try it," I said, finding myself oddly invested in her reaction.

She took a careful sip, and I couldn't help but smile as her expression changed — surprise, then joy, then something close to awe.

"Holy shit," she whispered, staring at the cup like it held the secrets of the universe.

"Better than the law firm sludge?"

"Okay, fine, you win." She took another sip, closing her eyes. "What is this?"

"Family secret, apparently. The owner won't tell anyone, not even me." I picked up my own cup. "Though I have my theories."

"Care to share?"

"Doctor-patient confidentiality."

She kicked me lightly under the table. "I'm not your patient."

"No," I agreed, the words carrying more weight than I'd intended. "You're not."

She looked away, suddenly very interested in the anatomy chart on the wall, a slight flush creeping up her neck. I caught myself enjoying her reaction more than I probably should.

"You know," I said, breaking the silence, "you still haven't shown me your paintings."

Her eyes snapped back to mine. "What?"

"At the bar, you promised to show me your work someday." I took another sip of coffee. "Unless that was just the alcohol talking."

"I did not promise anything," she protested, but her fingers fidgeted with the handle of her cup. "And I don't really show my work to people."

I leaned back in my chair, studying her. "Not even to doctors who hold your hand during MRI scans?"

"Especially not to doctors who do such unethical things, Dr. Geto." But there was a smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

"I seem to recall you saying my hands were very good or something."

Her cheeks flushed pink, and she fumbled with her coffee cup, nearly sending it sloshing over the rim. "I did not say that."

"No? Must have been another patient then."

"Can we please pretend I never said anything about your hands?" She shifted in her seat, clearly flustered. "Or anything else that happened that day?"

"Show me your paintings and I might consider selective amnesia."

"Are you actually blackmailing me with my own embarrassing moments?" She leaned forward slightly. "I should sue you for violation of doctor-patient confidentiality."

"Please don't. I have enough lawyers breathing down my neck as it is."

"Oh, I know." Her lips twitched into a smile. "Your case files take up an entire cabinet at the firm."

"Now who's the unethical one?" I couldn't help but smile. "Pretty sure those files are supposed to be confidential."

"See the positive." The corner of her mouth quirked up, and she propped her chin on her hand. Her sleeve slid down slightly. "I can help you. Though my rates are quite steep—one painting viewing equals one legal consultation."

"Brutal negotiation tactics. They're teaching you well at that firm."

She bit her lip, fighting back a grin. The gesture was distracting in a way I didn't want to examine too closely. Then, she wrapped her hands around her cup, leaning forward slightly. "Speaking of teaching, how's that research project going?"

I groaned, running a hand through my hair. "Can we not? I'd rather hear about your law stuff."

"Oh god no," she groaned in return, slumping back in her chair. "Let's not talk about that either."

"That bad, huh?"

"You have no idea. Just endless stacks of papers and Chad being... well, Chad."

"Chad?" I raised an eyebrow.

"This awful intern who thinks he owns the place because his dad's some stupid partner. Like, today he tried to take credit for my research on the Yamamoto case, which, by the way, I spent three nights working on. And then he had the nerve to correct my citations in front of everyone, except he was wrong. He was completely wrong, and everyone knew it, but nobody said anything because, you know, his dad and everything—" 

She stopped abruptly, her eyes widening as if just realizing she'd been rambling again. Her hands fluttered nervously around her coffee cup. "Sorry, I'm talking too much, aren't I?"

"No," I said, surprising myself with how much I meant it. "I like hearing you talk."

Her eyes met mine, startled. "You do?"

"Yeah. It's... refreshing, I mean hearing about anything that's not related to someone's blood and lab work." I traced the rim of my cup with my finger. "Is this Chad giving you trouble? Because I could always stop by the firm, maybe have a word with him."

She let out a startled laugh, then immediately looked embarrassed by how loud it was. A few other people glanced our way, making her shrink slightly in her seat.

"What, are you offering to intimidate him for me?"

"I can be quite intimidating when I want to be."

"That's a weird thing to say about oneself."

"You say way more weird things." I glanced at my watch and couldn't help but sigh. "Speaking of intimidating, I've got a class of overconfident med students waiting."

"Oh." She looked up. "Right, of course."

I should leave it at that. Get up, go back to work, stop whatever this is before it gets complicated. I have enough on my plate with the research, with Satoru acting weird, with everything else. The last thing I need is to get involved with—

My hand brushed against the crumpled paper in my coat pocket. That flyer some art student had thrust into my hands this morning at the campus entrance, just like they did to everyone else rushing past. 

"Actually, there's this art exhibition next weekend at the city gallery."

What the hell am I doing?

She blinked at me, her coffee cup frozen halfway to her mouth. "Are you... are you asking me to go to an art exhibition?"

This is stupid. I don't even like art exhibitions. They're crowded and pretentious, and I have better things to do with my weekend. Like work. Or sleep. Or literally anything else. I'm really not quite myself lately.

"I mean, if you want to. I don't understand much about art, but—" I rubbed the back of my neck. "If you show me what to look for, I'm sure I'll like it."

That sounded so lame. Why am I even doing this?

"You mean that?" she asked. "Because you don't have to pretend to be interested in art just because I—"

"I want to," I cut her off. "Besides, maybe you can explain to me why people pay millions for paintings of soup cans."

She laughed, that genuine, unguarded sound from the bar, and I was glad I hadn't thrown the flyer away. "Those are Warhol, and they're actually a commentary on mass production and consumer culture in—" She stopped herself, cheeks flushing. "And I'm doing it again."

"Saturday at 6?" I asked.

"Yeah," she said softly. "Saturday at 6 sounds good."

As I stood to leave, the absurdity of the situation hit me. Here I was, voluntarily signing up for an afternoon of art appreciation. What was wrong with me? 

The closest thing to art in my apartment is that anatomy poster Satoru got me as a joke last Christmas. If he ever found out about this, I'd never hear the end of it. But somehow, I couldn't bring myself to care.

It wasn't until I was back in my office at the university, staring at a stack of research papers, that I realized something strange — I hadn't smoked since morning. My usual lunchtime cigarette break had come and gone without me even noticing. 

My pack sat untouched in my coat pocket. I pulled it out now, turning it over in my hands, and somehow I found myself oddly looking forward to learning about soup cans.

─────── ౨ৎ ───────

(note: s&c reader)

The lecture went fine. It always did.

Talk about neurons, synapses, action potentials. Watch sleepy med students pretend to take notes while secretly checking their phones. Answer the same questions I'd answered a hundred times before. Rinse and repeat.

Now, hours later, I was back in the lab. The chaos from this morning had been methodically cleaned away. New solutions mixed, properly this time. Everything in its place, color-coded and labeled with my precise handwriting.

The lab was quiet at this hour. Just the soft hum of equipment and the occasional footsteps in the hallway outside. It was peaceful, in its own way. Or maybe just lonely.

I checked my watch — 5:47 PM. I should probably head home, but then what? Watch some mindless TV show? Read another research paper? Order takeout that would sit in my fridge until it went bad? God, when did my life become this predictable?

The solution in front of me turned the correct shade of blue this time. Finally. I made a note in my lab book, but my mind wandered. About Satoru's strange behavior. About her. About how she looked at Satoru like he hung the moon and stars just for her.

I pushed away from the bench so forcefully my chair squeaked against the floor. My hands were already reaching for my cigarettes before I made it to the window. The night air was cool against my face as I lit up, inhaling deeply.

This was exactly what I didn't need to think about. Not now. Not ever. Focus on the research. On the failed experiments. On anything else but the ache that threatened to consume me whenever I let my mind wander in her direction.

The cigarette burned down too quickly. I lit another one immediately. What kind of person fell for their best friend's girlfriend? What kind of friend was I to even—

No. Stop that train of thought right there.

The smoke curled up into the night sky, hoping it would carry with it all the things I couldn't let myself feel. All the words I couldn't say. All the moments I'd had to watch them together, pretending my heart wasn't being torn to shreds. I'm pathetic.

I exhaled another cloud of smoke into the night air. Maybe that was why I asked about the art exhibition. God knew I could use the distraction. From the research, from Satoru, from her.

And she — there was something in her eyes. That familiar look of someone drowning in circumstances they couldn't control. She needed a break too, probably more than she admitted. Maybe this Chad was partly responsible. Speaking of Chad—

I tapped my cigarette against the windowsill. It wouldn't be hard to figure out his real name. Law firms kept records of their interns, and with his father being a partner. One quick search in the hospital database and I could probably find something interesting in his medical history. Everyone had secrets. Maybe something embarrassing. Something that would make him think twice about—

What the hell am I thinking? I stubbed out my cigarette, leaving a black smear. Great. Now I'm contemplating abusing my position to dig up dirt on some spoiled law intern. Real professional, Suguru. Really living up to that ethical conduct seminar.

Though the thought of his smug face when he tried to take credit for her work—

No. Absolutely not. I'm better than that.

I lit another cigarette, trying to ignore how satisfying the idea was. I leaned back in my chair, staring at the ceiling. Saturday at 6.

At least that was something to look forward to. Something normal. Well, as normal as anything could be when you were a neurosurgeon voluntarily going to an art exhibition with a law student who was also your patient, technically. What did people even wear to art exhibitions?

My pen tapped against the lab book as my phone buzzed.

[2:34 PM] s&c reader: Need any help in the lab today? I can come in if you want.

[2:35 PM] Me: Just boring prep work left. Take the day off.

Three dots appeared, then disappeared. Then appeared again.

[2:37 PM] s&c reader: You sure? I can help with the prep too.

[2:37 PM] Me: Rest. Doctor's orders.

[2:40 PM] s&c reader: I hate when you say that.

I found myself smiling at my phone, picturing her frustrated face as she typed that. She was probably pouting right now, hunched over her textbooks in the library, annoyed that I'd pulled rank. That stubborn set of her jaw when she tried not to admit defeat. Just like him.

The smile faded as quickly as it had come. I immediately set my phone down and took a deep breath. I should be thinking about the research. About tumor markers and treatment protocols. Not about my student who was probably still in the library despite my orders to rest.

No. Not about her at all.

I glanced at my phone again, fighting the urge to text her back. Focus, I told myself. Work. Don't do anything stupid. God, this day really couldn't get any more fucking frustrating. 

─────── ౨ৎ ───────

(note: s&c reader)

The lab was quiet.

I'd been at this for hours, my eyes straining in the bright light of the laminar flow hood, my back aching from hunching over the bench. The familiar chemical smell of ethanol lingered in my nostrils from the endless rounds of sterilizing equipment. 

I straightened up, rolling my shoulders in a futile attempt to ease the knots. A glance at the clock told me it was late, far later than I'd intended to stay. 

The steady hum of the cell incubator behind me had become white noise hours ago, punctuated only by the occasional click of the temperature regulator. I was exhausted, ready to call it a night. But I couldn't leave, not yet.

There was still work to be done, still samples to process. The micropipette tips rattled in their box as I reached for another one, the sound sharp in the empty lab. My stomach rumbled in response. 

I sighed, tugging the elastic from my hair and running my fingers through the dark strands before twisting them back into a loose knot. A few pieces escaped, falling around my face as I looked over to the window, staring out at the darkening sky. 

The sun had already dipped below the horizon, the last streaks of orange fading into deep purple. The campus was quiet, most of the other staff and students long gone for the day.

My stomach growled again, reminding me that I hadn't eaten since lunch as I returned to work. I weighed my options—power through these last samples and face my empty fridge at home, or brave the vending machine downstairs for stale coffee and a questionable sandwich—

Then I heard the door open behind me. I didn't turn, couldn't turn, my hands still buried in the fragile work, the pipette cool in my gloved fingers. But then I heard her voice, and my heart stopped.

"Suguru?"

God, how I wanted to turn to her, to drink in the sight of her. But I couldn't, not yet.

"Hey," I replied, my gaze still fixed on the vials before me. "Didn't expect you here today. Sorry, the fun part's already over." I completed the transfer, then turned to face her, a easy smile on my lips. But the smile died as soon as I saw her face.

I didn't respond immediately, too startled by her appearance. Even in the dim light, it was impossible to miss.

She looked small, fragile in a way I had never seen before. Her eyes were red and swollen, her cheeks pale. She had been crying, that much was clear. She hugged herself tightly, as if she was trying to physically hold the pieces of herself together. 

Seeing her like that, so broken, tore at something deep inside me, something I hated, something fierce and aching.

"What happened?" 

The question was inevitable. But I already knew. There was only one thing, one person, that could make my pretty girl cry.

Her eyes were fixed on the floor, but I could see the tears welling up, threatening to spill over. "Can we work on something?" she finally asked, her voice small. "Please."

I hesitated, torn between the need to comfort her and the knowledge that it wasn't my place. "Do you want to talk about it?" I offered, even though I knew the answer before she even shook her head.

"No," she choked out. "I can't. I need—I need to focus on something else. Anything else. Or I think I'll fall apart."

I understood that feeling all too well. The need to lose yourself in work, to bury yourself in the familiar of the lab until the rest of the world faded away. But I hated that she felt it too, hated that he had driven her to this point. Hated him, with a fury that burned white-hot in my veins.

And the worst part was that I knew there was more, more that he was hiding from her. More lies, more secrets, more ways he was hurting her without her even knowing. And it made me want to scream, to rage, to tear him apart with my bare hands for daring to hurt her like this.

But I couldn't. All I could do was be here for her, in whatever way she needed me. 

"Please, Suguru." Her voice was pleading, desperate. "Can we just work?"

I hesitated for a moment longer, my gaze lingering on her face, taking in the vulnerability etched there. The urge to pull her into my arms, to hold her until the pain faded away, was almost overwhelming. But I knew I couldn't cross that line, not now, not like this.

Finally, I nodded and peeled off my gloves, setting them aside. I reached for her, gently undoing the tight knot of her crossed arms. Her hands were like ice in mine, trembling and fragile. I took one hand in both of mine, wishing I could take away her pain.

"What do you want to work on?" I asked softly, my thumb tracing soothing circles on the back of her hand.

"The nanoparticles," she said, her voice a little steadier. "We still need to narrow down the potential materials and targeting ligands, right?"

"Yeah," I said, forcing a smile. "Anything you want."

Anything for you. 

The words echoed in my mind, a bitter reminder of the truth I could never speak aloud. I loved her, had loved her for longer than I cared to admit, but she was with Satoru. And no matter how much it hurt to see her like this, to know that he was the one who had caused her pain, I couldn't let my own feelings get in the way.

So I pushed them down, buried them deep, and focused on the work. On being the friend she needed, the partner she could rely on. Even if it meant ignoring the part of me that screamed for something more. Even if it meant watching her break, again and again, and being powerless to stop it.

We worked in silence for a while, the familiar routine of the lab providing distraction. For her. For me. She focused intently on the task at hand, her brow furrowed as she carefully prepared the samples. Like everything she did, with unwavering precicion.

I watched her out of the corner of my eye, my heart aching at the tension in her shoulders, the tightness around her eyes. 

Time seemed to slip away as we lost ourselves in the work, the outside world fading away. I caught myself stealing glances at her, watching how her hair fell forward when she leaned over the samples. Every little gesture a knife to my heart. 

These moments were the hardest — seeing her so close, yet having to maintain this careful distance. Watching her push herself to exhaustion, knowing I couldn't hold her, couldn't comfort her the way I desperately wanted to.

I averted my gaze and glanced at the clock, just now realizing how late it had gotten.

"Hey," I said softly, breaking the silence. "It's nearly midnight. We should probably call it a day."

She looked up, blinking as if coming out of a trance. "Oh, no I have to finsish this first." She looked over to me and my stern gaze must have silenced her objections.

I hesitated for a moment, then reached out and touched her arm gently, ignoring the way my skin burned at the contact. "Come on. I want to show you something."

She followed reluctantly as I led her to the far corner of the lab, where our old microscope sat — the one we rarely used anymore since getting the newer models. I pulled out a worn slide from the cabinet.

"Remember this?" I asked, setting up the microscope. "From your first week here?"

She leaned in to look, and I had to force myself to step back. "Oh god, my first attempt at cell staining. It's horrible."

"Actually," I said, adjusting the focus, "look at this part here." I pointed to a small cluster of cells. "See how you managed to isolate that specific population? Most students take months to get that kind of precision. You did it on your first try."

She was quiet for a moment, studying the slide. A look I adored so much. And for a moment, the pain and hurt seemed to fade away. 

"You've got instincts that can't be taught," I continued. "That's why you're going to crack this nanoparticle puzzle too."

"You really think so?"

"I know so." I pulled out another slide. "Here, look at your work from last month. See how far you've come?"

She studied it for a moment, then shook her head. "It's still not perfect, the staining could be cleaner, the resolution better. I should be doing better by now."

"You're being too hard on yourself." Always chasing perfection, just like him. "You can't expect to master everything in a few months. Even Satoru took years to—" I caught myself, watching her shoulders tense at his name. Wrong thing to say. "What I mean is, you're already exceeding everyone's expectations. Except maybe your own."

She fell quiet, turning back to the microscope. I watched as she adjusted the focus. Finally, she straightened up from the microscope, turning to face me, and there it was — that spark in her eyes I'd grown to love, the one that made my heart stutter every time.

"We should try adjusting the polymer composition," she said suddenly. "Maybe if we modified the surface charge—"

I smiled, relief flooding through me at seeing that spark return. "Whatever you want to try. I'm right here with you. But tomorrow, okay? After a bit of sleep."

"Thank you," she said softly, leaning back in her chair and stretching her arms above her head. A small yawn escaped her. "Sorry for taking up so much of your time. You must have been here for hours."

"No, not at all," I lied, watching as she rolled her shoulders to work out the stiffness. In truth, I'd been at the lab since dawn, but she didn't need to know that.

I swallowed hard, my heart suddenly racing. "You know I'm always here for you. No matter what."

We remained silent for a moment, the weight of everything unsaid crowded in my throat — how much I cared, how seeing her hurt made me want to tear the world apart, how every smile she gave me was torture.

"Come on," I said finally, breaking the spell before I could do something stupid. "Let's get out of here. I think we both need some sleep."

─────── ౨ৎ ───────

(note: s&c reader)

Cold autumn air burned in my lungs as I pushed myself harder, feet pounding against the leaf-strewn path. A thick blanket of mist hung low between the trees on my usual morning run, though nothing about this morning felt usual.

I hadn't slept. How could I?

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her face. The way she looked so small, so broken. The tears she tried to hide. The trembling in her hands as we worked. The memory of those words made me stumble, my running shoes skidding on wet leaves, made my chest tight with something painful.

I picked up my pace, as if I could somehow outrun the guilt of my own thoughts. Because every time I saw her like this, a treacherous part of me whispered, I would never make you cry. I would never give you reason to doubt yourself. I would cherish every brilliant, imperfect moment.

Damn it.

I'm a terrible friend. To both of them.

The park was almost empty at this hour — just a few other early risers and their dogs. A jogger passed, giving me a brief nod. It was my routine, something that usually helped clear my head, but not today. Not when I couldn't stop thinking about how she looked last night, working herself to escape whatever he'd done this time.

What kind of man watches the woman he loves hurt like this and does nothing? Someone so passionate, so full of life, slowly dimming because he can't get his shit together—

Stop it. Stop thinking about her like that.

I stopped abruptly, hands on my knees, breathing hard. A cloud of vapor formed with each exhale, disappearing into the cold morning air. My t-shirt was soaked with sweat despite the chill.

This isn't my business. I've told myself this a hundred times. Their relationship, their problems — none of it concerns me. I'm just her professor. Her research partner. Just his friend. But friends don't let friends destroy the people they claim to love.

And I can't keep pretending I don't see what's happening. Can't keep watching her slowly break apart while he—

Before I knew what I was doing, I was heading back to my car. To hell with my day off. To hell with staying out of it. I've watched this play out for too long, kept my mouth shut for too long. Sorry, Satoru. But we need to talk.

I stormed through the university hallways, my footsteps thundering off the walls, still in my damp training clothes that clung uncomfortably to my skin. The lab door was ahead, and through the window I could see him.

Satoru was sitting in his chair, staring blankly at the whiteboard where incoherent scribbles were scattered, just like yesterday.

In two strides, I crossed the room and grabbed the back of his chair, spinning it around to face me. He looked awful — pale, unshaven, his hair a mess. The sharp scent of coffee couldn't mask something else on his breath. His eyes were bloodshot. I didn't care.

"What the hell did you say to her?" I snapped.

Satoru didn't even seem surprised by my presence. "Wow, that's a pretty broad question, don't you think?"

"Cut the bullshit, Satoru. You know exactly what I'm talking about."

He glanced up then, one eyebrow arched, that infuriatingly casual look I'd seen a thousand times before. "Damn, Suguru. Who pissed in your cornflakes this morning?"

Something snapped inside me. Before I could think better of it, I was there, hands gripping the arms of his chair, caging him in. Close enough to see the muscle working in his jaw. "I'm gonna ask you this one time and one time only. What happened between you two?"

"Wow, you're really close." He glanced pointedly at the narrow space between us, but I caught the way his fingers tightened on the armrest. "We had a disagreement, that's all," he added, his tone dismissive.

"A disagreement?" The laugh that escaped me was harsh. I pushed away from his chair, turning so I wouldn't have to look at him. My hand scraped roughly across my face, trying my best not to take a hit on him. "She was in tears, Satoru. She could barely get the words out."

He didn't answer. Just straightened up, brushed imaginary dirt from his lab coat. Then he was on his feet, moving past me to the whiteboard as if I wasn't even there. As if we weren't having this conversation.

He picked up a marker, adding to the chaos of scribbles already there — equations that went nowhere, diagrams that made no sense.

"God, would you just—" I ran a hand through my hair in frustration. "You can't just ignore this, Satoru."

His knuckles went white around the marker. For a second, I thought he might actually turn around and hit me.

"How long are you gonna keep doing this to her?" I pressed. "Until she breaks completely?"

"You think I'm not aware of that," he muttered, still facing the board.

"Then fucking stop. If you can't treat her right, just let her go."

That got him. He spun around, eyes hard. "Oh, you'd love that, wouldn't you?"

I blinked, taken aback. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Satoru laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Come on, Suguru. Don't act like you haven't been waiting for this. Waiting for your chance."

"That's not—" The words stuck in my throat. "This isn't about me."

"No?" He took a step closer. "Then what is it about? Why do you care so much?"

"Because she deserves better than this. And you know it."

"Better? You mean like you?" His lips curled into something cruel. "Too bad she's not yours to care about, huh? Even though you think you'd be so much better for her than me." He tilted his head, eyes cold. "Funny, isn't it? She doesn't want you, even knowing how bad I am for her. What does that say about you?"

The words hit like a physical blow, each word a serrated edge twisting in my gut. It took everything in me not to grab him by the throat. "You're being a dick."

"And you're being a lying piece of shit. When were you gonna tell me?" His voice dropped dangerously low. "About how you feel about her?"

"This isn't about me," I repeated through gritted teeth. "This is about what you're doing to her."

"You don't know anything about us."

I stepped closer, close enough to see the shadows under his eyes. "What happens when she finds out the truth, huh? When you're passed out in some hospital bed? That how you want her to learn about it?"

Something flickered in his eyes — pain, maybe guilt — but it was gone in an instant.

"Stay out of it," he said, his voice cold. "Just... stay out of it."

He turned back to the board. I watched him, this man I'd known my whole life, suddenly feeling like a stranger.

"What happened to you?" I asked quietly.

He didn't turn around. "Yeah," he said, his voice heavy. "Guess we'd all like to know, wouldn't we?"

I watched him scribble new, illogical equations on the whiteboard, this stranger wearing my best friend's face, and for a moment I saw echoes of who we used to be.

Late nights in the university library, surrounded by towers of medical textbooks. Satoru falling asleep on his notes, drooling on diagrams of the nervous system while I threw paper balls at his head to wake him up. The way we'd quiz each other until sunrise, high on caffeine and the shared dream of becoming surgeons.

Our residency years, which were nothing but brutal and endless. Sleeping in on-call rooms, stealing each other's coffee, covering for each other when we were dead on our feet. Learning to navigate the maze of hospital politics together. 

The rush of our first successful surgeries, the crushing weight of our first losses.

Even when things got bad, when the pressure started getting to him, when the pills became more than just a way to stay focused during exam season, he never shut me out completely. He'd show up at my door at 3 AM, shaking and sweating, and I'd let him in without a word. We'd sit in silence until the sun came up, until he could breathe again.

I was there through all of it. The interventions, the relapses, the promises to get clean. The nights when he'd call me, voice slurred, talking about how he didn't know how to go on. I'd talk him down, drive across town to pick him up from whatever hole he'd crawled into. 

We were brothers in everything but blood.

But now—

Now he stood there, shoulders rigid, adding meaningless equations to an already chaotic board. The gap between us felt wider than the few feet of lab floor. When did that happen? When did we stop being able to tell each other everything?

Was it when she came into our lives? When he fell in love with her? When I—

No. It was before that. The distance had been growing for a while, so gradually I hardly noticed. Like watching someone drift away on an outgoing tide, too slow to notice until they're already too far to reach.

The marker squeaked against the whiteboard. The sound grated on my nerves, like everything about him did these days. His secrets, his dismissive attitude, the way he kept everyone at arm's length while slowly self-destructing.

"Do you remember," I found myself saying, "that night in our second year of residency? When that kid crashed on my table?"

His hand stilled on the board.

"I was a mess afterward. Convinced I'd missed something, that it was my fault. You came to my place and we sat on the floor until morning, going over every detail of the surgery until I finally believed that I couldn't have saved him."

He didn't turn around, but I saw his shoulders tense.

"What happened to us, Satoru?"

The marker dropped from his hand, clattering against the metal tray. The sound echoed in the quiet lab.

"I don't know" he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper, "I'm tired of it all."

We stood there, two people who had once finished each other's sentences, now unable to find the right words. Silence stretched, thick and suffocating, filled with twenty years of shared history that suddenly felt meaningless.

I wanted to grab him, shake him, make him see what he was doing to himself. To her. To us. But I stayed where I was, the distance between us feeling more insuperable by the second. 

This strange, hollow feeling in my chest — was this what growing apart felt like? This gradual realization that the person standing before me, had become someone I didn't recognize?

But the details were still there—the slight crook in his nose from that basketball accident in high school with him, laughing it off even as blood dripped onto his jersey—the white line across his knuckles from that fight behind the gym, my own fists aching as I pulled him away—the small scar above his eyebrow from when we tried to climb that tree in sixth grade, both of us sworn to secrecy, telling our parents we fell off our bikes. 

Every mark told a story I could recite in my sleep, yet somehow, they all added up to someone I didn't know anymore. Like looking at a familiar photograph that had been subtly altered — all the pieces were there, but the picture was wrong.

My best friend, my brother, the person who knew me better than anyone — when did he become such a stranger? When did our comfortable silences turn into this suffocating void? 

The thought sat like lead in my stomach, bitter and cold, as I realized that sometimes knowing every scar on someone's skin doesn't mean you know what's beneath it anymore.

─────── ౨ৎ ───────

(note: s&c and r&r reader)

Days blurred together in a haze of surgeries and lectures. 

I went through the motions, my hands steady as ever in the operating room, my voice clear during presentations. To anyone watching, I was the picture of professional composure. But inside? I don't know.

I thought I was doing a decent job of holding it together until one of my students approached me after a practically grueling morning lecture. The young man clutched a stack of papers, a sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead.

"Dr. Geto, about my thesis proposal—"

I cut him off with a wave of my hand, not even looking up from gathering my materials. "Email me to request thesis mentorship. I'll review your proposal and get back to you."

"Oh... you're, ehm, already my thesis advisor. We had an appointment scheduled for today."

I froze, finally looking at the student—really looking at him. Recognition dawned slowly, followed by a wave of shame. Takada Jun, one of my most promising students. We'd met twice a month since the semester began. Damn it.

"You're right," I said. "Sorry, can we reschedule?"

I was better than this. More professional than this. But lately, everything felt like it was slipping through my fingers.

The research lab was closed for the week—a "cooling off period," Yaga had called it. I knew what it really meant. We were all too volatile, too raw from recent events to work together effectively. So I went home early, something I never did.

My apartment felt emptier than usual, the silence pressing in from all sides. I tried reading, but the words swam before my eyes. I attempted to eat, but everything tasted like ash. Even my usual evening cigarette was bitter and harsh in my lungs.

My thoughts kept drifting to Satoru, wondering what he was doing, not if he was using, only what cocktail of pills he'd chosen this time. The math was easy enough—one to stay awake, two to fall asleep, three to numb the edges, repeat as needed. I'd seen it too many times before.

I crushed out my cigarette, watching the ember die. I reached for another only to find an empty pack. Figured. I should go buy more, knew I'd need them if I let myself think about her, about them. But I didn't want to leave the apartment, couldn't put on real clothes.

My only glimpse of light was the art exhibition on Saturday. The thought of it made something in my chest loosen, just slightly. I pulled out my phone, staring at our last exchange of messages before typing out a new one.

[6:45 PM] Me: Should I pick you up for the exhibition?

Her response came quickly.

[6:47 PM] Attorney: Let's meet there. I might be running late from a study group.

[6:47 PM] Me: Sounds good.

I hesitated, then added.

[6:48 PM] Me: Looking forward to it.

[6:49 PM] Attorney: Me too :)

A small smile tugged at my lips. For a brief, ridiculous moment, I wondered if I should bring flowers. The thought made me pause, my hand reaching automatically for my cigarettes before remembering the empty pack. What the hell was I doing?

This was wrong on so many levels.  She was my patient. Well, technically Satoru's patient. And young—god, she was so young. And I was... what? A mess of a man carrying a torch for someone I could never have, trying to fill that void with someone else? I was not sure.

My mind kept drifting back to that night at the bar. The way she felt pressed against me in that dimly lit bathroom, her skin warm under my touch. The soft sounds she made when I slipped my fingers inside her—God, I shouldn't be thinking about this.

This was getting pathetic. Still. Saturday couldn't come fast enough.

─────── ౨ৎ ───────

(note: r&r reader)

I was late. Damn it, I was so late.

The emergency surgery had gone longer than expected—a complex arteriovenous malformation that refused to behave. By the time I closed, my hands were cramping and my neck was stiff from hours of hunching over the microscope. But the patient would live, and that's what mattered.

Still, as I rushed through the hospital parking lot, yanking off my scrub cap and shoving it in my pocket, I couldn't help but check my watch again. Two hours late. Shit. I'd texted her updates throughout, but still. Two hours.

The art exhibition was being held in some converted warehouse space downtown. Even from outside, I could see the warm light spilling onto the street through the large windows, hear the soft sound of voices and clinking glasses. I paused at the entrance, trying to catch my breath and compose myself.

That's when I spotted it—a small splash of red on my shirt sleeve, barely visible but unmistakably blood. Perfect. Because showing up late wasn't bad enough, I had to show up looking like I'd just walked off a crime scene.

I quickly shrugged my jacket back on, tugging the sleeves down to cover the stain. It would have to do.

She was standing alone near a large abstract painting, wine glass in hand, studying the canvas. Even in a room full of people, she seemed somehow apart from it all. The sight of her there all by herself felt like fingers wrapping around my heart.

"I am so, so sorry," I said as I approached, placing my hand on her lower back.

She turned, and the smile that lit up her face made my stomach flip. How could she look at me like that when I'd kept her waiting for two hours?

"Hey, you made it!" She didn't sound angry at all. If anything, she seemed genuinely happy to see me. It only made the guilt weigh heavier in my chest.

"I'm really sorry," I repeated, because apparently that's all I could say. "The surgery took longer than expected. There were complications and—"

"Did you save them?"

I blinked, caught off guard by the directness of her question. "Yes."

"Then stop apologizing." She took a sip of her wine, her eyes twinkling. "Besides, fashionably late is totally in right now."

"Two hours isn't fashionably late, it's just rude."

"It's your job," she said simply. "Saving lives tends to take priority over art exhibitions."

I watched her for a second longer, unsure how to react. "Have you been here alone this whole time?"

"Yeah, but it's fine," she said, waving off my concern. "I've actually had time to explore everything properly. Plus, the wine is decent."

Guilt twisted in my stomach. I pictured her wandering these halls alone, checking her phone for my updates, making awkward small talk with strangers. For two hours.

"I really am—"

"If you apologize one more time, I swear I’ll spill this wine on your jacket. And you know me—I don’t need much of an excuse to be clumsy." Before I could respond, her eyes narrowed, focusing on something near my collar. "Is that?"

I followed her gaze to where my jacket had shifted, revealing the telltale red stain. Damn it. I quickly tried to adjust my jacket, but she caught my arm, stopping me.

"Sorry," I muttered. "I'm a mess. I should have gone home to change first, but I didn't want to be any later than I already was."

"Hey," she said, leaning in conspiratorially, "if anyone asks, we'll just tell them it's paint. I mean, we are at an art exhibition. Who's going to look too closely?"

Despite myself, I laughed. "You'd make a terrible witness in court, you know that?"

"Good thing I'm going to be a lawyer then, not a witness." She grinned. "Come on, I want to show you my favorite pieces. And maybe we can find you a painting with enough red in it to stand near. You know, for cover."

I let her lead me through the gallery, and I found myself placing my hand on the small of her back. It was an unconscious gesture, one I immediately second-guessed, but she leaned into the touch slightly. So I let my hand stay where it was.

"You're not still feeling guilty about being late, are you?" she asked suddenly, glancing up at me.

"Maybe a little."

She rolled her eyes. "Well, stop it. Although—" She pretended to think for a moment. "You could make it up to me by buying me another glass of wine."

"Done," I said immediately. "Although maybe I shouldn't be encouraging drinking."

"Oh, now you're being a doctor again?"

"Force of habit."

She laughed, the sound warm and genuine, wrapping around me like summer rain. Dangerous, how easily I could get used to that sound. She led me further through the gallery, linking her arm through mine, chattering away about everything and nothing. 

It was fascinating how much she knew—not just about the art itself, but about the whole scene. She'd point to a painting and launch into stories about the artist's infamous feuds with gallery owners, or how someone's entire series was inspired by a bad breakup with another artist three rooms over. 

She knew every bit of gossip, every drama. Which curator was sleeping with which artist, which pieces were painted during mental breakdowns, which collections were secretly commentary on messy divorces. She made the plain white walls of the gallery come alive with her stories.

"Oh, and that guy over there?" She nodded discretely towards a man in an expensive-looking suit. "He's actually—"

I caught myself staring at her again, watching the way her eyes lit up as she spoke, the subtle changes in her expression as she moved from one story to the next. The way she'd lower her voice when sharing particularly bits of details, leaning closer to me like we were sharing secrets.

It was strange. I never knew that art was so... fun. Her excitement was contagious, and I found myself being pulled into her world without resistance.

"You're not even looking at the painting anymore," she accused, catching me staring at her instead of the canvas she was discussing.

"Sorry," I said, trying to focus on the painting she'd been discussing. "You were saying something about the use of negative space?"

She launched back into her explanation, describing techniques and influences I barely understood. But there was something captivating about her, the way she could find something fascinating in every piece, even the ones she claimed to hate.

I couldn't help myself. I had to ask.

"Why law?"

She blinked, caught off guard by the sudden change in topic. "What?"

"You're clearly passionate about art. You know all these techniques, all this history. Why aren't you studying art instead of law?"

Her smile faltered slightly. "We've had this conversation before, remember? Stability, good career, making my parents proud—"

"But that's what your parents want. What do you want?"

She was quiet for a moment, her fingers playing with the stem of her wine glass. When she finally spoke, her voice was soft, almost resigned. "It's not that simple."

"It could be."

She looked up at me then, something flashing in her eyes that might have been anger. "Says the successful neurosurgeon who followed his passion."

"That's different—"

"Is it?" She took a sip of wine and pulled her arm away from mine, the loss of contact unexpectedly cruel. "You chose medicine because you loved it, right? Because you couldn't imagine doing anything else?"

I thought about Satoru, about following his lead into neurosurgery, about all the complicated reasons behind my choices. "It's... not that simple either."

"Exactly." She gave me a knowing look. "Life rarely is."

We stood there in silence for a moment, both lost in thought. Around us, the gallery filled with the white noise of clinking glasses and polite laughter.

"I'm sorry," I began. "I shouldn't have said that."

She shook her head, loose strands of hair catching the light. "No, it's... you're not wrong to ask. It's just complicated." She paused, staring into her wine glass. My parents worked so hard to put me through school. Dad worked double shifts at the factory, Mom cleaned houses on weekends. They saved every penny they could."

"They were so proud when I got into law school," she continued, her voice softer now. "You should have seen their faces. Dad actually cried—I'd never seen him cry before. They threw this little party in our apartment, invited all the neighbors. Mom made this huge spread of food even though I know they couldn't really afford it."

She smiled at the memory, but there was something bittersweet in it. "They see law school as this—this ticket to a better life, you know? This chance for their daughter to have everything they couldn't give themselves. How could I tell them I'd rather spend my days covered in paint?"

"They sound like good parents."

"The best," she agreed. "That's why it's so hard. Every time I think about changing paths, I remember how much they've sacrificed. The hours they worked, the things they went without. Dad's still picking up extra shifts to help with my expenses, even though I tell him not to."

She turned to look at a nearby painting, but I could tell she wasn't really seeing it. "Sometimes I calculate how much they've invested in my education, down to the last yen. It feels like a responsibility, you know." A pause. "So I'm—acting. Playing dress-up in these fancy suits, pretending to care about corporate law and international trade agreements. But it's okay."

Her story settled like lead in my stomach. Here I was, someone who'd never had to watch his parents sacrifice anything, presuming to give advice about following dreams. And suddenly, I felt almost ashamed of my own privilege. 

I grew up never wanting for anything. My parents had well-paying jobs and valued education above all else. Private tutors, college prep courses, academic summer programs—they spared no expense in paving my path to success.

When I decided to go into medicine, my biggest concern had been whether I was doing it for myself or just following Satoru's lead. Not whether I could afford it. Not whether it would drain my family's savings.

I'd never had to work during university. Never had to count pennies for textbooks. Never had to weigh the cost of pursuing my dreams against my family's needs. The academic world had been my playground, every door already half-open. I feel so dump.

Sure, medical school had been demanding. The long hours of study, the grueling residency, the constant pressure to excel—but I'd never had to wonder if I could afford to chase my passion. Never had to choose between my dreams and my family's financial stability.

I lived in a nice apartment, drove a decent car, could afford my vices without a second thought. And here she was, brilliant and passionate, having to bury her dreams because she couldn't bear to waste her parents' years of hard work.

Looking at her now, in this gallery surrounded by art she understood so deeply, I could see the weight of those unrealized dreams in the way she held herself. In how her eyes lingered on each painting a bit too long, like she was trying to capture a piece of what could have been.

"I hope you get to paint someday," I said finally, the words feeling inadequate. "The way you want to. Not just alone in your apartment, but really paint. Show your work. Be the artist you clearly are inside."

She looked up at me, surprise flickering across her face. Then her gaze dropped to her wine glass, her fingers tightening around the stem. A strand of hair fell forward, and she pushed it back with unsure fingers.

"I mean it," I continued, resisting the urge to brush that stubborn strand of hair back myself. "Besides, who says you can't have both? Practice law until you're stable enough to pursue art. Or find a way to combine them—art law is a thing, isn't it?"

"You're awfully supportive, for someone who barely knows me," she said quietly, the words half-muffled by her wine glass.

"Is that such a bad thing?"

She shook her head, blinking rapidly. "No, I just... I'm not used to people understanding. Everyone else just talks about being practical, about growing up and facing reality. Like art is somehow childish."

The last words came out bitter, and without thinking, I reached out to touch her chin, tilting her face up to meet my gaze. Her skin was warm under my fingers, and I could feel her pulse flutter at the contact.

"Art isn't childish," I said firmly. "Neither is wanting to pursue something that you're passionate about. That's actually pretty brave."

Something shifted in her expression then, a softness I hadn't seen before. We stood there for a moment, her eyes locked with mine. That's when I finally realized I was still cupping her chin, my thumb absently brushing against her skin. I quickly dropped my hand.

"I really want to see them." The words slipped out before I could stop them. "Your paintings, I mean." 

It felt too intimate, too presumptuous. Like I was asking to see more than just her art, but something deeper, more personal. But she just smiled, a real smile this time, reaching up to tuck that persistent strand of hair behind her ear.

"Okay," she said. "If you promise not to judge too harshly."

"I already know they're great," I said softly, surprising myself with how much I meant it. "I don't know much about art, but I know they're great because you painted them." Then my phone buzzed in my pocket. My heart nearly stopped when I saw the caller ID.

I took an instinctive step back from her. "I'm sorry, I need to take this," I said, already bringing the phone to my ear. "Hello?"

There was silence on the other end, just soft breathing that I knew too well. Then, "Suguru?"

Something in her voice made my chest tighten. She sounded—lost. Different from her usual self. Gone was that fierce confidence, that spark that made her so much like Satoru. Instead, she sounded small, fragile.

"Hey," I said softly. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, I just—" A pause. "I don't even know why I'm calling."

Someone laughed loudly behind me. She must have heard it through the phone because she hesitated. "Sorry, are you out somewheret? I don't want to—"

"No, no," I said quickly, probably too quickly. "It's fine. Really. Talk to me. What's going on?"

I was painfully aware of the her standing nearby, pretending to study a painting while obviously trying not to listen. I caught her eye briefly, gesturing that I needed a moment. She nodded, with an understanding in her eyes that somehow made it worse.

I quickly made my way to the entrance where the coats hung, seeking somewhere quieter. She was quiet for so long I thought she might have hung up. Then, in a small voice that didn't sound like her at all, "Is he okay?"

I didn't need to ask who she meant.

"He's okay," I said, even though I wasn't really convincing either of us. "You know Satoru. He's managing."

A soft laugh, maybe a sob. "That could mean anything with him."

"No, really. He's okay," I lied. "I'm keeping an eye on him."

A pause then, "I'm being stupid, aren't I?"

"No," I said. "You're not being stupid. You're in love." The words hurt to say, but they were true. "That's never stupid."

Another shaky breath. "I shouldn't have called. You're out, and I'm here just—"

"Hey, do you need me?" I cut in. "I can bring you something. Coffee? Food? Those terrible convenience store onigiri you pretend not to like?"

That got a real laugh, albeit a watery one. "No, I'm... I'm actually at Maki's. She dragged me out. Said I needed to stop rotting in my apartment."

"Good. That's... that's good." I ran a hand through my hair, not quite believing her. I knew her too well by now, knew she was probably curled up alone in her apartment, just as I knew she knew I was lying about Satoru being okay. Strange, how we'd both gotten so comfortable with these little deceptions. "But the offer stands. Anytime."

"Thank you, Suguru." Her voice was softer now.

"Yeah," was all I could manage. I closed my eyes, pressing the phone harder against my ear as if I could somehow keep her there longer.  Each second of silence felt like another chance to say something, anything, to make this right. But what could I say? That I was sorry? That I missed her? That I thought about her every damn day?

"I should let you get back," she said. "To wherever you are. Sorry for—"

"Don't apologize. Not to me. Never to me."

I took a deep breath, briefly pulling the phone away from my ear because I couldn't trust my voice not to say what I desperately wanted to. Don't go. Stay on the line. Let me fix this. But I had no right to ask that of her. Not anymore. Maybe never did.

After we hung up, I stood there in the gallery's entrance, frozen. Around me, couples laughed and gathered their coats, heading out into the night. The door kept opening and closing, letting in bursts of cold air inside, reminding me I needed to move, needed to go back.

When I finally made my way back to her, she was studying the same stormy seascape from earlier. She didn't turn around immediately, giving me a moment to compose myself. Maybe it was some sort of kindness on her part.

She didn't ask about the call. Didn't question my sudden disappearance or the tension I knew was in every fiber of my being. Instead, she just glanced at me with a small smile that somehow made everything both better and worse, and said, "I think we've seen everything. Should we head out?"

The relief nearly knocked me sideways. "You sure? There's still the upper floor—"

"Please," she said. "I've been here for hours. I could probably give tours at this point."

I watched her gather her things, struck by how carefully she was moving around the weight of what had just happened. Like she understood something about me that I hadn't expected her to grasp. 

"You're awfully understanding, you know that?"

She looked up at me. "Something we have in common, it seems."

We walked to the exit in silence. I helped her into her coat, her fingers brushing mine as she adjusted her collar. Outside, the night air was sharp with the bite of early autumn. She pulled her coat tighter around herself.

"I can call you a taxi," I offered.

"Actually," she said, "I think I'll walk." She looked up at the sky, where a few stubborn stars managed to shine through Tokyo's light pollution. "It's not far, and it's a nice night."

"Not a chance," I said, already pulling out my phone. "It's late."

"I'm a big girl, you know. I can handle myself."

"I'm sure you can," I replied, already dialing the taxi company. "But humor your doctor, will you?"

She rolled her eyes but didn't protest further. While we waited for the taxi, she stood close enough that I could smell her perfume, something light and floral, while I tried to ignore the guilt for leaving the exhibition early, guilt for being late, guilt for enjoying myself despite everything else.

"Thank you," I said suddenly. "For tonight."

"No problem, doc," she said with a warm smile. "Next time, maybe we can finish looking at the art."

"Next time," I echoed, like a promise I wasn't sure I should be making. The taxi pulled up, its yellow light cutting through the darkness. I opened the door for her. 

She turned before getting in, looking back over her shoulder. "Oh, and Suguru?" The use of my first name sent an unexpected shiver down my spine. "Don't overthink everything tonight, okay?"

I watched the taxi disappear into the flow of traffic, its red taillights blending with all the other lights of the city. Only then did I pull out my cigarettes, lighting one with slightly shaking hands. The night felt colder without her presence.

I took a long drag, watching the smoke disappear into the night air, then started walking in the opposite direction, no real destination in mind, just a vague hope that if I walked long enough, the conflicting feelings churning inside me might fade away. 

The city lights blurred around me, and somewhere in the distance, I could hear the last trains of the night rumbling through their stations.

Next time, she'd said. 

God help me, but I was already looking forward to it.

<- prev chapter | next chapter ->

author's note — hello again! i hope you enjoyed this chapter from suguru's pov. i'm sorry for the lack of updates lately, university life and low motivation can be a real challenge. but i'd love to hear your thoughts, so feel free to leave a comment or send in a message. i love to read them <3

& i hope his pov didn’t break your heart too much, especially with his and satoru’s spiraling friendship. also, this chapter ties back to ch 14 of symptoms and causes, for those who are following along.

pls consider subscribing to the story on ao3 or turning on notifications for my blog for furute updates (i've given up on taglists, to be honest).

and as always, thanks for reading, and i wish you all the best, whether you're reading this in the middle of the day or late at night :))

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

[jburrgf]

Bags.

Can you see me? I'm waiting for the right time. I can't read you, but if you want, the pleasure's all mine. Can you see me using everything to hold back? I guess this could be worse, walking out the door with your bags.

pairing: joe burrow high school! x book nerdy y/n reader.

summary: high school sweethearts, book nerdy girl, shy-misterious jock, player x nerd girl.

description: joe starts going on s/n book club, and one day they got stuck together at the classroom by mistake.

It was a truth universally acknowledged in my high school that Joe Burrow, the star quarterback, was unattainable. Joe Burrow is basically a myth. He’s everywhere and nowhere at the same time—on the football field, leading our team to state championships, and in my honors classes, where he sits quietly, blending into the background. He’s the quarterback, but he's not what people expect. He’s shy, nerdy, and mysterious.

I’ve always been invisible to Joe Burrow.

I mean, not exactly invisible—we’ve gone to the same school since we were in kindergarten, sat in the same classrooms, shared the same air—but for someone like him, I might as well have been a ghost. I always thought he had no idea who I was, just another face in the sea of people who adored him.

Still, I was ridiculously in love with him.

I had been hopelessly, head-over-heels, and completely smitten with Joe Burrow since the seventh grade. It wasn’t just that he was good-looking, or that he was the star quarterback—although those things certainly didn’t hurt. No, what had drawn me to Joe was how kind he seemed to be to everyone, how he went out of his way to help people even when he didn’t have to. There was something about the way he carried himself, a quiet humility that made him different from the other guys on the football team.

Still, none of that mattered because, as far as I was concerned, I was just another face in the crowd.

So, when I saw Joe walk into the same after-school book club that I attended every Tuesday, I was shocked. The school's book club is a quiet, nerdy escape for me after hours, and apparently for him too. At first, I thought he had wandered into the wrong room, but then I saw him sit down and pull out a copy of Great Gatsby. The fact that the quarterback was not only in the same room as me but also reading the same book threw me completely off-guard. For weeks, I couldn’t focus on anything but how to avoid making eye contact with him while somehow hoping he’d notice me.

But he didn’t.

Or at least, that’s what I told myself every single time I snuck a glance at him. He was quiet, focused, and didn’t engage much during discussions, unlike me. I always had my hand up, always contributing to the conversation, but never to him directly.

It was a Tuesday afternoon, and the faint scent of old paper filled the school library. I sat in my usual spot, the far corner of the room where the sunlight barely touched. My hands played absently with the spine of the novel in my lap, but my mind was elsewhere. Specifically, it was on Joe Burrow.

He was late to the book club meeting again, not that it surprised me. I was used to him sliding in just as Mrs. Fowler began her rambling analysis of whatever novel we were discussing. His late arrivals had almost become routine. He’d offer a sheepish grin, mutter a quick apology, and take his seat across the table from me. Every time, my heart did that ridiculous thing—skipping a beat or two—like I wasn’t used to seeing him in the same room after months of this.

He was a mystery I couldn’t quite solve. In class, he was quiet, smart, but always reserved. In the hallways, he blended in despite the attention the football team got. And here, in book club, of all places, he sat a few feet away, focused, intense, and always... distant. It drove me crazy, even though I had no right to expect anything from him.

I sighed, glancing at the clock. Mrs. Fowler was wrapping up her talk about the The Great Gatsby, and I hadn’t heard a single word. The meeting was almost over, and there was still no sign of Joe. Maybe today he wasn’t coming at all. Maybe—

The door creaked open, and there he was, slipping inside the room as quietly as possible, his eyes scanning the room. As expected, his gaze landed on the empty seat across from me, and my pulse quickened. He muttered his usual apology, and Mrs. Fowler barely acknowledged him. I kept my eyes down, pretending to be engrossed in the pages of my book, but my mind was far from calm. I could feel his presence like a warm weight across from me.

The minutes ticked by, and the meeting ended, the rest of the club members gathering their things to leave. I lingered, as usual, taking my time. Joe remained seated too, flipping through his copy of Gatsby, even though he’d barely participated today. I stole a glance at him, hoping he wouldn’t catch me. But as fate would have it, our eyes met.

My heart jumped into my throat, and I quickly looked away, my face heating up. Get a grip, Y/N, I scolded myself. He’s just a guy. A guy who probably doesn’t even—

“Hey, Y/N,” Joe’s voice broke through my thoughts, soft and hesitant.

I blinked, turning back to him, my heart now hammering in my chest. “Oh, hey,” I managed to say, surprised he’d even spoken to me.

He gave me a small, nervous smile, like he wasn’t sure if he should have said something or not. “Did you like the book?”

I blinked again. “The book?” I repeated, feeling like an idiot. “Oh, yeah. I mean, it’s a classic, right?” Great response, I thought sarcastically.

Joe nodded, and for a second, it seemed like he might say something more, but then he fell silent, his attention shifting to the clock on the wall. “I guess we better—”

Suddenly, the lights flickered, and the sound of a door clicking shut made both of us freeze. I glanced toward the entrance of the library, my stomach dropping as the realization hit. “No way…”

Joe got up, striding over to the door and trying the handle. It didn’t budge. He pushed it again, harder this time, but nothing happened. “I think… we’re locked in,” he said, turning back to me with a bewildered look.

For a moment, I just stared at him, processing the situation. Locked in? With Joe Burrow?

I stood up, clutching my book to my chest as I walked over to the door, peering through the glass. The hallway was dark, deserted. “The janitor must have locked up,” I muttered, feeling a strange mixture of panic and disbelief. “They didn’t notice we were still in here.”

Joe let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “Well, this is… unexpected.”

I glanced up at him, the reality of the situation sinking in. We were stuck. Together. For who knows how long.

“Yeah,” I breathed, my heart racing. “Unexpected.”

We sat in silence for a while, both of us too awkward to speak. Joe leaned back against the wall, his long legs stretched out in front of him, while I perched on the edge of a desk, nervously flipping through the pages of my book. The quiet between us was almost suffocating, and I could feel my pulse in my ears.

“Do you think they’ll notice we’re gone soon?” I asked after what felt like forever.

Joe shrugged, his eyes flicking to the window. “Maybe. But I think most people have already gone home.”

I swallowed, trying not to let the panic rise. “Great. Just… great.”

Joe chuckled again, and I glanced at him, surprised by the sound. It was soft, genuine, and I realized then how rare it was to hear him laugh. His eyes caught mine, and for a moment, the tension between us eased.

“You don’t seem like the type to panic easily,” he said, a teasing note in his voice.

I raised an eyebrow. “You don’t know me very well, then.”

The silence stretched out between us, heavy with unspoken thoughts. I could feel the warmth of Joe’s presence even though we weren’t sitting close. My mind raced, but my words seemed stuck somewhere in my throat, tangled up with nerves. I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye, watching as he fidgeted with the cover of his book, his fingers tracing the edges like he wasn’t sure what to do with them.

“Um,” I started, then immediately regretted it. The sound of my own voice startled me, and I felt my cheeks heat up. “What… what about you?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. “Why did you join the club?”

Joe shifted a little, glancing at me briefly before his gaze darted back to the floor. He shrugged, his shoulders rising in that quiet, unsure way that made him seem far less like the confident quarterback everyone assumed he was.

“I guess… I just like books,” he muttered, his voice soft. “It’s easier than… you know, everything else.”

I nodded, understanding what he meant. “Yeah. It’s kind of nice to disappear into a story sometimes. I get the feeling. Nobody know me."

Joe gave a small nod, still not quite meeting my eyes. There was a vulnerability in the way he held himself that surprised me. Here was Joe Burrow—the guy everyone talked about, the quarterback who led our school’s football team to victory—and yet, in this quiet room, he seemed almost… unsure. Just like me.

The room felt smaller suddenly, like the space between us wasn’t as wide as it had been moments ago. I opened my mouth to say something—anything—but the words caught in my throat, tangled up with my nerves. I wasn’t used to talking to Joe, and now that we were alone, I found myself hyper-aware of every small movement he made, every glance he sent in my direction.

After what felt like an eternity, Joe cleared his throat, the sound quiet but startling in the stillness. “I’ve… always noticed you,” he said suddenly, his voice barely audible.

My heart stopped. I blinked, unsure if I’d heard him correctly. “What?” The word slipped out before I could stop it.

Joe’s face flushed a deep red, and he rubbed the back of his neck nervously, his eyes fixed firmly on the floor. “I—I mean, not in a weird way,” he stammered, his words rushed and awkward. “Just… you’re always there, you know? In class. In book club. And, uh, you’re really smart. I just… noticed.”

I stared at him, completely at a loss for words. Joe Burrow— Joe Burrow —had noticed me? My heart raced, and I could feel the heat rising to my cheeks. I opened my mouth to say something, but nothing came out. I was too stunned, too flustered.

Joe shifted uncomfortably, clearly regretting his confession. “Sorry, that was weird. I didn’t mean to—”

“No!” I blurted out, louder than I intended. I winced at the sound of my own voice, feeling my face grow even hotter. “I mean, it’s not weird. I just… I didn’t know.”

Joe’s eyes flicked up to meet mine, and for a moment, we just stared at each other. There was something raw and uncertain in his gaze, something that made my stomach flip in a way I didn’t fully understand. He looked just as nervous as I felt, and somehow, that made it easier to breathe.

“I didn’t think you’d ever notice me,” I admitted quietly, my voice shaky but honest.

Joe’s eyes widened, and he shook his head quickly. “No, that’s… I mean, how could I not? You’re…” He trailed off, clearly struggling to find the right words. “You’re kind of amazing.”

My heart stopped again. Amazing? Me?

I didn’t know what to say. I wasn’t used to compliments—especially not from Joe Burrow. I could barely manage to look at him without feeling like my heart was going to beat out of my chest. So instead of speaking, I just offered a small, shy smile, hoping it was enough to show him I appreciated what he said.

The silence between us stretched on, but it wasn’t uncomfortable anymore. It felt like we’d crossed some invisible line, like something had shifted between us. Neither of us knew what to do with that shift, but neither of us seemed to want to break it, either.

After what felt like forever, Joe glanced toward the door, then back at me. “Do you think… we’ll be stuck here for a while?”

I shrugged, feeling a strange sense of calm wash over me despite the situation. “Maybe. I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”

Joe nodded, but instead of looking anxious like he had before, he just leaned back against the wall, his posture relaxing a little. I could feel the tension in my own shoulders easing too, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I didn’t mind the idea of being stuck in this room. Not with Joe.

“I’ve always thought you were too smart for me,” he confessed, avoiding eye contact as he ran his hand through his hair. “I didn’t know how to talk to you. And then, everyone expects me to be this... athlete. Like that’s all I’m good for.”

I was speechless for a second. How could someone like Joe, someone so confident on the field, be so unsure of himself off it? That quiet moment between us, surrounded by old paperbacks and classroom desks, felt like something out of a story I’d read before. And suddenly, all the reasons I’d convinced myself he wouldn’t ever notice me melted away.

“You don’t seem like the typical quarterback,” I said before I could stop myself.

Joe raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at his lips. “What does that mean?”

I blushed, realizing how that sounded. “I just mean… you’re here. In book club. That’s not exactly where you’d expect the star athlete to be.”

He laughed, the sound soft and self-deprecating. “Yeah, I guess not. But I’ve always liked reading. It’s just… different from what everyone expects.”

I nodded, understanding what he meant. We sat in companionable silence after that, the quiet no longer feeling so heavy.

As the minutes ticked by, the air between us softened, and the weight of our earlier awkwardness started to lift. Joe’s posture became more relaxed, and for the first time, I felt like we weren’t just two strangers stuck in the same room. We were two people who, despite everything, had more in common than I ever realized.

“So,” Joe started again, his voice low but steady, “if you like reading so much, do you have a favorite book?”

I bit my lip, considering his question. It seemed like a simple one, but the answer was anything but. There were so many stories I loved for so many different reasons. “It’s hard to pick just one,” I admitted. “But I guess, if I had to choose… maybe *Jane Eyre*.”

Joe’s eyebrows shot up, and he tilted his head slightly. “*Jane Eyre*? Really?”

I nodded, feeling a little self-conscious but also oddly proud. “Yeah. I mean, it’s more than just a romance. It’s about finding yourself and standing up for what you deserve, even when the world expects you to settle.”

Joe’s lips quirked up into a soft smile, and for a moment, I wondered if he was laughing at me. But then, he nodded thoughtfully. “I get that. It’s... about being strong, right? Even when things don’t go your way.”

“Exactly.” I smiled, surprised that he seemed to understand. “I guess I always admired Jane for that. She never let anyone make her feel small.”

Joe’s smile faded just a little, his eyes dropping to the floor again. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I think I get that more than you’d think.”

His words hung in the air between us, and I felt my chest tighten. I wanted to ask what he meant, but the look on his face told me it wasn’t something he’d share easily. He shifted, rubbing the back of his neck again—a nervous habit I was beginning to notice. When he finally spoke again, his voice was softer than before.

“People always assume things about me,” he said, his gaze still fixed on the floor. “Like, because I’m the quarterback, I have it all figured out. But… most of the time, I don’t. I feel like everyone’s watching, expecting me to be someone I’m not.”

I stared at him, feeling a sudden pang of sympathy. I had never considered what it might be like to be Joe Burrow. To have all that pressure on your shoulders, to be constantly seen but never really known. “That sounds… hard,” I said quietly.

Joe nodded, his expression still serious. “It is. But… then there are moments like this.” He glanced up at me, his eyes meeting mine, and my breath caught in my throat. “Where it feels like maybe… I don’t have to pretend.”

For a second, neither of us said anything. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, and the room suddenly felt a lot smaller. Joe’s eyes stayed locked on mine, and I could see the vulnerability there, the quiet need for something real—something he didn’t have to fake.

I swallowed hard, trying to steady my voice. “You don’t have to pretend with me,” I whispered.

Joe’s gaze softened, and the tension between us thickened, but not in the awkward way it had before. This was different. There was something unsaid in the air, something I wasn’t sure either of us was brave enough to address. But it was there, lingering in the space between us, waiting for one of us to make the next move.

Joe shifted again, pushing off the wall and taking a small step toward me. My heart pounded louder in my ears as he came closer, his eyes never leaving mine. I could feel the heat radiating off him, and suddenly, all the air seemed to disappear from the room.

“So, what book are you reading lately?” I asked.

His eyes met mine then, blue and steady. “Oh, um... just some science fiction stuff. I’m not as into the classics like you seem to be.”

I blushed. “How do you know what I read?”

Joe smiled, a little shyly, looking down at his hands. “I pay attention more than you think.” He stopped for a moment and got back talking again. “I’ve liked you for a long time. But I never thought you’d be interested in me. I mean, you’re... you. And I’m just... well, I’m just the guy who throws a football.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Joe Burrow—*the* Joe Burrow—liked me? All this time?

“I—I don’t even know what to say,” I stammered, still reeling from the shock.

He glanced up at me then, his blue eyes more vulnerable than I’d ever seen them. “You don’t have to say anything. I just... I’ve been wanting to tell you for a long time, but I was too nervous. I didn’t think I was good enough for you.”

I shook my head, feeling tears prick at the corners of my eyes. “Joe, I’ve liked you for as long as I can remember.”

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, neither of us spoke. The room felt impossibly small, like the world outside had shrunk away and all that existed was the two of us.

“I never asked you out because I thought you were too smart for me. You always know what you want and you’re so intellectual and funny, and smart, and beautiful…” Joe admitted softly, his gaze still locked on mine. “I thought you wouldn’t want anything to do with a guy like me.”

I couldn’t believe it. All this time, I had thought he was out of my league, that he didn’t even know I existed. And yet, here he was, confessing that he felt the same insecurities about me.

“I always thought you didn’t even notice me,” I whispered.

He smiled then, a small, soft smile that made my heart ache in the best way. “I noticed.”

My breath caught, and suddenly, it felt like the world had narrowed down to just the two of us. Joe took another step closer, so close now that I could feel the warmth of his body against mine. He hesitated for a moment, his eyes flicking down to my lips and then back up to my eyes.

I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. All I knew was that Joe Burrow was standing inches away from me, looking at me like he wanted to close the distance between us.

He leaned in slightly, his breath warm against my skin. My heart raced, and for a moment, I thought—this is it. I thought he was going to kiss me.

But just as the space between us seemed to disappear, the sound of keys jingling echoed from the hallway. The door creaked open, and the janitor appeared, his eyes widening in surprise when he saw us.

“Oh!” he said, startled. “Didn’t realize anyone was still in here. You two okay?”

Joe stepped back quickly, his face flushing red. I felt the heat rush to my cheeks as well, the moment shattered in an instant. “Uh, yeah,” Joe muttered, running a hand through his hair nervously. “We’re good. Just… stuck.”

The janitor chuckled, oblivious to the tension in the room as he held the door open for us. “Well, you’re free to go now.”

I glanced at Joe, my heart still racing from the almost-moment we’d shared. His eyes met mine briefly before he looked away, his face still red. Neither of us spoke as we gathered our things and made our way to the door.

But as we stepped into the hallway, Joe’s hand brushed against mine, just for a second. It was brief, but enough to send a jolt of electricity through me.

“Y/N,” Joe said softly, his voice hesitant, “about what I was going to say before…”

I looked up at him, my heart still racing. “Yeah?”

He swallowed, his eyes flicking away for a moment before returning to mine. “Would you, um… maybe want to go to the spring dance with me? If you’re not, you know, already going with someone.”

My breath caught, and for a moment, I couldn’t speak. He looked so nervous, standing there with his hands shoved in his pockets, waiting for my answer.

I smiled, feeling a warmth spread through me. “I’d love to.”

Joe's face lit up with relief, a shy smile pulling the corners of his mouth. "Great. I was so afraid of you saying no to me."

"I could never," I said, honestly.

"That's... that's perfect." He agreed with me. "So, I'll pick you up around 7:40 pm, okay?"

I agreed with my head, giving him a smile back. But instead of Joe moving away from me, he started walking towards me. Slowly, making my heart throb inside my chest. The last thing I saw was his eye just before mine, and then he kissed me.

Like a real kiss. A kiss from the movies, that kind of kiss you say to your children. His lips were soft, his mouth tasted like peppermint. His hands were lost, but he found his way to the place I liked - my waist.

The boy walked away, looking into my eyes soon after. I just couldn't believe it. He smiled, shy, his cheeks turning red at an extreme speed, showing that he was also nervous. Nervous just like me.

"So..." He started talking again, but suddenly stopped. "Sorry, I got lost. I didn't expect this to happen today. Actually, I wanted to, but not in a strange way, you know-

"Joey." I called him by his nickname and saw his eyes getting brighter. "It's okay. I got you. See you at 7:00 at my house?"

He smiled, winking at me. "I'll see you on Tuesday." He smiled again. "We can read our books together after the club.

"It looks like a plan!" It was the last thing I said to him when I turned my back on him.

We separated in the hallway, but as I walked towards the exit, I couldn't stop smiling. I had come to the book club just expecting another quiet afternoon. Instead, I left with the promise of something new—something real. Something real with Joey.

[mariclerc]

Pretty like a flower | cl16

Summary: where some social media comments open up old insecurities in you.

Warnings: fluff, sad reader, reassuring Charles, social media hate.

Dating Charles is a totally fantastic experience, on one hand you love traveling the world with him and having little memories together, or just spend a quiet day at home away from your jobs. But at the same time, there are bad things, such as the lack of privacy because there are super nosy people who are not the fans, people that think they can take pictures of you every now and then and the fans themselves like to talk too much, especially about you...

The way you met Charles was the sweetest and cutest way of all, you were working at a local flower shop and he came in to get some flowers to take to his mom to decorate her hair salon — a pretty sweet gesture in your opinion, so between some babbling and shy glances at the handsome man, you helped him get the right flowers for his mother. And so the days went by, every week he went to the flower shop to get flowers for his mother and he always asked for help from the shy girl who spent her time making beautiful flower arrangements. You had no idea who he was, partly you did know who he was since Monaco is very small, but you only knew that he was a famous race car driver and that was it.

When you started dating everything was super good, normally you don't upload many things to social media since you like to keep everything private, you only uploaded some of your flower arrangements to your Instagram and other cute little things. Fans started comparing you to their ex-girlfriends, especially Alex since they had a massive break up last year, they said that you posted the same things as her on Instagram and that you were copying her, or they even said that you were soon going to do like her and become an influencer and that you only wanted him for the fame and money he could give you. And honestly, you don't think that way, you really love Charles with all your heart, he is someone so precious and wonderful to you, and you know that he loves you with all his heart.

Right now you are in your shared apartment alone, reading comments made on a gossip page about a paparazzi photo taken of you and Charles on the beach last weekend, the comments are mixed but there is one constant: all the comments are about how your body looks... Most people say: "aww, she looks so basic, Alex looked way better than her!", "I don't know what Charles saw in her, she's nothing special." "Look at her, she has no butt or boobies, she's just a board!" And the list of comments goes on and on.

“Not this again... Why do they always have to criticize what I wear or how I look? I'm just living my life with the man I love...” you sighed and you walked through the closet, looking at some of your clothes. “My favorite clothes doesn't even fit anymore, they all feel wrong.” you looked with watery eyes at your reflection in the mirror, you're wearing a mismatched lingerie, tugging your little tummy roll and small bust. “I know I'm not a model... But does everything really have to be picked apart?” you say as you look down at your short legs and big thighs with slight hair growth, even the most normal and natural thing in the world seems totally imperfect to you.

You were so focused on your inner monologue that you didn't hear that Charles has opened the door.

“Darling, I'm home! Where are you, mon cœur?” he says calling you out (my heart)

You called back with a shaky voice. “I-I'm in the bedroom...”

He enters the room and sees you crying in your mismatched lingerie, concern washing over his face. “Oh no. What's wrong, my love? Come here, talk to me.” he gathers you gently into his arms.

You sobbed into his chest. “I'm... I'm sorry Charlie, I know I'm being silly but I just feel so insecure about myself lately. All these comments talking about my body, and comparing me with one of your ex's, saying I'm not pretty enough to be with you.” you whispered with trembling voice. “Even my own clothes don't feel right on me anymore... I guess I started wondering if you only settled for me because of my boring looks and body.” you finished, emptying all your thoughts.

Charles held you while he gently caressed your hair, he knew that those comments were going to explode in you at some point, from the beginning you were always honest with him about your insecurities about yourself, something that perhaps was not so present in you before, but now — and thanks to the comments, has resurfaced again.

“Shh, don't say that stuff princess. You are the most beautiful girl in the world to me, inside and out... Those people don't know us or how much we care for each other, all that matters is how you see yourself, and how I see you.” he wipes one of your tears.

You looked up at him. “But... What do you see in me? I'm not sexy and thin like models or I don't have a perfect tan like your ex... I have small boobs, big and hairy thighs and I have a tummy...” you were going to continue, but he subtly stops you.

“Stop that talk right now. You are beautiful and sexy to me in every way, I love every single inch of your gorgeous body - your mesmerizing eyes, your cute little button nose, your adorable smile. Your tummy? Is where I like to put my hand and stroke its softness when we're sleeping or taking a nap, your boobs are perfect for me, as is every soft curve.” he smiled shyly while blushing. “You're my ideal of beauty and I'm the luckiest man alive because your heart chose me... And I'm so in love with you and all of those little things that make you so unique.”

You sniffle a bit, starting to feel a little bit better. “Really? You truly think I'm beautiful just the way I am?” you asked softly.

“Oh, you're more than beautiful! You're a fiery, intelligent, compassionate queen and I fall deeper in love with you every day. The judgements of strangers mean nothing when I have your love... You are as precious and delicate as a flower, you know, blooming and growing under my touch.” he kisses your forehead and you blushed so much thanks to his words. “So dry those silly tears, mon amour, and let me show you how much you turn me on just by being yourself.” he kisses you tenderly. (my love)

You feel his words washing over you, because he's right, you should feel good in your own body and no matter how much you say you don't look good or whatever, he doesn't care because he loves you whether you've changed your style or not, because he's totally in love with you.

You kiss him back softly while your hands rest gently on his chest. “I love you so much Charlie! Thank you for always making me feel like the most special girl.”

He smiles. “You are very special to me, my darling. Never forget your worth, okay?”

As Charles gazed at you with heartfelt adoration, you suddenly became conscious of your state of dress and you blushed.

“I, um... I'm not exactly matching or covered right now... sorry.” you mumbled shyly, crossing your arms over your chest.

Charles gently took your hands, uncrossing them so he could place tender kisses to your knuckles. “You have nothing to be self-conscious about, mon amour. Please don't feel shy with me.” you bite your lip, still hesitant. Chuckling softly, Charles hooked a finger under your chin to lift your gaze to his. “You could be wearing a trash bag and still be the most beautiful sight to me... But, since you're so worried right now...”

Reaching behind himself, he swiftly pulled his shirt over his head in one smooth motion. You gazed at him, momentarily distracted by his perfectly sculpted bare torso.

Charles winked playfully. “There we go, now we match. Feel better?” His boyish grin made you giggle, easing some of the tension.

“Much.” you whispered softly, poking his ribs. His breathless chuckle sent flutters through your spine.

He looks at your figure with adoration. “Pink is definitely your color, but you know how do you look way better?” he asked and you shake your head. “Wearing nothing at all...” he whispered and you blushed so much at his teasing.

Slowly, your shy insecurities began melting away under his tender and caring gaze.

Charles' hands found your waist, rubbing soothing circles over the skin. “You take my breath away every time I look at you, ma chérie. So soft, feminine, sexy and all mine.” (my darling)

Leaning in, he gently nuzzled your neck, trailing light kisses that had you sighing. “Please don't ever think you're not gorgeous, because I ache to worship every single inch of you.”

His husky words and touch ignited a longing deep within you. Threading your fingers through his hair, you pressed closer, relinquishing all shyness. Your eyes met, full of smoldering desire and promise of pleasurable distraction ahead.

Your lips met in a searing kiss as strong arms lifted you, carrying you to your shared bed where all that mattered was exploring each other in a sweet and gentle intimacy. Confident in his adoration, nothing could dim your light when you're in his loving embrace.

***

A few days had passed since Charles lovingly boosted your confidence and you were starting to feel more comfortable in your own skin again as you two planned to have a relaxing Saturday at home.

That afternoon, you tidied up around the apartment while clad in just mismatched lingerie and one of Charles' oversized shirts while he was doing some errands and buying some groceries. Lost in your house tasks, you hasn't heard the front door open.

“Darling, I'm ba-” Charles started to call out before stopping short at the sight before him, you froze as well, your face flushing under his admiring gaze. His eyes slowly roamed your figure, heated with desire and appreciation for you. “Oh, mon dieu, you take my breath away, baby.” he uttered softly. (my god)

Striding over, Charles pinned you gently against the counter with his taller form and you gazed up at him shyly through your lashes. “H-Hello...” you say softly.

Charles caressed your cheek smoothly, smiling down at you with heartstopping tenderness.

“Look at you petite fleur, so radiantly beautiful in just this... I feel like the luckiest man alive.” he smiles and leans in, he began feathering kisses along your neck that had you melting. “I knew that wicked outfit served another purpose beyond laundry day.” you giggled. (little flower)

His words, coupled with how reverently his hands roamed your curves, sent desire pooling low. All traces of shyness evaporated under his loving worship.

“How do you do that?” you breathed, tangling your fingers in his hair to hold him close. “You know... Make me feel like the most special woman alive?”

Charles met your eyes intensely. “Because to me, that is what you are - my queen, my everything. And I will spend every day showing you just how much you mean to me.”

Pulling you flush against him, you two kissed deeply and slowly, savoring each sensation. In his passionate embrace, you knew no other place you belonged more than by his side, in the spotlight of his beautiful devotion.

Charles' tender words and loving gaze never failed to make you blush like a schoolgirl. You shyly ducked your head against his chest, overwhelmed by the passion and devotion in his eyes.

“You always say the nicest things.” you mumbled shyly, playing with the hem of his shirt. His affection still caught you off guard at times, even after all this time together.

Charles lifted your chin, thumbs gently brushing over your flushed cheeks. “And I mean every single little word, ma chérie.” (my darling)

He leaned down, capturing your lips in a sweet kiss that had you melting. Pulling back slightly, your foreheads remained pressed together as Charles simply gazed at you with endless tenderness.

“How is it that after all this time, you continue to take my breath away?” he breathed, caressing your cheek softly.

You just shrugged, embarrassed. “I don't know, I'm just me...”

“Exactly!” Charles smiled. “You're you - compassionate, beautiful, sweet, and so strong. I fall more in love with you every second of every day... You deserve to see yourself the way I see you.”

His honeyed words had you fighting back happy tears. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you clinged to Charles in a tight embrace, overwhelmed by the depths of his love and care.

He held you just as close, gently rubbing your back and peppering your hair with tender kisses. “I love you so much, mon coeur. Never forget how amazing and cherished you are to me.” (my heart)

Suddenly you pulled him close to you again, you kissed him languidly, pouring every ounce of gratitude and affection into the intimate gesture.

Charles responded in kind, holding you reverently against his body. Lost in each other, you two became so enraptured that the rest of the world seemed to fade away.

All too soon, oxygen became a necessity. Breathless and flushed, you rested your foreheads together, smiling softly at one another.

You whispered. “I could stay like this forever in your arms.” you sighed contentedly and Charles nuzzled your cheek sweetly.

He smiled. “Well, then let us make a life filled with these kinds of moments, mon bébé.” he declared with quiet conviction. (my baby)

Your breath caught at the promise in his tone. Gazing deep into his eyes, you saw your future stretching ahead - a future of partnership, passion and being cherished each and every day by this beautiful soul.

Overcome, you pulled him once again into an embrace, clinging tightly as happy tears welled. In that perfect moment, all felt right in your own world wrapped in love's sheltering wings.

In the solace and security of his embrace, he slowly but surely continued renewing your self esteem each and every day. You truly feel like the luckiest girl to receive such devoted affection from your soulmate.

[rumunstelle]

Love Bites (Luka x Reader)

⁠☆Warnings : Luka himself is a warning, Biting/Licking(?)

⁠☆Summary : You never understood his... Weird habit of licking/biting things he own. But after observing him more, you finally realized why

You and Luka met when you were both just seven years old. You don't know why your owners forced you both to hangout, you barely had anything in common. You were in the dance department and he was in the singing department

It was then that you noticed Luka's... Odd habit of licking and biting everything, including you. First you were disgusted when he did it for the first time and out of nowhere too

You both just sit and stare at eachother, in a quite uncomfortable silence aswell. While you were dozing off, you suddenly felt a pain on your arm. You look and saw that Luka bit you. "What the hell, Luka?!" You freaked out while he just stares at you blankly, looking like a kicked puppy "What is wrong with you, jeez..." You said as you go and washed your arm, seeing the mark he left turn red

Even now that you're older you still think your reaction is fair and that it makes sense, especially since you were quite the germaphobe even as a child

As time passed, you began to understand the reason behind Luka's behavior. He was underfed by his alien owner, leading him to crave sustenance. He was very thin, and you swear everytime you both hung out, you could hear his stomach grumble

Because of this you started to bring food for Luka secretly, becoming his only source of nourishment and companionship. Though, you knew it was still not enough. He still bit you in general, but now you didn't mind as much since you knew he bit you to forget his hunger or to show his affection for you, now wore long sleeves around him, knowing it gave him comfort and the sleeves helps lessen/hide the marks of Luka's bites

Luka grew attached to you, cherishing your presence

As you both grew older, you guys found comfort in eachother, you both supported eachother during both of your debut! You both were very popular, and a lot of people shipped you both since you both have been spotted together on multiple occasions, and people uh aliens have been shipping you since you both are very captivating and both do incredible in what you do

He like the little shit he is enjoyed this attention, since it help uplift his popularity. So he unintentionally kept holding your hand, holding your waist, or just touch or bite you randomly and he does it while you're both out or even when you aren't. And he will not admit it, but he also did this to just see that cute expression of yours when he physically touched you

Can you blame him? You just looked so cute when you're flustered

He watched you from across the table, pretending to be focused on the conversation but finding his eyes always drifting back to your lips

"Hey" You breaking his trance. "You're staring" He scoffed, trying to sound unaffected "No, I'm not"

You chuckled at him. He looked away quickly, his heart thudding in his chest

Later, as you both walked down the busy street, you stumbled slightly on an uneven patch of pavement. Without thinking, his hand shot out, catching your arm and pulling you close to him. You were so close he could feel the warmth radiating from you. His breath caught, but he covered it up with a smirk "You should watch where you're going" he said, but the playfulness in his voice

Before you could respond, he leaned in and playfully nipped at your shoulder, earning a surprised gasp from you "Luka!" you said, half-laughing, half-exasperated, as your hand went to the spot where he'd left a tiny mark

He chuckled, clearly enjoying your reaction. "Couldn't resist" he said with a smirk, eyes dancing with mischief. "You just make it too easy"

Your cheeks flushed, and you gave him a look that was somewhere between annoyed and endeared. He loved that expression, the way it lit up your eyes and made you so irresistibly flustered

"You're unbelievable" you muttered, but you didn’t pull away. And he wouldn’t admit it, but the sight of you like this, trying to act annoyed while fighting a smile, made him feel things he wasn’t ready to name.

And so, as he walked next to you, his fingers brushed against yours, and he found himself already thinking of the next time he'd get to see that look again

(A/N : TADAAA !! I hope you guys like my first Luka fanfic, I haven't been writing in like almost 3-ish months... Haha OOPSS-!! Sorry guyss Ó⁠╭⁠╮⁠Ò)

[biribaa]

That's a Lot for the Compliment!!! (⁠づ⁠｡⁠◕⁠‿⁠‿⁠◕⁠｡⁠)⁠づ...but I'm sorry if this does make you uncomfortable but can you create an Twisted! Astro x reader where the reader is um....abused...I'm sorry if you hesitate for a moment, there isn't alot of comfort for abuse stories where I'm from so, I was hoping you come make it....thanks

- Menma

Twisted!Astro x 4bus3d!Reader

I could try!! One of the reasons I love reading x reader fics its because im constantly in stress, and they rlly calm me down, so im glad to bring the same for u. Pls tell me if these are good!!!

TW/CW: Past abuse mentions

Astro never enjoyed his recent new form. He never wanted to be observed in this way, tall, dangerous and monstrous. With you, and knowing your past, he sees a good side in this now. Astro can easily protect you from any uncomfortable situation, drag you into his arms and hold/comfort you better.

Astro is not sure if he can still give people dreams, or even good ones. But if you have any sort of nightmares focusing around your past, he could start to try give you better ones, about anything better of your liking. If not, Astro can hold you and confort you for how long you wish. He would hold you close to him with his pair of arms, and the other one would caress your head and/or back.

Astro is a little worried he gives you bad feelings, or anything at all because of his far more monstrous shape compared to yours. In the start of your relationship/when Astro recently become a twisted, you have to reassure him here and there that you still loved him anyway, and still finds him comforting.

Sleeping with him is so conforting you have no idea💔 perks of having two pair of arms and being tall. He wished his blanket(or cape or whatever that thing is) was still around so you wouldnt get a cold.

Remembers literally anything that triggers you💥 Astro makes sure to not mention any of em, or even come closer to mention them.

If you do get stressed for being triggered(or worse), Astro makes sure to confort you with any way possible. He can isolate you if you ask(be alone with him or not, its up to you), he could cuddle you and reassure you everything is okay, he could bring you something, maybe food(the restaurant is full of burgues,,,,,,)

I think the only thing that can be considered bad of Twisted Astro is that he can be overprotective? Hes always in alert when someone comes up to you, twisted or not.

Twisted Astro is scared to do anything wrong for you, so he always wants to make sure youre happy the way you currently are, and just wishes you healing, with him or not.

[neptuneiris]

cardigan (01/03)

you drew stars around my scars, but now I'm bleedin'.

pairing: modern!aemond × best friend reader!

summary: being in love with your best friend since high school becomes a strong and unavoidable feeling. until it starts to become more difficult when you get to college and the two of you, especially him, meet new people.

word count: 7.3k

next part • series masterlist

hello! i'm very happy to include myself also here with fanfics of aemond, our husband:) this is my first post here on tumblr and i have many more planned. also english is not my first language but i'm still learning. without further ado, enjoy!

Being in love with your best friend for a long time is one of the most beautiful feelings but also one of the most heartbreaking.

Especially if the feeling is not reciprocated.

Even though he and you are very different in some ways, like he's the extroverted person and you're the introverted one in friendship or he comes from a rich family and you've always been the scholar in everything, you still have a lot of things in common.

And that's why you're both best friends.

Even when you met him in high school, in the most prestigious school in King's Landing, you being a scholarship student obviously, you would have never imagined that there were those things in common between him and you.

Until the history teacher asked for a team project of two and you ended up paired with Aemond Targaryen.

You felt it would be the death of you the moment the most popular and richest boy in the whole school focused his eyes on you for the first time by identifying you as his partner.

Already some girls were making cruel comments to you every time they looked at you in the hallways or in the classrooms about not being on the same level because you didn't have money like all of them.

And now teaming up with Aemond Targaryen himself for a History project, you thought, would be unbearable and insufferable.

He was popular. Exaggeratedly popular.

Popular with all the girls because of his good looks and they made comments about how much they wanted to date him. And you understood them, because Aemond's appearance could not simply go unnoticed.

Tall, white skin, distinguished features and incredible long platinum hair. But more than anything else, his sapphire eye caught the attention.

Where his left eye should have been, it was replaced by that precious sapphire jewel. While her other untouched eye was a beautiful lilac color.

And even with that look he didn't push people away nor was he intimidating, on the contrary, the sapphire was what attracted people around him, especially girls.

The favorite of all the teachers, he was the most handsome, popular and richest in the whole school, a lover of parties, reading, piano and sports.

They said he was kind and a good person, but you were suspicious. You thought he must be arrogant like most of the rich students in that place if he was the richest student of all.

And if he was nice to you, surely it must be to keep up his appearance of the nice popular guy that everyone loves and wants as a friend.

But how wrong you were…

As you and Aemond made progress on the project until you finished it and handed it in to the professor, you realized that he really is a nice guy.

Still, you were left in doubt, thinking that possibly by the time you finished the project, he and you wouldn't have to spend any more time together and he would ignore you.

But your surprise was great when in History class, which was the only class you shared together, he started sitting next to you, had a conversation with you, and you did a few more team assignments at his request.

And yet you were still suspicious.

Until one day when you were putting away a few books and notebooks in your locker, the same group of girls that always bothered you showed up again and started with their cruel and mocking comments.

You were used to them, what you weren't used to was being made fun of more openly in public. And just when you felt you were about to start crying in the middle of it all, just making the situation worse, without them stopping teasing you down the hall, Aemond appeared.

It was only enough to place himself in front of you in protective way, with a serious and cold look, to then speak to them in a deadly tone if they were already finished.

The surprised and bewildered girls didn't understand at first why he was so defensive about you.

"Stop bothering her. I don't want to see or know that you did it again."

Those had been the simple and last words enough for him to address to the group of girls in the middle of the hallway and then grab your shoulder and start carrying you away from there along with him.

And from there it all started.

You and Aemond started getting to know each other better and spending time together as friends. He even started inviting you to lunch with him and his friends in the cafeteria.

And as a result of that you discovered a common taste for reading, as well as musical tastes, series and movie sagas or genres, until you became best friends.

The friendship continued after graduating from high school and after applying to the same university until today. Aemond decided to follow the same path as his entire family and chose a career in management, while you chose a career in psychology.

After you both found out that you had been accepted to King's Landing University, Aemond started talking about how he would now rather have his own apartment near the university than choose a residence hall or a fraternity.

And you decided, because of the scholarship, to have to choose the residence hall.

The problem was that you would have to be paying monthly to keep your room, not too much but the money you were getting from your parents wouldn't be enough and you weren't willing to ask them for more.

So you mentioned the fact that you would have to get a part-time job near the university so it wouldn't be complicated and everything would be in your favor.

But Aemond, absurd, told you that it was not necessary, neither the job nor the residence, to later tell you that you could be his roomie and live the dream of living together, like every wish of two best friends.

"Have you lost your mind? How will I be able to live with you, Aemond?"

"Well, as normal, like you live with your parents, but now the two of us together in an apartment."

He explains with all the simplicity in the world, as if it was no big deal, while you look at him completely distrustful and absurd.

"No, Aemond. You're not—

"I've already got it all planned out, okay?"

He interrupts you while he takes a bite of his green apple and continues leaning casually against the kitchen counter of his house.

"Helaena helped me find a very good apartment near the university, it has everything necessary with two bedrooms and two private bathrooms," he explains, "I already talked to the agent, I'll go to see the apartment this Thursday, you can even come with me to tell me what you think and probably a week before we enter the university I'll pay what it costs and it will be all mine."

"You will pay what it costs?" you repeat in shock.

"Yeah," he answers you with all the simplicity in the world.

"Are you actually going to buy the apartment?"

"Yeah," he answers now confused, "Didn't you hear everything I said?"

"But I thought it was a rent, not a purchase."

"What? No. I'm going to buy the apartment, I don't want rent."

He makes it clear to you and now you stay completely silent, watching him even with that slight surprise and also still feeling how absurd his proposal of living together is.

In fact, this is very Aemond Targaryen.

It shouldn't even surprise you that he can afford something like this, obviously because of his rich family. But still, you're not like him in that aspect and that's why you're surprised.

"In fact I want to speed up the whole process, I don't want to be at the last minute arranging everything when we're already going into class. So go tell your parents the news and pack your things."

You let out a long breath, running a hand through your hair.

"No, Aemond, I…" you bite your lips, speaking in a soft tone, "I really appreciate you wanting to do this with me but I can't pay you to live together in an apartment that probably costs more than I do. The residency for the scholarship will be charged to me at a low price and—

"And who said I want you to pay me?"

He interrupts you in a serious tone, looking at you in the same way and you look at him incredulously.

"Well, in some way I have to pay you, don't I?" you ask him, "The apartment will be yours, you're the one who paid for it and I can't live there with you for free."

"Y/N, you are my best friend and I am not going to charge you when you know I can pay for it."

"You can't pay for electricity, water and everything without me giving you money in return, Aemond."

"I don't need it. I'm asking you to live together because I really want us to live together, isn't that what you also told me it would be amazing to do together?"

"Yes, but not like this and you know it," you answer with some sadness.

That Aemond is the one who pays for everything so you can live together comfortably only makes you feel like you are taking advantage of him and useless, but obviously you will never say that to him.

Aemond gets very upset when you refer to yourself in a bad way. And even though he's offering you this because he really wants you to do this together, he still makes you feel bad for not contributing anything.

"Hey Y/N," he says and then starts to walk around the bar towards you, "It's okay, really."

And soon enough when he reaches out to you, he pulls you into an embrace as you continue to sit on the stool and he stands in front of you.

His big strong arms lock you against his body protectively as you bury your face in his chest and his fingers begin to gently stroke your hair.

His clean, fresh scent envelops you completely, only making the embrace more pleasant. And you allow yourself to feel close to him and melt in his arms.

You allow it even though you feel more and more that strong feeling that you wish you didn't feel so much but up to this point it's unavoidable.

"How about this? I'll do everything I told you while you take care of the food and laundry."

He asks you with a certain excited tone, and a small smile on his lips as you pull away from each other just enough, without breaking the embrace, just so you can both see each other's faces.

And you are still not very sure, and not because you don't want to do it, but because you still don't think you have much to contribute, which he notices.

"Don't you want to be my roomie?" he asks you now with a sad and disappointed tone, "Don't you want to watch movie marathons and series with me, eat unhealthy food and stay up until four in the morning?"

You inevitably let out a small laugh at the mere thought of them being wonderful plans.

"And watch those Egyptian documentaries you like so much?" you add.

"Those and also watching the whole Harry Potter saga, although I don't understand your obsession with those movies."

"Now that's why my answer is no."

You both laugh softly and then he leaves a soft kiss on your forehead to lock you in his arms again.

And now you are both here.

It's been months since you both moved into his apartment together and you took into account Aemond's words to convince you and make you feel good about living together.

While he takes care of everything financially, you take care of doing both of your laundry, cleaning the apartment, paying the HBO account and buying the food, although sometimes he also buys to make a special meal that he likes.

All while fulfilling college and also plans to stay home together some weekends watching documentaries, movies or series until four in the morning.

It has been very rare the time you have gone out partying together, mostly because you are the one who prefers to stay at home instead of going to parties.

But when Aemond wants to party, sometimes you go with him or sometimes you don't, just as he also sometimes accompanies you on your movie weekend or sometimes not.

College has been tough, neither of them will deny it, but they've managed to get through their respective careers and so far being roomies has been wonderful.

And of course, even though your respective career departments aren't close, even in your areas you've heard your best friend's name.

You both just got into college and he again became a well-known and popular person, while you have only made three real friends, Aileen, Sara and Ryan. But despite this, Aemond never forgets his best friend any more than you forget him.

As if you could.

And everything is going great so far.

It's already getting dark, you can see it through the big windows of the apartment, listening to music on your phone while you finish preparing dinner for you and Aemond who shouldn't be long in coming.

He had texted you an hour ago saying he would have a two hour class and would probably be a little late, so you do this for him while singing and humming your favorite songs softly.

You finish serving everything on the plates when you hear a message notification. You leave everything ready on the bar, wipe your hands and pick up your phone to look at the screen, reading a message from your friend Aileen.

[Aileen Herron]: party on saturday?

You frown and are about to answer her message with a no when you hear the sound of the door opening in quick motion and then you see Aemond walk in with a huge smile on his lips and a completely lit up face.

"Hello, pretty one."

You smile with an accusatory look as you stop the music and put your phone back on the bar, watching him carefully.

"Now what's wrong with you? Your two-hour class was amazing?"

He lets out a snort as he throws his backpack on the couch and takes a seat in front of you on one of the stools.

"I wish. It was so fucking boring."

"So why are you smiling like that?"

And again her smile appears, only this time a little more subtle but still excited.

"I have a date."

And that's when again, like every time this happens, you feel your heart shrink and start to break a little bit more with each time your best friend lets you know news like this.

And not wanting to appear false, just as you don't want to show that his words hurt you, you maintain as best you can that genuine smile you put on when he arrived at the apartment so happily.

"Oh really?"

"Yes," he answers you excitedly, "It turns out that when I got out of class and said goodbye to my friends, I was heading to the parking lot when a girl bumped into me…."

And there comes the part where they both apologize, then they start talking, they both start flirting and at the end they exchange numbers.

"She's so pretty, her name is Alys."

You bite your lips and nod keeping the best face you can while this time you start walking around the kitchen and he continues talking, not being able to bear to see his face any closer as he tells you about her.

"She's also studying management so it's more perfect, only she's three semesters ahead of me."

You clear your throat, pouring some soda for both of us.

"So she's older than you."

You say trying not to sound distant and disinterested, to which Aemond shrugs his shoulders at your question.

"Three years is nothing."

You nod, taking a sip of your drink, starting dinner.

"And when is the date?" you ask without looking at him.

"This Saturday. I'm taking her to my mother's favorite restaurant, the one I took you to once, remember?"

Again you nod, feeling a little more that little sharp pain in your chest, but you pretend that nothing is happening and that you're just… happy and excited for him.

"Well, you'll tell me how it went."

You try to smile even a little in his direction and at this he just smiles a little more.

"I hope everything goes well. I really liked her a lot."

And again at this, you have no idea what else to say and remain silent, although he soon speaks again.

"This is for me?" he points to the other plate.

"For who else?" you say obviously and amused.

He laughs and brings the plate towards him.

"Thank you, pretty one."

You try not to let those nicknames affect you at all. But before you know it, it has inevitably gotten to you, as it has countless other times. But you didn't want it to affect you knowing that he has a date this saturday.

"And do you have plans this weekend?" he asks you, more than anything to create conversation after talking about his date.

"Hmm… I don't know yet."

"You don't know?"

He asks you with an expectant look and you just look at him without saying anything and then shrug your shoulders and focus back on your dinner.

"You know, you should… go out."

He says suddenly in a soft voice and you look away from your plate to focus on him again.

"What about your friends from class? Don't they ask you out to party or something?"

"You know I don't like parties, Aemond," you reply in a more serious tone than you expected it to be.

"Yes, I know, but…" he sighs, "I'm just saying that it would do you good to go out once in a while and not stay here all the time."

"I always stay here," you say confused, "I don't understand why you're suddenly worried about that if that's what I've been doing since we've been living together."

"I know," he says cautiously and with an understanding look, "but I mean when I go out partying with my friends, I don't like to know that you're staying here alone. Nor like now that I have a date on saturday and you'll be here again."

You watch him in silence for a few seconds, and he takes the opportunity to continue talking.

"You should meet new people, don't you think?" he asks softly, "The university is very big. Maybe you should meet new people who love to stay at home watching movies and shows like you. That way you'll have company while I'm gone because I…" he grimaces, "I won't always have time for you."

And at that moment, you think you're overreacting, that it's no big deal, that it's just a piece of advice with all the good intentions of your best friend, that you shouldn't.

But still, try as you might, you can't help but feel broken by hearing his words.

Maybe he didn't mean it that way nor did he intend to make you understand those words, but it's like he's telling you that you have no friends, that he's your only friend and that you should meet more people.

And in the face of this, you try not to break down at that moment, so you quickly want to pretend that everything is fine and that everything he said is also fine.

"Yeah, of course, you're right."

You get up with your dirty plate, taking it to the dishwasher to start washing it quickly, turning your back to him.

"Y/N—

"When you finish eating, leave the plate here, I'll wash it in a moment, now I have to finish doing some homework," you interrupt him sounding as normal and casual as possible.

"I didn't mean anything bad Y/N, I just—

"Yes, I know."

You force yourself to interrupt him again putting on your best nonchalant face, turning to him, drying your hands once you finish. And with nothing more to say, you leave the kitchen and head for your room.

That same night you comply with what you say, wanting to clear your head, knowing perfectly well that when you let Aemond know that you are doing homework, he doesn't interrupt you unless it is extremely necessary.

So you take advantage of that and without leaving your room anymore, once you're done you take a shower and get ready for bed.

You find it a bit hard to sleep as you overthink too much, thinking about Aemond more than anything else, about his date and everything he told you afterwards.

It had happened before… Aemond had already told you about going on dates and how they had turned out, you've seen him flirt with many girls at parties, restaurants and at school itself.

You know the feeling. That ugly, heartbreaking feeling.

So why do you again feel like your heart is breaking over his now new date?

Normally all the dates Aemond goes on, never go any further. Aemond hasn't had a single girlfriend since your friendship began.

Nothing tells you that this date could be any different. Maybe he'll only go out with her two or three times and then tell you it was just something to hang out, as usual.

However, you never know.

The next day you and Aemond don't see each other during the day.

Normally on fridays you have class at seven in the morning while he has classes a little later, so once you finish getting ready you leave the apartment and head to the university.

In the course of your classes, your friend Aileen tells you that since you probably don't plan on going out with her and your other friends to party tomorrow Saturday, it would at least be a good plan for you all to go out together tonight for dinner.

And you agree.

Leaving class the four of you head to a fast food restaurant and pass the time talking about school, gossip and so on. At least being with your friends makes you forget about the outside world for a moment and you just laugh and have a good time.

Until the hour starts to get late, Ryan drives Aileen to her residence in his car and Sara is the one who drives you.

You turn the doorknob and enter the apartment looking forward to sleep, as you should since it's almost two in the morning. Usually on weekends you stay up very late but this night especially doesn't seem to be the occasion.

You close the door behind you and start to head to your room, when you enter the living room and find Aemond very comfortable on one of the sofas looking at you at the same time you are looking at him.

You stay quiet for a moment, thinking about just walking in and wishing him good night, but he's the one who speaks first.

"There you are," he murmurs, looking at you seriously, not having his usual soft look as usual, "I was already worried."

"Why?"

"Why?" he repeats incredulously, "I didn't know where you were. I sent you hundreds of messages and you didn't answer. Also I called you and still nothing."

You frown.

"That's not true. You didn't call me."

"I did call you, Y/N."

He tells you more serious than before, almost annoyed and you, confused, pick up your phone and turn on the screen to see that he did indeed call you and sent you hundreds of messages.

The problem? You had your phone on mute and being with your friends you didn't really bother to take your phone out of your pocket.

You let out a long breath and put it back with a sigh.

"I'm sorry, it was on mute," you say briefly.

"And where were you?"

"I went to dinner with friends."

Now he lets out a sigh.

"You could at least let me know you were going to arrive late."

At first you think to yourself that you don't understand why he makes such a big deal about it. As if he wouldn't do exactly the same thing you've done when he decides to go off with his friends to party.

However, you don't want to argue, you just want to sleep.

"Yeah, I know, I'm sorry," you mumble, then yawn, "I'll go to sleep."

You are about to walk back to your room but he speaks again.

"So soon?"

You watch him sleepily as he, in his most comfortable clothes, seems to be watching one of his favorite documentaries with some chips, like you always do together every friday.

Except this friday.

"It's two in the morning, Aemond."

"Yes, I know, but I thought you might want to watch a movie, as usual," he says softly, "I bought some of the pizza you like, and also some of the—

"I'm full and very sleepy now, Aem. Another day, yeah?"

You don't even wait for an answer, you just go to your room.

And the next morning you wake up later than usual and you don't even want to get out of bed.

Fortunately you don't run into Aemond, even though saturday mornings is when you have breakfast together and watch movies until noon. But not today.

And you know perfectly well it's because you've been avoiding him. It's what you always do when Aemond lets you know about his next date or after you see him making out with some girl at a party.

And you know you're wrong. But that's the only way you can stop feeling that little sharp pain in your chest and this discomfort all over your being.

Until night falls, you and Aemond finally talk after not seeing each other all day to tell you he's leaving. He don't even need to say where.

Then he leaves and you are left alone in the apartment.

Finally, what you were hoping for and dreading at the same time happens.

Aemond has fallen in love. Your best friend has fallen in love.

In the end that girl wasn't just to hang out or to forget about her overnight. Aemond went on countless dates with her, which was unusual and eventually the two formalized everything and started dating.

You stopped avoiding him because you knew you couldn't do it forever. You both live together, he is your best friend and if he is going through this now, as much as it hurts, you can only smile and feel happy for him because he really looks happy.

You even met the girl, Alys Rivers.

And as soon as you saw her for the first time when Aemond brought her to the apartment to introduce the two of you, you understood.

Alys is tall, black-haired, with beautiful features, a slender body and possesses the most intense and striking green eyes you've ever seen. Even the way she spoke, smiled, laughed and walked was striking, she was alluring, everything about her screamed the word sexy and elegant.

How could Aemond not like her, when she is so educated, beautiful and also studies the same as him?

Now you understood why Aemond wanted things to really work out this time with this girl. And now everything, little by little, has been different.

With your best friend now having someone, now his time is counted between college and her.

The two of you still spend time together, you live together obviously, but you have seen each other in less time when before the first person you saw when you woke up was Aemond and when you went to sleep as well.

They are getting shorter and shorter on fridays for movies and series, on saturdays you barely see each other during the day and on sundays he totally disappears from the apartment and you don't see each other at all.

Luckily today is friday and Aemond apparently has no plans, not even with Alys, as you both find yourselves watching your favorite movie in the living room while eating chips and as much junk food as possible.

"From so many times you've made me watch this movie with you, I'm already starting to hate it."

You look at your best friend in surprise and completely indignant and then throw a pillow that hits him perfectly in the face.

"How dare you? I didn't say anything about your boring and incredibly long documentaries."

Now he's the one looking at you surprised and indignant.

"What did you just say?"

"Just some of them, not all of them," you clarify, "But those some of them are really unbearable."

"You know what your problem is? That you love the plot of some people trying to get out of a huge maze while my documentaries talk about true historical facts and not pure fiction about dystopias."

"Boring," you sing in long tones.

He lets out a small laugh as he shakes his head and you look at him with a small amused smile.

"You are unbearable."

"Oh come on Aemond, you still like these movies, even if you don't want to admit it."

"Not in a million years."

"You keep fooling yourself but you're not fooling me."

He doesn't say anything back to you because at that moment he receives a message and he looks at his phone quickly.

You watch him briefly, slowly erasing your smile, already anticipating what is going to happen and he confirms it with his next words while still focused on his screen.

"Alys wants me to go with her to a party with her friends."

You don't say anything, you just focus on the movie, avoiding making a bad face, telling yourself to control yourself.

"Well, you don't mind, do you?" he observes you, "I have to go now and pick her up."

You instantly put on a nonchalant face and deny without taking your eyes off the movie.

"Of course not."

"I'll make it up to you, I promise," he says as he gets up, walks over to place a quick kiss on your forehead and then rushes off to his room to get ready.

After that, that's what happens all the time now.

When he finally keeps you company to watch a movie or a series, Alys calls him and he runs to her. It has even happened several times that you arrive at the apartment after school and they are here hanging out.

On saturdays he runs to have breakfast with her, he also leaves with her that same day in the night, also on fridays and on sundays the two of them barely see each other in the night.

Even many nights Aemond has not come to sleep and the next morning when he finally comes back to the apartment, he tells you that he had spent the night at Alys' sisterhood with her.

Alys has also spent nights here. You overhear her and him as they arrive late at the apartment and head to her room. Fortunately you haven't heard anything more than that.

And because of all this, it is that you have become closer to your friends and have gone to as many parties with them, as you can't bear to arrive at the apartment knowing that Aemond is not there and won't show up until the next day.

You know you have developed a dependency on him, which you know is wrong and you avoided with all your might that it wasn't so but in the end it was so.

That's why now you're thankful that you're hanging out more with your other friends. But still, you miss your best friend a lot. He doesn't have time for you anymore and you can't help but feel sad, disappointed and broken because of that.

You understand that Alys is his girlfriend and the best friend shouldn't be more important than the girlfriend, but still, you can't help it.

You're happy for him, you really are. So now you're just left to be content with the little times he and you now have together. Like, for example, his birthday.

He had already told you how he plans to go with his family during the afternoon and then in the night he wants to go out partying with his friends, with you and Alys.

He told you that you could invite your friends, who fortunately they accepted since you didn't want to be alone surrounded by Aemond's friends, whom you know very little and his girlfriend.

So now you get up earlier than usual to go get his present and once you get back to the apartment you hide it in your room, then when you go out again he opens the door of his room at the same time, still sleepy and you throw yourself in his arms.

"Happy birthday!" you exclaim happily between his chest and neck.

He lets out a hoarse little laugh as he locks you in his arms.

"Thank you, pretty one."

You pull away from him smiling.

"How are you feeling?"

He raises an expectant eyebrow at you, amused, still recovering from his sleep.

"How do I feel about my birthday?"

"Yes," you reply simply, "How does it feel to wake up and know that you are now twenty-one?"

"I feel younger instead of older."

"Oh really?"

"When you turn twenty-one you'll understand."

"And why is that?"

He looks at you more expectantly than before and crosses his arms, watching you with amusement.

"That's a lot of talk, tell me what you're hiding."

You instantly feign innocence.

"What are you talking about?"

"It's my birthday present, isn't it?"

"I mean… it is your birthday, but not-hey!" you shout as you see him quickly walk past you and head to your room, where his present is.

"You're hiding my present, I know."

"No, no, wait."

You stand in front of him, between him and your door, panicking, and he looks at you expectantly again.

"Yes, yes, it's your birthday present."

"And I can't see it yet?"

"Yes, but not like this," you say indignantly and then look at him confused, "How did you know?"

He laughs.

"Because I know you."

And soon Aemond finds himself opening the huge gift box you bought for him so you could put in the little puppy you decided to adopt and then Aemond could adopt him.

"No fucking way," he says in disbelief and surprise.

And so he soon holds in his arms the small female dog of the Maltipoo breed with a very light brown fur.

Adoration completely covers your best friend's gaze and he completely melts into the little dog as he licks his hand and face at the same time as Aemond squeals with tenderness and gives him kisses.

And the image couldn't have been more tender and adorable for you.

"I adopted her. She was given to me with a name, it's on her collar. If you don't like it, you can change it, although I think that one suits her perfectly."

Aemond, still watching and holding him tenderly, looks at the collar and reads it.

"Vhagar," and then turns his attention to her with a small smile, "Your name is Vhagar?" he says in a honeyed tone, "Yeah? Do you like that name, my little one?"

He plays with it for a few more moments and then turns his attention back to you, still with all that tenderness and that little smile of excitement.

"Thank you so much, my pretty one."

And again you both embrace while Vhagar is in the middle of you both and also starts to lick your hand making you laugh in tenderness.

After spending the whole morning together playing and getting to know Vhagar, whom Aemond doesn't want to let go, then you both go to a restaurant near the apartment to start with his birthday and just be the two of you.

And finally Aemond goes to his parents' house. He invited you but you decided it was better for him to spend some time with his family only, so you stay home with Vhagar.

Eventually the hours pass and the night comes, which means it's time.

You fix your hair in soft waves, put on a little more makeup than usual to highlight your face, and choose a black skirt, white top, and black booties from your closet.

Aemond calls you down the hall telling you it's time and you both leave the apartment to go pick up Alys and then get to the frat house where his friends live.

The night goes by incredibly long. Even though you are in the company of your friends, you can't help but stare at Aemond who enjoys his girlfriend's company more than anyone else.

You only manage to take one picture with him when you used to fill your gallery on his birthdays, even played every party game possible and now… he's only with Alys.

Even by the time it's too late, the party still isn't over and he finally talks to you after hours to ask if one of your friends would take you home, since he's sleeping over with Alys.

You don't say anything else, just that Ryan will give you a ride and he nods to go back to Alys. It's not like you could tell him anything, you still didn't want to, because after all it is his birthday.

Today is another very vague and rare night in which Aemond stays at home with you and does not leave with Alys.

You don't complain, on the contrary, you enjoy his and Vhagar's company. You are both watching one of his documentaries and it is a really interesting one, not one of the boring ones.

Aemond talks to you and explains you about his assumptions, also about what he thinks while you are sitting next to him and Vhagar is very comfortably asleep on his lap.

You also share your opinions and some doubts that he answers, both of you without taking your eyes off the screen.

Time passes and you happily believe that you will last this way until the early morning, as it used to be, feeling excited and enjoying his company on nights like these, as you had missed him.

When then, it happens.

You hear the notification of how a message has been sent to him and he looks at the screen, then confirms what you didn't want so much, feeling instantly disappointed.

"There's a party at Alys' sisterhood, she wants me to come."

And knowing he'll look at you, you quickly feign your unconcerned, unaffected look.

"Do you want to come?"

You want to laugh and let out a snort, because it's not like you like the idea of going to his girlfriend's party knowing that he'll leave you alone to be with her.

"No," you reply in the softest possible voice, "I'll stay here with Vhagar."

"Are you sure?" he looks at you with a grimace.

"It's all right Aemond, you go."

He lets out a long breath as he looks back down at his screen to move his fingers on it briefly, then gently removes Vhagar from his lap and gets up from the couch to go get ready.

All your good looks disappear as he turns his back to you and before you know it, you let out a long sigh of disappointment loud enough for him to stop and watch you.

Nerves get the better of you and you look at him again pretending everything is fine, but he knows it's not.

"Y/N," he calls you in a soft voice, walking back to you, "I know we haven't been spending time together like before and—

"You'll be getting late," you quickly try to evade the subject so as not to talk about it, "If you're not going to arrive here to sleep let me know by message."

He lets out a long breath, looking a little distrustful and worried.

"Look," he says as he takes a seat next to you again, "I just want to tell you that I know we don't spend time together like we used to. I don't think you or I expected me to suddenly have a girlfriend—

Clearly not.

You think.

"But I want you to know that not spending time with you was not intentional," he assures you, then takes your hands in his, "And I'm going to make it up to you, I promise."

That's what you always say.

You want to say it, but you just stay silent, watching him, while he looks at you with all the tenderness and with that look that convinces you to believe in his words.

"I've missed our weekends, believe me. And I hate to leave you like this," he confesses, "But I really don't want you to think that I'm choosing Alys over you, I love you both very much and I want to have that balance in my life between her and you."

And at this point her words are actually hurting you instead of helping you.

"Aemond, it's okay," you assure him, even though it's not, "Alys is your girlfriend. It's obvious that you spend more time with her than with me and I totally understand that."

"Really?"

"Yes, I promise," you assure him and you couldn't be more of a liar at the moment.

"I still feel bad."

"Aemond, it's okay. You should go now, I don't want to delay you any more with this hour," you say so the conversation is already over.

"No, just let me…" he insists, then lets out a long breath, "Look, I know you," he murmurs, looking at you sadly, "I know none of this is right. But I promise I will make it up to you," he assures you, "After all, my family's ball at Dragonstone is next weekend, remember?"

You frown, grateful for the change in conversation but still a little confused.

"I thought it wasn't happening this year."

"It has to be held every year, my mother would have a heart attack if it didn't happen and you know it."

You both laugh a little, while he watches you attentively without letting go of your hands, as well as you let go of his.

"So we'll go together?" you ask, not entirely convinced.

And at your question he is offended.

"Of course we'll go together. We go together every year."

"Yes, but now that you—

"I'm not taking Alys," he interrupts you and his words surprise you, "This ball belongs to both of us, it always has. And I'm not going to break the tradition."

And at his words, this time, genuinely, you can't help but place a small closed-mouth smile as you feel how again this little spark between him and you begins to revive little by little.

Also the hope, that everything will be again, even if it's just a little, like before.

"Also now your birthday is next," he says with a small smile, "I've already got your present, just to let you know."

And at this you put on a small smile.

"You're not supposed to tell me, dumbass."

He laughs.

"I wanted you to know," he says softly.

Then a brief, comfortable silence settles between the two of you, you both smile softly and all seems to be well again between you.

"Then start getting everything ready for the ball, okay?"

"All right," you nod, feeling happy.

"It will be amazing. You'll see."

You believe him.

You really do.

The ball on behalf of his family is a way to celebrate the success of the great company they run, as well as to have the possibility to form new partners or make better contracts. Since the friendship between you and Aemond began, he has invited you every year to be his escort and you have never let him down.

All the decorations are wonderful, the food too and eventually when the important people leave, that's when the real party starts for you and it's all great fun with Aemond's brothers who invite friends.

You thought that this time it wouldn't be like that since he has his girlfriend now and maybe he would want to take her instead of you, but how wrong you were.

And not too long after that it is your birthday, which is a very special day for you and Aemond, as every year he really makes you feel very special.

With those dates coming up and these words of promise, what could go wrong?

[hkruu]

“ME & YOU?” — hkr

\\ soft yan streamer bf , mod!user , silly fic for y'all , obsessive , implied stalking in the past , implied doxxing //

Akira likes streaming with you.

You both started with meeting each other through an rpg game, agreeing to become his mod, becoming friends, and then meeting in real life and falling in love. It was a normal cliche love story about two gamers falling for each other in your point of view, what about Akira's point of view?

It remains a secret.

You always wondered how he knew all of your favorite things right off the bat, how he knew your awkward gestures, your hobbies and all of that. Maybe he was just really attentive to the things you did..

Akira wasn't a stalker.

He's sweet, he always takes care of you, putting your wants over his. Both of you communicate when something goes wrong, you balance everything. It was a perfect and a normal relationship.

At least that's what you thought.

hkruu: what r we playing today !!

Not_venti: wsg chattttttt

xX_AMI_Xx: r u playing with ur s/o?

yurisghs: hi akiraaaa [akira_pat]

fatgirlsummer: when's the continuation of Until Then ?? ^^

"Until Then? Uh, I mean, probably next week." Akira's eyes glanced over the chat box, watching as many viewers greeted him with good afternoons and nights. "My significant other?" He raised his right eyebrow curiously, reading aloud one of the questions.

"Honestly, I'm not sure if they'll be able to make it on time.." Akira leaned back on his gaming chair, stretching a little.

killlove_i: nauur why [akira_sob]

Not_venti: skibidi will make it on time trust.

tsukasaaaa: I hope they're well ><

cutiepie101: COOP PKEASE !!!

"I'm probably just gonna farm today, not unless Lisa invites me again." He smiles towards the camera, loading up HSR. "I'm not pulling for uh, rappa? The new character I mean, I forgot their name."

llyyyn: lol same

yurisghs: is she good? Ion look at leaks

Not_venti: I'm pulling:))

lamanbrug_01: goodluck to those pulling!!

sdkwohryuu: I want Sunday [akira_sob]

"I want Sunday too.. physically.." Akira pouts, eventually breaking into a silly smile. The rest of the stream going fine as usual, farming here, doing the new quest, companion quest, pulling for Fei Xaio, you know the rest.

A good hour and a half passes and suddenly there's a;

Ding!

"Hey chat, guess who's home!" Akira suddenly brightened, focusing on the game even more as he patiently waited for the same sentence he always heard every single day. Of course, he'd never get tired of it, never.

"I'm home!" A muffled voice could be heard in the background.

Not_venti: I TOKD U THEYD MAKE IT OJ TIME

xX_AMI_Xx: I js woke up whay happened

yurisghs: caught my lonely ass smiling

yumiwgeo: can't relate @yurisighs

Not_venti: LMAO

"You'll find someone yurisghs!" He snickered, quickly exiting out of HSR and logging onto Genshin instead, the familiar bright screen never failing to blind him.

nnsigma [MOD]: hi chat

Not_venti: hi skibidi

yurisghs: halooo

lynnuoo: wsg

yumiwgeo: [akira_wave]

tsukasaaaa: [akira_wave]

"sup babe, yes I ate, I drank water, I showered, I cooked lunch and I did the laundry." Akira's smirk was evident, quickly doing his commissions in-game. If you're wondering he mains Neuvilette.

nnsigma [MOD]: ok good [akira_pat]

nnsigma [MOD]: let's play dti instead ong

Not_venti: real

Guihimoo: [akira_nod]

"No."

About the said ‘Akira is probably just really attentive’ towards you.. let's expand a little bit on that.

The first time you met each other at a nearby Cafe, you were surprised. The pictures of Akira on discord didn't do justice to what he looks like in real life, this guy was walking around as if he just came out of a red carpet..

Aside from that, his personality was still the same as online. Teasing, snarky, he's still got that attitude, and of course playful — he was the fun type you'd want to be friends with. But, he really was your type.

You couldn't resist glancing towards his neck from time to time, hell — you couldn't even make eye contact without being mentally flustered. "Is something wrong?" He'd ask, but you'd immediately shake your head and go along with what he's saying.

I mean, Akira didn't know your address, why are you asking why he knew the way back to your home? He used to live here.

"W-woah.. we have more in common than I thought!" You beamed while Akira smiled softly, it looks like his hard work did pay off. All that late night searching, perfecting and practicing — it was worth it in the very end because you were finally here.

Akira could see you, touch you, feel you, make you feel things you've never felt — ah, how he wishes he could go back in time just to see your horrified expression when you almost got doxxed by someone anonymous.

Of course, he was the one to comfort you at the time, the way you opened up to him about everything, finally letting him know of your feelings.. It was worth every little thing he had worked hard for.

It didn't matter if he had a small or huge fan base what mattered was you being right beside him, experiencing hardships and hope. Akira could do anything, he could try his best — he's not perfect, he has many flaws he'll admit that.

But..

It was worth it if it was you.

Akira was glad that the world hasn't ended yet. Not that it would happen any time soon but — he'd want to be next to you even if it was a life or death situation.

Extras:

"I'm rating you 1 star for the effort. You suck." Akira tapped on the tablet aggressively, while you squirmed right next to him, trying to desperately get your phone case back on — fumbling quite badly.

"I'm rating you 1 star too!"

"You're just mad I'm a trend setter."