#it might go up later but for now it’s here!

[lostfracturess]

symptoms and causes | ch. 16

pairing — professor gojo x med student reader

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

word count — 11.5 k

warnings — 18+ ONLY. contains explicit sexual content, substance and alcohol abuse, dark and themes, unhealthy relationships, codependency, trauma, medical content and mentions of death, illness, abuse, and blood. full trigger warnings available on the masterlist. reader discretion is advised.

previously — unable to watch satoru turn to his abusive family for help with naoya's massive lawsuit, you're heading to his party against satoru's wishes, hoping to find something, anything, that might help his situation. but what happens when satoru decides to crash the party? and what will you find in that locked room?

author's note — hello lovelies, welcome back !! this chapter picks up right where we left off, but through satoru's eyes this time. also important note: this chapter contains a brief mention of SA concerning a background event not related to any of our main characters. as always, please mind all trigger warnings. and now enjoy the chaos <3

series masterlist + playlist + ao3 + wattpad

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I saw her the moment I stepped into that goddamn party, and everything inside me went still. 

Like that moment right before you drown, when the water first fills your lungs and the world goes quiet. Terrifying and so still.

She stood there under those cheap neon lights, looking scared and yet so beautiful—beautiful in that terrible way that makes you want to destroy something, that makes you want to tear it apart just to prove it's real.

Every fiber of my being screamed to go to her, to grab her and get her the hell out of here. Away from this place, away from him, away from all of it. 

But I couldn't move. Couldn't let the mask slip, not here, not with all these eyes on me. So I plastered on that easy smile and played the part of the mildly annoyed professor who just happened to crash a student party.

As if my skin wasn't crawling with the need to use again, veins begging for something—anything—to take the edge off. As if the mere sight of her didn't make me feel like someone had reached into my chest and ripped my fucking heart out, her next breath away from something I might regret.

She looked up at me with those pretty eyes of hers, and I saw the guilt there, swimming just beneath the surface. And for one horrible moment I thought, Good. Let it pull her under like it's pulling me. Let it fill her lungs the way fear is filling mine.

I almost hated her then — for lying to me again and again, for doing stupid things behind my back again and again, for making me feel this goddamn helpless again and again and again and fucking again.

But what lay beneath was worse. Because I knew why she was here. Always trying to save me, even if it meant throwing herself into the deep end, drowning right alongside me. And that's the worst kind of torture, isn't it? 

Watching the person you love cut themselves open on all your broken pieces, bleeding themselves dry, yet still reaching for more. And that thought made me want to scream.

"We'll talk about this later," I said, forcing that easy smile back onto my face though everything inside me was screaming to get her out of this goddamn house before she got herself into more trouble. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I need a drink."

I pushed past her, shoulder grazing hers, and I had to clench my fists to keep from turning back. Had to bite my tongue until I tasted blood to keep from saying something I couldn't take back. She had no idea what she did to me. Or maybe she did, and that was even worse.

Love and hate tangled together in my chest until I couldn't breathe. Because that's what she does to me — makes me feel everything at once, until I can't tell what's real anymore. Until I can't tell if I want to love her or ruin her. Until I can't remember which one would hurt more. Who I was before her. If I was anyone at all.

And it hit me then, as I left her standing there, all defiance and reckless stupidity and so unbearably precious it physically hurt—this must be what they mean when they say love and hate are two sides of the same coin. Because I loved her so much it felt like hatred. Hated her so deeply it could only be love.

Always on the razor's edge. One wrong step, and we'd both bleed out. Maybe we already were.

When was the last time I even went to a party like this anyway? Years ago, probably. Back when I could still pretend I had my shit together. Before I understood what it meant to love someone so consuming that self-destruction became a form of worship.

I needed a drink. Maybe ten. Maybe something stronger. 

Bass thundered through the floorboards as I shouldered my way deeper into the house, some shitty pop track slamming in my skull. Or maybe that was just the rage still burning in my bloodstream.

Sweaty bodies pressed in on all sides, but I barely noticed, lost in the chaos raging in my head. Lost in the desperate need scratching at my throat to turn back, to find her, to make sure she hadn't slipped away like every other good thing in my life.

I ordered vodka. First sip burned, but not enough. Never enough to wash away the fear, to forget that she was here, in this house, with him. The same bastard who'd tried to—My grip tightened on the glass. Yeah. Definitely needed something stronger. Here's hoping these kids still remember how to party.

"Professor Gojo! No way!"

A group of my students appeared beside me at the bar, their faces flushed with alcohol. Aoi, of course—that kid was everywhere. And Miwa, looking starstruck as always. Just my fucking luck.

"Is this what you all do instead of studying for my exams?" I asked, letting that easy smile slide into place.

"Come on, Prof, we've been killing ourselves over your damned hard exams," Miwa chimed in, all bright eyes and alcohol courage. "We deserve a break."

I let myself slip into the familiar role. The cool professor. The guy everyone wants to hang with. It was easier than I expected, letting their drunken energy wash over me, cracking jokes, making them laugh. Almost enough to wash out the withdrawal that made it nearly impossible to think straight. Almost enough to forget why I was really here. Almost.

Aoi was rambling about something, but I wasn't listening. Instead, I turned slightly, catching her gaze across the room. She looked at me like she wanted to kill me. Funny, how we wanted the same thing sometimes.

My woman. My stubborn, reckless, absolutely infuriating woman. Even now, with me watching her from across the room, I could see that defiance bright in her eyes. Even now, even here, in defiance of everything I'd asked of her, she stood her ground. 

It was admirable, really. And sometimes, that very defiance made me want to break her. Perhaps only to prove I could. To prove she wasn't in control. Perhaps because I was terrified that I wasn't. That I never was.

It's terrifying how thin that line is.

"See? Fucking legend!" Aoi raised his beer, at something I said, I think. I can't remember. Something clever, probably. Something that fits the role. "To the coolest professor on campus!" 

I raised my glass, I think. I can't remember. And that's when I caught sight of them by the front entrance. Suguru walked up to her, still standing where I'd left her, and cradled her face in his hands, tilting it up to meet his gaze. My god, could he be any more obvious about it?

I knew that look in his eyes. Had seen it countless times before, during all those long hours in the lab when he thought I wasn't paying attention. The way he'd lean in close to check her work, his hand lingering on her shoulder a moment too long. The way his eyes would follow her every move.

My best friend, in love with the love of my life. What a sick fucking joke.

He was examining her face now, probably making sure she was alright, being the good, caring friend he always was. His thumb brushed across her cheek, and something violent stirred in my gut. Because she didn't pull away. Of course she didn't. She never did, not with him.

They looked good together, standing there in the dim light. The brilliant researcher and his gifted student. No addiction between them. No sharp edges that sliced you open if you got too close. And I hated that.

I watched as she placed her hand over his, the gesture unbearably tender. Watched as he smiled down at her, that gentle smile he reserved only for her.

And just for a moment — one single, agonizing moment — I let myself picture a world where I hadn't reached her first. Where she'd chosen him instead. The better man. The one who'd never drag her down into his own personal hell.

The thoughts spiraled darker, louder, until I could barely breathe through the noise. Glass creaked under my grip. I needed a fucking pill. Needed something, anything, to make this stop. To make everything just fucking stop.

"Professor?" Miwa’s voice. "You okay?"

More students crowded the bar, blocking my view of them. One of them—what was his name? Third-year, not a complete idiot—shoved another beer into my hand. I chugged it in one long pull, their chatter fading to background noise.

"Well." That voice. That fucking voice. "Look who decided to crash my party after all."

I turned, meeting Naoya's scarred face with a smile that was all teeth and no warmth. "Zenin. Quite the gathering you've got here."

"Indeed." He signaled the bartender. "I gotta say though, I'm surprised to see you here, Professor. Don't tell me you're playing chaperone tonight?"

His words stripped away any pretense. He knew. Of course he fucking knew why I was really here. Not that I'd been particularly subtle about it.

"Just felt like reliving my youth," I said, taking the drink he offered. Anything to keep my hands busy, to keep myself from finishing what I'd started with his face.

Zenin's smirk widened, the scars pulling his flesh into something even uglier. "Ah yes, the good old days. Back when teachers knew their place and didn't go around screwing their students."

The fake smile slid off my face, the glass creaking in my grip as I pictured how easily his windpipe would crumple under my hands. How satisfying it would be to watch that smirk disappear for good.

"Careful, Zenin. Your face is already fucked up enough as is. Would be a damn shame if something happened to what's left of it."

He laughed, the sound grating on my last nerve like nails on a chalkboard. "Always so protective. But tell me, Professor, does she know the real reason you're here? Does she know about the—"

"Enough," I bit out.

"Oh, did I hit a nerve?" His eyes flicked across the room, landing on her. The way he looked at her made my vision bleed red around the edges. "She really is something else, isn't she? Too bad I didn't get a chance to get her alone that night—"

My hand lashed out before I could think, fisting in his collar. The fabric bunched in my grip as I hauled him close enough to see my own fury reflected in his eyes. "You fucking—"

Then Suguru was there, his hand slamming down on the bar between us. Silent, steady—a wall between me and a one-way ticket to unemployment. He didn't say a word, just fixed me with that look. The one I'd explicitly asked for earlier. Stop me before I do something I'll regret.

Fuck, I was really starting to regret that request right about now.

Then I felt her—her touch impossibly gentle as she laid her hand on my bicep, the heat of her skin seeping through my shirt. She leaned in close, "Satoru, can we talk for a minute?"

Her soft plea sliced through the haze, and suddenly I became acutely aware of the deafening silence that had fallen over the room, of the countless eyes boring into us.

I uncurled my fingers from Naoya's collar one by one, even though everything in me screamed to finish what I'd started. To paint the walls with whatever was left of his face. But I couldn't. We both knew. So I stepped back and followed her.

─── ·✧· ───

She led me through the crowd, her fingers still wrapped so gently around my arm. We pushed our way past the prying eyes, down a hallway, until she found what looked like an empty office. Probably belonged to Naoya's father, judging by the dark wood and that rich people smell.

For a moment, we just stood there, neither of us willing to shatter the fragile silence. Moonlight sliced through the blinds, turning everything silver and strange, like we were underwater. Maybe we were. I wasn't sure anymore. Her hand slipped from my arm, and suddenly I felt cold.

I collapsed into the chair behind the desk, the leather groaning under my weight. She stood silhouetted at the window, arms wrapped tight around herself, and I had to look away. Had to focus on something else, because I knew one glance at those eyes and I'd break.

My fingers found the pill on their own. Out of habit, really. Without thinking, I snatched up the silver letter opener next to me and crushed the pill beneath it, watching the powder scatter across the polished wood like fresh snow. I bent down and let the burn fill my nose, sear through my brain, numbing everything in an instant. 

When I looked up, she was staring. Always fucking staring, with eyes that flayed me to the bone. And she did it so effortlessly. Saw through everyone around her with that unnerving precision. Or maybe she saw through everything so clearly because she looked for the very things she wanted to hide from others.

"That's new," she said. Not an accusation. I was glad it wasn't.

"It's faster."

I averted my gaze and sank deeper into the chair, letting my head fall back against the headrest as warmth flooded my veins and the ceiling blurred and shifted above me. And then everything went soft around the edges, like looking through frosted glass.

A long exhale escaped my lips. Finally—fucking finally—the constant noise in my head, all that shit I can't shut up—the love, the hate, the fucking terror of it all—it faded to a whisper. The world got a little quieter, a little less sharp. A little more bearable.

For one perfect moment, I could actually breathe. Could almost convince myself I was in control. That this wasn't killing me. That I could walk away if I had to. That I wasn't fucking terrified of losing her. Of becoming him. Of everything.

I groaned, fingers raking through my hair, pulling, needing the pain. My hands were shaking again. Or maybe they never stopped. I couldn't tell anymore.

"You're angry," she said.

"No shit. What gave it away?" I scrubbed my hands over my face. "You showing up here after I specifically fucking told you not to? Or me nearly rearranging Zenin's face again?"

"Satoru—"

"Don't." I squeezed my eyes shut, fingers yanking at my hair again, trembling worse now. From the drugs, the rage, the fear, who the fuck knew. It all bled together these days. "You have no idea what he'd do. If something happened—" I stopped. Couldn’t continue.

"I'm not alone," she said, like that made a difference. "Maki, Yuta, Toge—they're all with me. We're being careful."

"Careful?" I sat upright, forcing myself to meet her gaze. "There's nothing fucking careful about this! It's reckless! You shouldn't even be—"

"I'm doing this for you—"

"Don't." I cut her off. "Don't make this about me."

"But it is!" She stepped closer, eyes blazing. "What, you expect me to just stand by and watch? While you fall apart?"

"This isn't your problem to fix—"

"Like hell it isn't!" Another step. Her eyes seared into mine. "I can't fucking take it anymore. You're in this mess because of me. Because you protected me that night. So don't you dare tell me this isn't my problem to fix."

I stared at her, something in my chest fracturing. "You think that's why I'm doing this? Because I feel obligated?"

"I think you're trying to protect me, like you always do."

"Then don't make me protect you all the goddamn time!" I shoved up from the chair and braced my hands on the desk. "I beat him within an inch of his life that night. I would've killed him if—" My throat closed around the words. "And I'd do it again. In a fucking heartbeat. That's what scares the shit out of me. What I become when it comes to you."

She went still.

"And if he hurt you again," the words scraped out of me, "I—I don't know what I'd do. So please. Just please don't make me find out."

I said the words I'd been turning over in my head for what felt like eternity. Don't make me find out, don't put yourself in danger, don't break my fucking heart. Which really meant break me all you want, just don't leave. I wouldn't survive it.

Her gaze dropped briefly to my hands, and she said, "You done?" 

Her question threw me. Done? God, this infuriating woman. But then I followed her line of sight and saw my hands clenched into white-knuckled fists around the desk’s edge. I slowly released them, my knuckles cracking in the sudden stillness.

I slumped back into the chair, exhausted, defeated, throwing an arm over my eyes. "God, I fucking hate you." The way she stood there, unflinching, unafraid—it made me insane. "I hate that you make me feel like this—so fucking terrified all the time."

"You don't hate me," she said.

"Sometimes I'm not so sure anymore," I answered.

How does it never get easier, I wondered. Loving her. Needing her. It just cuts deeper, spreads further, until I'm drowning in the ache. Until I can't breathe without feeling it in my lungs. And yeah, I hate her for that sometimes.

I couldn't look at her. I knew she'd be there, unyielding, waiting, enduring everything I threw at her, as she always did. Never breaking. Maybe that's what I hated most.

"You're so fucking stupid," I breathed, but it came out wrong. Too soft. Too much like 'I love you'. Too much like 'Please don't leave.' 

"I think that's mutual." She crossed the room then and leaned against the desk, arms folded over her chest. "I'm sorry I lied to you."

I lowered my arm and looked at her. "No, you're not."

"I am sorry for worrying you," she tried again, and I almost believed her, wishing desperately that she'd never have to worry about anything the way I worry about her. "Go ahead, say it. Tell me how stupid I was to come here. I know you're dying to."

"Why would you think that?"

She kept her eyes fixed on the floor. "Because it's true. I make the wrong choice every fucking time."

I watched her, this brilliant, stubborn woman that I love so much, beating herself up over choices that weren't really choices at all—just impossible situations with no right answers. Like there was ever a right answer. And sometimes she reminded me so much of myself. As if I hadn't spent years doing the same thing, and probably still do.

But seeing her do it—it was like staring into a mirror and seeing not just my reflection, but the reflection of everything I hated about myself.

"I think that's mutual," I echoed her words back to her.

With a heavy sigh, I pushed up from the chair, gripping the edge of the desk for a second. Then I reached for her, hands landing on her hips, tugging her close, needing her close. My lips ghosted over hers. Hesitant. Unsure. When she didn't pull away, I kissed her. My hand came up to cradle her face, thumb skimming her cheekbone as I deepened the kiss.

"Alright, what's the plan?" I murmured against her mouth.

She told me about the locked room upstairs and her plan to get it. So calm. She told it so calm. Like it was that simple. Like this wasn't the most insane thing I'd ever heard. But I knew she'd go through with it no matter what I said.

"You seriously think I'm gonna let you anywhere near him with alcohol involved?"

"No," she said. "I think you're going to help me."

"Times like this, I'm really feeling that age difference between us," I said, but we both heard the resignation in my voice. The moment I'd already lost this fight.

"So you'll help?" she asked, ignoring my comment.

Before she could celebrate her victory, I yanked her closer, fingers twisting in her hair. With a sharp tug, I forced her head back until she had no choice but to meet my gaze, her throat bared. Our eyes locked, and I saw the instant her breath hitched.

"On one condition."

"What's that?"

"When we get home, you're gonna make it up to me for all the stress you've caused. Got it?"

"Is that really how you want to play this?"

"Oh, love, I think we're way past propriety at this point."

A shiver ran through her — one that made me almost smile. I could feel her pulse racing beneath my fingertips, could feel the way she melted into me despite herself. It almost made this whole mess worth it.

"Now then." I pulled back just far enough to look her in the eye. "let's have some fun, shall we?"

─── ·✧· ───

So, here's the fun story about how I ended up playing beer pong with my arch-nemesis (besides Sukuna, that is) against my future lovely wife and some chemistry nerd who wouldn't shut up about covalent bonds. Not exactly the Saturday night I had in mind.

I mean, here I was, standing next to Naoya — yeah, the same guy whose face I'd rearranged a few months back — trying to aim at red plastic cups while you were absolutely wiping the floor with us. Turns out that whole '10 years of grief training in alcoholism over your dead father' wasn't just a cute phrase you threw around. Who would've thought?

But really, trying to out-drink an opioid addict? That's like challenging a fish to a swimming contest. Except the fish is in heavy withdrawal. So like, with no fin. Not my finest analogy. I blame the alcohol. What was my point again?

Anyway. Most annoying part? This chemistry department kid with these wide, bright eyes wouldn't stop talking to you about molecular structures. And you were actually entertaining him. At a party. About electron transfers. Of all the insufferable things.

"So if you consider the aromatic compounds—" he was saying, and I swear on my medical license, I didn't mean for the ball to hit him. And I definitely didn't mean for it to hit him that hard. Pure accident, really. 

The ball bounced off his shoulder, effectively shutting him up. They both turned to look at me. "Molecular restructuring in organic compounds? Really?" I shrugged. "At a party?"

She shot me that look. You know the one. The classic 'I-can't-believe-I'm-sleeping-with-this-idiot' glare. It's become quite familiar these days.

"Trouble in paradise?" Naoya said beside me, and I briefly considered rearranging his face again. For symmetry's sake, of course.

But then she bent over to pick up the ball, and suddenly organic chemistry was the furthest thing from my mind. I definitely shouldn't have let her leave the house in that skirt. Though knowing her, she probably wore it just to torture me. 

"Getting distracted, Professor?" she said, straightening up with that little smile that never fails to make me want to do wildly inappropriate things to her in very public places. She leaned across the table, deliberately tapping one of our cups with her finger, giving me her most innocent eyes. Because apparently, driving me insane was her new favorite pastime.

"Me?" I lifted the red cup she'd tapped to my lips, taking my sweet time with the drink, my eyes never leaving hers. "Never."

And somewhere in the haze of beer and the way she was looking at me, I tried to remember why the hell we were even here. Oh right—something about stealing keys. Real professional operation we've got going here. The medical board would be so proud. Their star surgeon, reduced to playing beer pong as a distraction tactic. 

Naoya's keys were right there on the table, practically screaming to be grabbed. But between her legs in that skirt and the way she kept biting her lip every time she lined up a shot, I found myself giving fewer and fewer shits about saving my career and more about how quickly I could get her alone. Priorities. I clearly had them. Alcohol might have scrambled them a bit, I guess.

I caught a glimpse of Suguru standing off to the side of the beer pong table. He was pinching the bridge of his nose, his eyes darting back and forth between me and her like he was watching the world's most stressful tennis match. I really owed him one for putting up with this shit.

Near the chemistry kid, a girl approached who looked a bit like Higurama's intern—though I wasn't entirely sure. She looked different, wearing makeup and dressed up. But that couldn't be her. She'd avoid places with flashing lights because of her epilepsy. I must be seeing things.

Then Naoya, because clearly this shitshow wasn't enough of a disaster already, decided to "level up the process." He snapped his fingers at a passing bartender, and before I could process what the fuck was happening, there was a tray of perfectly lined up tequila shots on the table. Complete with cinnamon and orange slices, because apparently, we're keeping it classy while trying to get my future wife drunk.

"New rule," Naoya announced, his scarred face pulling into what I can only assume was meant to be a grin. "Next shot I sink, you drink both. Beer and tequila."

I glanced over at her, my gut churning. Not from the alcohol—it'd take a hell of a lot more than this to get me there—but from the way she met Naoya's challenge with a nod. That stubborn tilt of her chin that always meant trouble. My palms started to sweat.

Of course, Naoya's ball dropped perfectly into her cup. Because the universe really does have a sick sense of humor.

Watching her reach for both drinks, I found myself wondering what the medical board would be more pissed about — me playing drinking games with students, screwing one of my students, or the fact that I was seriously considering murder. Again.

Then, by some physics-defying miracle or sheer dumb luck, the chemistry kid actually landed a shot. He looked as shocked as the rest of us when the ball plopped into Naoya's cup. But it was her next shot that really got my attention — perfect arc, clean landing, like she'd been doing this her whole damn life.

"Drink up, Professor," she said, but there was something different in her voice.

She reached for the tequila, and then—fuck me—propped one leg up on a nearby beer crate, the motion making her skirt ride up just enough to flash a strip of skin above her tights. Wait. Those weren't tights. Those were fucking stockings.

My brain short-circuited as I realized she'd been walking around all night in stockings. Actual stockings, with what I knew had to be a garter belt hidden under that criminally short skirt. The same spot where she was now deliberately sprinkling cinnamon.

The sight of that exposed sliver of skin between stocking and skirt made my blood boil. When the hell had she even bought those? Had she worn them just for tonight, knowing they'd make me lose my goddamn mind? Was she trying to get herself killed?

Because right now, watching her purposely dust cinnamon on that band of exposed skin, I wasn't sure if I wanted to murder her or fuck her. Probably both. My mouth went dry, and it had fuck-all to do with the alcohol.

"Well?" She tilted her head, all innocence except for that knowing look in her eyes. "Coming to get your tequila?" 

Like she had to ask twice. Yet I hesitated. With all these people watching? What was she playing at? It was reckless, careless, like she was deliberately trying to expose us. It was power play, a challenge. And I knew, that she knew, that I couldn't resist.

A slow smile spread across my face as I sank to one knee before her, the crowd fading into a blur of noise. All that mattered was her—the way her breath hitched as I gripped her calf, the way she tensed as she realized that I made a whole show for her (poor girl didn’t expect that now, did she?)—the feel of her skin on my tongue.

I took my sweet time with the cinnamon, letting my tongue glide over the exposed strip of flesh, feeling her shiver. My teeth grazed her skin, just enough to draw a soft gasp from her lips. If she wanted a show, I'd give her a show. And part of me wanted to shove that skirt higher, to chase that taste of salt and cinnamon further up her thigh until—

Focus. Fucking focus.

I straightened, stepping into her space. She held an orange slice in one hand, the shot glass in the other, and I couldn't help but notice how her pupils had blown wide, how her chest rose and fell just a little faster than normal.

I plucked the orange from her fingers with my teeth, my lips brushing her skin, then took the shot glass, using the movement to press closer, my mouth right by her ear, "What exactly is your plan here?"

"Create distraction," she breathed back.

God help me, but it was working. I was definitely distracted. Whole damn crowd was distracted. And watching her play this game—watching her play me—was probably the hottest and most infuriating thing I'd ever experienced. And I'm pretty sure everyone could see I was hard too.

"You're distracting the wrong audience," I whispered before knocking back the shot.

In the midst of trying to control my homicidal urges over those goddamn stockings, she caught my eye and subtly jerked her head. I turned, making it look like I was just checking something, and spotted them—Zenin, Okkotsu, and Inumaki hovering on the other side of the table behind Naoya, waiting for their chance. 

Right. The keys. The whole reason we were here. I almost forgot.

The game continued, the tension building with each shot. We were down to the last round — winner takes all. That's when she decided to really test my patience.

"Let's make this more interesting," she announced, her voice carrying over the crowd. "Losers jump in the pool." A pause, then because apparently she was hell-bent on giving me a coronary. "No clothes."

"You wouldn’t dare," Naoya scoffed.

"Try me," she replied. 

I shot her a warning look. She subtly chewed on her bottom lip, meeting my gaze with an unnerving calm, perhaps her way of saying everything's gonna be okay. It did little to ease the knot in my stomach.

One shot left. If she made this, Naoya and I would be stripping down for a midnight dip. If she missed—

I tried not to think about her in that pool. Tried not to think about those stockings getting soaked. Tried not to think about murdering every sorry bastard who might lay eyes on her. Either way, this woman was going to be the death of me. If I didn't kill her first.

Naoya landed his shot, fucking prick. I missed mine for obvious reasons. Chemistry kid missed too, leaving everything on her shoulders. The ball left her hand, arcing through the air in what felt like slow motion. It circled the rim, then rolled away.

The crowd went wild. Naoya's victory smirk made me want to punch his face in. I glanced over at her, wondering for a second if she'd missed on purpose. But there was no time for that.

"Well?" Naoya's voice. "I believe the losers owe us a show."

"The game wasn't exactly fair—" I started, but she cut me off.

"Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted, Naoya?" She turned to him, her words sharp. "To see me undress without having to drug me first?"

The crowd went dead silent. Naoya's scarred face contorted into something ugly. "Watch your mouth, little girl. You're not as untouchable as you think."

"And you're pathetic," she spat back, then turned away from him. "At least I get to choose when I undress, right?”

She started walking toward the pool, each step deliberate, commanding. I followed, caught between pride and sheer terror at what she was about to do. At the edge, she turned back to me.

"Don't," I pleaded, but she was already reaching for the hem of her skirt. It fell, revealing the dark lace of her stockings. Then her top followed, and I stepped closer, trying to shield her from the leering eyes.

"This is insane." But my protest died as she stood there in only black lace, and then I saw them—the bruises from the fire still painted across her waist and ribs. Dark purple and yellow marks that hadn't yet faded, cruel reminder of how close I'd come to losing her.

The sight sobered me instantly. Something twisted in my chest, sharp and painful. The bruises I'd carefully tended to, the ones that still made her wince when I changed her bandages—on full display for this crowd of drunk idiots, turned into a spectacle.

"Please," I begged, my voice barely audible. "Don't do this."

She met my gaze, and for a fleeting moment, I thought I’d reached her. But then that smile—the one that sealed my fate—touched her lips. "Sorry, Professor," she whispered, and then she was gone, falling backward into the pool, taking a piece of me with her.

The splash echoed in my ears like a gunshot, and I was already shrugging off my jacket, ready to either dive in after her or use it to cover her when she surfaced. A cold, hard fury settled in my gut. Naoya was going to pay for this.

The crowd roared as she surfaced, her hair plastered to her face, water tracing the curves of her body beneath the soaked lace. Our eyes met across the distance, me standing at the pool's edge, and I didn’t bother to hide my disappointment. Something flickered across her face—regret maybe, or shame—before she looked away.

Hell broke loose. Bodies crashed into the water, sending waves across the pool. Even Naoya stripped off his shirt and dove in, reveling in the attention. The whole party seemed to shift to the pool in a matter of seconds — clothes flying, drinks splashing, the pristine water turning into a churning mess. 

Perfect distraction.

But I barely registered any of it, my world had narrowed to her. I watched as she climbed out, leaving a trail of wet footprints on the concrete, practically sprinting past me, her gaze fixed on the floor, while water dripped from her hair, her skin, the dark lace clinging to her form.

Behind her, the pool had turned into chaos — exactly what she'd planned, I realized. 

I gathered her clothes from where they'd fallen and followed her inside. I caught a glimpse of Okkotsu's quick movements near the discarded clothes by the pool. 

Well played.

─── ·✧· ───

Her dripping form drew curious eyes as we moved through the foyer. Each step felt like a penance—hers for the recklessness, mine for letting it happen. Heads turned, conversations died, the sudden silence punctuated only by the soft drip, drip, drip of water from her hair.

Kento’s face flashed past, but I barely registered him. No doubt he'd give me shit about it at the university later, like he didn't already know something was up with me and her.

I wrapped my jacket around her shivering shoulders, fighting the desperate urge to reach for the opioids hidden in my pocket. Withdrawal, guilt, and fury burned together in my veins, making me want to crawl out of my own skin. 

I stepped in front of her, partly to block all those eyes on her, partly to hide how bad my hands were shaking. None of it was worth it. Not the keys, not avoiding my parents, none of it. How did we end up here? How did I allow things to get to this point?

Upstairs, she dressed quickly, water still dripping from her hair, leaving damp patches on her clothes.

"Are you cold?" 

"I'm okay," she said, avoiding my gaze. 

She was shaking. I could see the goosebumps on her arms. "You're shivering," I said and reached for her, but she pulled away.

“I’m fine, really.”

Despite her words, I pulled her close. She didn't resist this time, tilting her face up to mine. Her eyes were bright, and for a second, I thought she might cry. The world could have been watching, for all I cared. If those tears fell, it would be my undoing.

And then I thought of everything she'd done, everything she'd had to do—for me. My twenty-four-year-old student, forced to protect me from my own damn parents, to beg for my own money. Because I’d hit a guy who tried to hurt her. Why was it all so fucked up?

The high was long gone, leaving this gaping hole. My limbs felt heavy, detached, like they belonged to a stranger, unable to reach out and fix what I’d broken. And we were so far from where we started.

"You're disappointed," she finally said. She wasn't asking.

"We should leave." Because I couldn't bear to watch her sacrifice one more piece of herself for me.

"You can leave."

Before I could say anything back, Zenin came bursting into our corner, Okkotsu and Inumaki right behind her, her eyes all lit up. "That was fucking insane!" she yelled, waving something around—Naoya's keys. "But it worked! I can't believe it actually—" She stopped short, finally noticing the tension between us.

The win felt empty. Yeah, we got what we came for. But what did it cost? Looking at her, still shivering a little in my jacket, I wasn't so sure it was worth it. I was supposed to protect her. Instead, I just kept watching her throw herself in the fire for me. 

Some professor I was. Some man I was.

Strange how winning can feel so much like losing, especially when you realize you're not the one paying the price.

─── ·✧· ───

I stayed outside Naoya's room, playing lookout. At least that's what I told them. Truth was, I couldn't stand being in there, couldn't bear being near her, watching her fight my battles while I was barely holding myself together.

The itch under my skin had spread, making my whole body crawl with invisible insects while she did the dirty work. Even after everything, she was still trying to save me. 

And I was still letting her.

I slid down the wall, my head hitting the floor. How did we end up here? What the fuck were we doing? What the fuck was I doing?

I'm thirty-five years old, for fuck's sake. Why was I acting like a goddamn teenager? I should've stopped her, shouldn't have let her leave the house to begin with, should've been the adult. But instead, I let it happen, standing by and watching where it led. Again.

This whole situation was insane. We were in too deep, and I knew it. But I couldn't seem to find my way out, couldn't seem to stop this trainwreck we were on. It was like I was watching it all happen from outside my own body, powerless to change course.

What kind of man was I? What kind of professor? I was supposed to be her mentor, her… something more. Instead, I was dragging her down with me.

I thought back to that night, the one that started it all. The night I found her in the lab, working late, hunched over her microscope. She looked up at me with those eyes, those damn eyes that seemed to see right through me. And I was lost. I knew it was wrong. I knew I should have walked away. But I didn't. I couldn't. Drawn in. Consumed.

And now, here we were. Trapped in this fucked-up situation of our own making. I wanted to blame her, to say it was all her fault for being so reckless, so damn stubborn. But I knew that wasn't true. I let this happen. I didn’t stop it. But why? 

I could replay the events in my mind, frame by frame, but the crucial moment, the point where I should have intervened, remained a blur. It was as if some part of me had wanted to see where this ended.

Music still drifted up from downstairs, the bass thumping through the walls. It felt wrong, out of place. Like we were in a different world, a fucked-up one, while everyone else was living their normal, happy lives.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block it all out, trying to pretend, just for a moment, that this wasn't happening. That we weren't here. That everything was okay. But it was happening. And I was in it, and I knew I couldn't hold my breath much longer.

My hands wouldn't stop shaking. Kept seeing things in the corners of my vision. Shadows that shouldn't move but did, faces that weren't faces at all. The wallpaper breathed. In and out. In and out. Like a lung.

Stop it. Just stop all of it. Make it stop. But it won't stop, can't stop, because she's in there right now, digging through his things, trying to save me save me save me why won't she just stop trying to save me?

Everything felt wrong, sick, twisted. Too bright and too dark all at once. My skin didn't fit right anymore. Nothing fit right anymore. God, I needed a goddamn fix.

A cough. I pressed my hand against my mouth. When I pulled it away, my palm was red. 

Huh. That's new. 

I stared at the blood, watching it pool in the lines of my hand. It looked wrong somehow, too dark, too thick. The longer I stared, the more it seemed to move strangely, crawling along the creases of my palm.

Was blood supposed to move like that? Like it was alive? Like it was trying to tell me something? I couldn't remember anymore. I couldn't remember a lot of things lately. The blood kept moving, kept spreading. 

Maybe this was it—maybe I was finally losing whatever scraps of sanity I had left, sitting here on a dirty floor watching my own blood drip down my palm.

A part of me wondered if he'd been right all along, that I was becoming him, the very thing I’d always feared. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. I was supposed to be better, different. Not this—huddled on a filthy floor at a college party, watching my blood move as if in psychosis, while she risked everything for me. Again. 

The door handle turned. Shit. I wiped my palm against the dark carpet, smearing the blood into the fibers where it vanished like it was never there. I scrambled to my feet just as they emerged. She moved quickly, shoving something beneath the waistband of her skirt. Before I could speak, she grabbed my arm.

"Let's leave." There was something like panic in her voice. "I'll tell you outside."

I gripped her hand, my own pulse quickening, and we went downstairs and pushed through the mass of drunk students. But then the music cut abruptly, plunging us into a moment of strange silence before panicked voices filled the void. 

"What the hell—?" Okkotsu’s shout cut through the din from behind us.

Then I saw the flashing lights—red and blue strobing through the windows. Fuck. 

"Cops!" Someone shouted, and the whole house erupted into chaos as people scrambled in every direction.

"Everyone freeze!" A voice boomed through the foyer. "Nobody moves!"

We reached the entrance as two officers shouldered their way through the front door. The bigger one looked like he benched trucks for fun, taking up almost the entire doorframe as he planted himself there.

"Listen up!" he bellowed, one meaty hand resting on his belt. "Party's over. Nobody leaves until we check IDs."

Perfect. Just fucking perfect.

I felt her tense beside me, those things hidden in her waistband might as well have been burning her skin. I could practically feel her panic.

"Look, officers." I stepped forward, forcing my voice into something professional. "There seems to be some confusion—"

"No confusion here," Truck-Bencher cut me off, the scar on his lip twisting as he frowned. "Got noise complaints, reports of underage drinking. Everyone stays put."

"I'm faculty at the university. These are my students and they're all over twenty-one. You're wasting everyone's time—"

"Nobody leaves until we say so."

"You really want to process IDs for over two hundred students?"

"You telling me how to do my job?" He shifted closer, chest puffed out despite me having two inches on him.

Withdrawal crawled beneath my skin like insects, each bite feeding the rage that built vertebra by vertebra up my spine. "Depends. Are you actually doing it, or just power tripping?"

"Back the fuck up." His hand dropped to his belt. "Last chance."

I felt her fingers digging into my arm, trying to pull me back. But the rage was a living thing now, burning away anything resembling sense or restraint. "Or what?"

The punch came fast. I dropped, and heard the sickening crack of bone against flesh—not mine. Some poor student next to me. For a heartbeat, everything stopped. Then chaos.

Bodies everywhere. Screaming. Shoving. Radio static cutting through the roar. Her hand in mine as we pushed through the surge. Her friends somewhere behind. Everything blurred. I can't remember when she let go of my hand.

I just remember the scream. Different from the others. Then her voice, "Get her on the ground!" I shoved through the mass of bodies. Saw the girl on the floor. Ice flooded my veins.

I knew that face. Higurama's intern. My patient. My responsibility.

I dropped beside her, my hands shaking so violently I could barely feel them. Her eyes rolled back. Withdrawal made everything too sharp, too bright. I couldn't think. Couldn't—

Satoru. Satoru. Satoru. Satoru. Satoru. Satoru. It was her voice. Fingers gripped my arm. "Satoru, look at me." I met her eyes. Steady. Unnerving. "Focus."

Everything snapped back into place. My phone was in my hand before I realized I'd moved. "This is Dr. Gojo from Jujutsu Medical. Twenty-six-year-old female, epileptic, pre-seizure presentation. We need immediate assistance."

My voice was mechanical, professional. Inside, my mind screamed. Why was she here? Had she been drinking? Were her meds interacting with something? I should know this. Should be better than this. Should be fucking better. 

Nausea rose in my throat and I'd never felt more like a failure in my entire fucking life.

Behind us, the fight continued to rage. A man’s voice bellowed, trying to restore order. Then Suguru was there, kneeling beside her, his hands gentle as he cradled her head. He murmured something, soft and low. The tenderness in his movements caught me off guard. 

"The ambulance is taking too long." His voice cut through everything. Before I could process it, he had her in his arms, head protected against his chest and moved.

─── ·✧· ───

I can't remember how we got to the hospital.

Everything blurred into fragments. Flashing lights, squealing tires, the weight of everything crushing my chest. Each breath scraped like broken glass. My hands wouldn't stop shaking until I swallowed three pills. Maybe four. I lost count.

The fluorescent lights overhead were too bright, too harsh, making my skull feel like it was splitting open. I wanted to crack my head against the wall.

Some part of me was still moving, still speaking in that detached doctor voice — rattling off medical history, medications, possible interactions. Years of training overriding the screaming in my head. But they never trained us for this.

Never trained us for how guilt tastes like acid in your throat while watching your mistakes breathe shallowly on starched white sheets.

They taught us to make clean incisions, to suture arteries, to restart hearts. But not how your own heart would seize when you recognize the face on the floor. Not how your girlfriend’s hands would be steadier than your own worthless trembling ones as you fumbled for your phone, your throat closing around the words "this is my fault", "please" and "I'm sorry."

Didn’t prepare us for withdrawal turning your hands into treacherous strangers while someone seized at your feet. For the shame that festers in your gut as you come down, struggling to remember basic fucking dosages through the need scorching through your veins.

They never warned us how love would carve you open worse than any scalpel, making you both butcher and victim, instrument and incision. Never warned us about loving someone while you’re falling apart. How it feels like drowning in open air, your chest cracked wide and your beating heart wrenched out into daylight, desperate and terrified and somehow still pumping, still fighting, still so fucking afraid.

Higurama's intern lay still now, the steady drip of the IV marking time like a metronome in the silence. I watched the gentle rise and fall of her chest, my mind replaying the medications, the dosages, searching for the mistake I must have made. There had to be one. There was always one.

Perhaps he was right about me after all. Funny how even now, even here, I could still hear his voice so clearly.

"You okay?"

She sat across from me, swallowed by my spare clothes—an old t-shirt and sweatpants that draped loosely on her frame, a blanket draped over her legs. Anything was better than those clothes from before, those fucking stockings I'd personally thrown in the trash.

"Satoru?" she tried again. "You okay?"

I couldn't bring myself to answer.

"Talk me through her meds again," she said, resting her head in her palm. Her eyes, piercing and unwavering, never left my face as she waited.

I rubbed my temples, trying to focus through the exhaustion. "Standard anticonvulsants. Levetiracetam, 500mg twice daily. Added phenytoin after the first seizure." I fell back into my chair, scrubbing my hand over my face. "She couldn't tolerate the Levetiracetam, so I switched to Topiramate, 500mg thrice daily."

She was quiet for a moment. "Side effects?"

"Minor. Tremor in her extremities sometimes, but nothing she couldn't handle. It was working." I paused. "It was supposed to be working."

"EEG results?"

"Showed mild abnormalities. Nothing that would explain a seizure this severe." I scrubbed at my face again, harder this time. "I should have seen it. Should have caught something."

"Satoru." Her voice held that gentle firmness I knew so well. "You did everything right."

"Then why did she seize?" I stood abruptly, the chair screeching against linoleum. I turned away, unable to bear her gentle gaze. Outside, dawn was breaking in shades of grey. No color, no warmth, just an endless stretch of concrete and clouded sky bleeding into each other. "If I did everything right, why is she lying here?"

"Because sometimes that's just how it goes. You know this better than anyone," she said. "Medicine isn't perfect. Neither are we."

My reflection stared back at me, ghostly and distorted in the glass. Dark circles, stubble, hair a fucking mess. A doctor coming down from a high while his patient lay in a hospital bed.

"I should have increased the dosage earlier. Run more tests. I should have—"

"Seen the future?"

"I should have been better."

"You are already the best," she said, but it felt like a lie to me. "But even the best can't control everything."

Higurama's intern stirred slightly in her sleep, and we both fell silent, the moment stretching taut between us. I dragged myself back to the chair, sinking down with my face in my hands.

"You didn't do anything wrong," she whispered, leaning forward to brush a stray strand of hair from the girl's forehead. "Sometimes life just happens, and all we can do is be there to pick up the pieces."

I wanted to believe her. God, how I wanted to. But the truth sat like stones in my stomach.

"I hate this," I whispered.

"I know."

Silence.

"Do you blame yourself?" she asked quietly.

"How can I not?"

Because it's stupid, you know this. I could feel them in my bones, the words forming on her lips before she could speak them. "How did that ever change anything?" I said before she could start.

She leaned back, the chair creaking slightly. "Do you think we are terrible people?" she asked, her voice so soft I almost missed it.

I turned to look at her then, really look at her. Even exhausted and worried, wearing my old clothes, she was still the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. Like a drug I couldn't quit, a high I'd chase until it killed me. 

And what did that say about either of us? That I wanted to crack her open, crawl inside her skin and nestle myself in her marrow? Wanted to consume her, devour her, until there was nothing left but the two of us, fused together in the most depraved way possible?

It was as if we were always meant to find each other. But it was a penance, for both of us.

"I think I am what I am because of you," I finally said.

And it was the truth. She'd molded me, shaped me, just as I'd shaped her. We'd ruined each other for anyone else, stripped away the innocence and left only the filth and grit behind.

Her hand fell from her face, her eyes meeting mine. "And I am what I am because of you."

"Does that scare you?"

"I think one gets used to it."

"Yeah," I said finally, my voice rough. "I guess you do get used to it. Until you don't."

She frowned, but before she could voice something, Suguru stepped inside. 

He said we should leave, and maybe that was for the better anyway, though I couldn't quite shake the feeling that there was an edge to his voice. Anger, perhaps. But I couldn't blame him. Not really.

I grabbed her things, my hand finding its familiar place at the small of her back as we headed for the door. Suguru's voice followed us down the corridor. "What did you find in Zenin's room anyway?" he asked, as if it were something to be discussed in the doorway.

I walked ahead.

I didn't need to hear again about the unconscious women on the Polaroids. 

─── ·✧· ───

Too quiet.

He was never this quiet.

"How bad is it?" I asked, perched on the edge of the exam bed where the paper sheet betrayed every nervous shift of my weight with stupid crinkles. Pale morning light filtered through the blinds, casting thin stripes across the linoleum floor.

I'd coughed up blood again earlier this morning. More than last night. The metallic taste had filled my mouth before I even opened my eyes. I'd stumbled to the bathroom, careful not to wake her—she needed the rest after we spent the whole damn night at the police station.

I stared at the red running down the drain. Way more than there should be. I'd blamed it on stress and alcohol last time. But now? It meant my liver was probably failing faster than I'd thought. Coagulation system breaking down, blood vessels becoming fragile. Textbook end-stage.

I called him then. He was still at the hospital, had slept there while looking after Higurama's intern. His face had gone pale when he saw me walk in. Guess I looked as bad as I felt.

We ran tests. All of them. Blood work, chest X-rays, the works. And now here we are. I watched him reading what I assumed was my death sentence, waiting for him to finally look up, while the clock on the wall ticked away the seconds.

But he kept his eyes fixed on the test results, holding himself with the careful rigidity of someone handling explosives. Another bad sign.

"Suguru."

He exhaled slowly, finally meeting my gaze with eyes that said everything before his mouth could form the words. "You should have started treatment sooner. We talked about this months ago."

"Yeah, yeah, I know." I tried to wave off his concern. "What do the results say?"

His fingers tightened on the papers until the corners creased. "Your liver enzymes are through the roof. AST over 1000, ALT even higher. Bilirubin's climbing while albumin's dropping. Your PT/INR values—" He trailed off, shaking his head. "Your liver is failing, Satoru. Not just damaged anymore—failing."

I let the clinical terms wash over me. The doctor in me understood the implications perfectly. The addict in me wanted to laugh at the irony.

"Well," I said, forcing lightness into my tone, "guess I should have listened to you sooner, huh?"

Suguru's expression hardened. "This isn't a joke. Without immediate intervention—" He caught himself, but I could read the rest in his eyes as clearly as any lab report.

Without immediate intervention, I was dying. Fitting, really. That my body would choose to betray me just when I'd finally found something worth living for.

"How's the withdrawal going?" Suguru asked, setting down the test results.

"Managing." I ran a hand through my hair, trying to ignore how even that simple movement felt like too much effort. "Reduced the hydromorphone gradually. Down to about 5mg now."

"Satoru." His voice carried that familiar note of frustration, the one I'd heard a thousand times before. "You need to stop completely. Not reduce—stop. Your liver can't handle any more strain."

"I'm trying," I snapped, then immediately regretted the harshness. "Sorry. I know you're trying to help."

Suguru pulled up a chair, sitting down with a heavy sigh. "We need to start treatment immediately. The protocol won't be pleasant—high-dose corticosteroids, immunosuppressants, possibly plasmapheresis if things get worse."

"Sounds fun."

"It'll be brutal," he continued, ignoring my sarcasm. "The side effects alone—you'll need to be monitored constantly. Multiple blood draws daily, frequent imaging. And absolutely no narcotics—your liver won't survive it."

I absorbed this, the clinical reality of what lay ahead settling into my bones. "So basically, I get to feel like shit while you stick me with needles and watch me suffer."

"That's about right. But it's either that or start planning your funeral."

"At least you're honest." I attempted a smile that felt more like a grimace. "When do we start?"

"Tomorrow morning. I'll admit you tonight, get you set up in a private room," Suguru said, already reaching for admission forms.

"Monday morning."

He looked up sharply. "What?"

"I have a family dinner on Sunday," I shrugged. "Can't skip it."

"Are you insane?" Suguru's voice rose to fill the small room. "Your liver is failing, Satoru. This isn't something you can postpone for a damn dinner party."

"Monday morning," I repeated firmly. "I gave my word I'd be there."

"Your word won't mean much if you're dead."

"I can manage two more days."

"No, you can't." Suguru slammed the test results down with enough force to make me flinch. Since when is he always so fucking tense? "Your numbers are critical. Every hour we delay treatment increases the risk of complete liver failure."

"Monday."

"For fuck's sake, Satoru—"

"I said Monday. I need to do this, Suguru. Please."

He stared at me for a long moment, jaw clenched so tight I could hear his teeth grinding. Finally, his shoulders slumped.

"Fine. Monday morning, first thing. But if you show any signs of deterioration—any at all—I'm admitting you immediately. And no alcohol at that dinner. Not a single drop."

"Deal."

"I mean it, Satoru."

"I know," I said, trying to inject some levity into the heavy atmosphere. "You can do all sorts of things to me on Monday. Not like I have much on my schedule anyway."

"So Yaga has exempted you?"

"Temporarily relieved of my teaching duties until further notice." I tried to keep my voice light, but the words still choked me. "Apparently, licking your student's leg in public view isn't considered acceptable behavior. Who knew?"

"Everyone would have known that."

"Most people were too drunk to remember anyway, or too busy dealing with the police raid afterwards to care." I shrugged. "Silver lining?"

"This isn't funny. Do you have any idea how serious this is? Your career—"

"My career?" I almost laughed. "In case you missed the memo, my liver's failing. I think my career concerns just got bumped down the priority list."

Suguru fell silent.

"Besides," I added, "maybe it's for the best. Can't exactly teach while going through treatment, can I?"

"Yaga doesn't know about your condition?"

"No, and he's not going to. As far as he's concerned, I'm just taking some time to... reassess my professional boundaries."

"And when he asks why you're not fighting this?"

I sighed. "Let him think what he wants. I've got bigger problems right now."

"Like a family dinner you're insisting on attending despite being on death's door?"

"Exactly." I flashed him a grin, this one a little more genuine despite everything. "See? You're getting it."

"You're impossible."

"That's why you love me."

"That's why I'm going to enjoy sticking you with needles on Monday."

"Kinky."

His expression sobered, eyes searching my face. "You should tell her."

The mere mention of her sent a knife twisting in my gut. "No."

"Satoru—"

"I said no. She has enough to deal with right now. This stays between us."

Suguru shook his head but didn't argue further. He knew me too well to waste his breath.

"I will," I added softly, more to convince myself than him. "When I'm a bit better."

"This will kill her."

"I know."

Silence.

"I'm sorry," I finally managed. "For being an asshole. For everything. And... thanks for coming to the party with me."

"You already apologized."

"I mean it." I met his gaze. "You've always been there, even when I didn't deserve it."

Something shifted in his expression—a flicker of the friendship we'd shared before everything got so complicated. Before I'd dragged us both into this mess.

"Just don't die on me," he said. "I've invested too much time in keeping your stupid ass alive."

I pushed off the bed, steadying myself against the sudden dizziness that threatened to knock me over. "See you Monday."

"You're a stubborn idiot," he called after me. I didn't disagree. 

I stopped at the door, turning back. "Hey, what's going on between you and Higurama's intern anyway?"

Suguru stiffened slightly. "Nothing. Just concerned since she's my patient now too."

I studied him, noting the subtle tension in his shoulders, the way his gaze shifted slightly left—his tell when he wasn't being entirely truthful.

"Sure," I said, too exhausted to push it further. "See you Monday."

As I walked away, I wondered if he knew how obvious he was. Then again, who was I to judge? I was hardly an expert at handling matters of the heart.

─── ·✧· ───

I paused outside our apartment door, my hand trembling on the handle. Withdrawal clawed through me, a living thing twisting my gut. Each breath was a struggle, my lungs constricting as if they'd forgotten their purpose. Just breathe, idiot. In, out. You're almost there.

Relief flooded through me the moment I opened the door. Her shoes were there, neatly arranged next to my scattered ones. Her coat on the hook. She was home.

Strange how that simple fact could lift the weight crushing my chest, made breathing a fraction less painful. No matter how bad things were, coming home to her felt like breaking the surface after being underwater too long.

Dog bounded up to greet me, tail whipping back and forth, before darting off toward the bedroom. Smart boy knew exactly where to find her. I kicked off my shoes, let my jacket fall where it would, and followed.

She was there, sprawled across our bed in a sea of papers, bathed in the warm light of the bedside lamp. The sight of her stole what little breath I had left. Hair messily pulled back, drowning in one of my old t-shirts, completely lost in whatever she was reading. Beautiful. It was a beauty that made my heart ache.

Without a word, I crawled onto the bed, dragging myself up until I could rest my head on her stomach. I paused, remembering the bruises on her midsection. But before I could pull back, she gently tugged me closer and I surrendered, resting my head against her warmth. 

I wrapped my arms around her waist and her fingers found my hair instantly, like they belonged there, gentle strokes that made my eyes flutter closed and I thought, this was home. This was peace. Even as my body screamed for relief, even as guilt gnawed at me, here with her, I could almost believe everything would be okay.

"What are you reading?" I mumbled against her shirt, already knowing the answer. Why did she still throw herself into this project? Did it even matter anymore? But I already knew that answer too. Distraction.

"Research papers. For our project." Her fingers never stopped their magic. "Everything okay at the hospital?" I wondered for a second how she knew where I went, but then she said, "Antiseptic smell."

Did I always smell like that? Like the harsh, sterile scent of the hospital? I hated it. Hated how it seemed to cling to my skin no matter how many times I scrubbed my hands raw. Hated the way it reminded me of sickness and death.

I hugged her tighter, breathing in her familiar scent as that was so unlike the clinical smell of the hospital as I crafted the lie. Yeah, everything's fine, I told her. Had to check on something with a patient. Normal stuff, nothing to worry about. Standard procedure.

But even as I spoke, the guilt in my stomach twisted. The truth was, I wasn't sure how much longer I could keep going like this. I could feel myself slipping, losing my grip on the things that mattered most and I couldn't help but wonder if I'd even make it to the end.

If I'd be there to witness the results of our research, to stand by her side as we perhaps do something great. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to drown out the intrusive thoughts, focusing on the feel of her beneath me, the steady rise and fall of her breath.

Her fingers paused momentarily in my hair, and I knew she sensed something off. She always could read me too well. But then she resumed the gentle stroking.

"You'd tell me if something's wrong, right?"

"Of course," I whispered, another lie to add to the growing pile.

I tightened my arms around her waist, as if by holding her close enough, I could somehow make up for my betrayal. As if loving her fiercely enough could somehow balance out the pain I was about to cause her. Monday felt both too far away and not nearly far enough.

Desperate for a distraction, I asked about how it went at the police station. She said it was fine, her friends were with her as they'd needed to clarify their statements, she explained, her fingers still weaving through my hair. Everything had been too hazy right after the party.

She mentioned they needed me to verify my own statement again too. I bit back the urge to say that they'd likely have to come to my hospital bed for that. Instead, I just hummed in response. Whatever it took to make that little shit pay for what he'd done.

"He won't hurt anyone else," she added. "We'll make sure of it."

Something about her struck me as odd. How could she be so unaffected by everything that had happened? Like we didn’t just discover that Zenin Naoya was—

"You're so calm about it." 

"And what would you have me do?"

I didn’t know. Maybe I should be grateful that at least one of us could keep it together. 

I turned my head, pressing a kiss to her palm. I wanted to tell her how proud I was of her, how sorry I was for dragging her into this mess, how I feared the rumors that would follow her through university halls. How fucking terrified I was. How much I loved her. But it all just crowded in my throat, tangled with all the other truths I couldn't voice.

Instead, I just held her tighter. "I'm sorry," I whispered.

"For what?"

I didn't answer. Couldn't answer. Or lie again. I clung to her, as if she were the only thing keeping me from falling apart, pressing my face into her stomach, trying to blur myself into her very being. "Satoru,” she winced, a small sound escaping her lips. "You're hurting me."

"Please," I pleaded, tears pricking at my eyes. “Just… bear it for a moment. Please.” But then, a sudden tickle rose in my throat, and I sat up abruptly, he movement sending the room spinning.

"You okay?" she asked, sitting up as well, her hand cradling her side.

"Yeah," I managed, before another cough clawed its way out. I stood, turning away from her, my hand coming up to cover my mouth. When I pulled it away, blood glistened on my palm.

"Satoru? You sure you're okay?"

"Everything's fine." I curled my fingers into a fist, watching red seep between my knuckles. "Just need some water."

I should call him again. Should probably head to the hospital right now. Every logical part of my brain screamed at me to seek help, to stop this madness before it was too late. 

But Sunday's dinner loomed in my mind. One last chance to fix things with her, to make things right before everything inevitably crumbled around us. Just two more days. I just needed to hold on for two more days and then I could let the chips fall where they may.

Even as blood painted the back of my throat red, I clung to that desperate hope, that foolish notion that I could make this right. I knew I was being stupid. Reckless. Playing Russian roulette with a fully loaded gun. 

But then again, what did it matter anyway?

<- prev chapter | next chapter ->

author's note — welcome back, i hope this wasn't too intense, even tho i went through all stages of grief writing this chapter, but i'm quite happy with how it turned out. hope you all survived seeing things through satoru's eyes once more. writing from his perspective is always both challenging and thrilling in some strange way.

quick note, as this is somehow not obvious to some people: i understand that this story deals with controversial topics and might not be everyone’s cup of tea but this is purely fictional work, and i'm just here to enjoy a stupid little hobby. i am not looking for criticism. if the story makes you uncomfortable, feel free to block me and move on.

for those following the spin-off: yes, this chapter runs parallel to remedies and reasons chapter 04 ! if you want to see how certain events played out from a different angle, definitely check out the suguru spin-off.

and i want to thank you all for your incredible support. your comments, messages, and theories continue to blow me away. seeing how deeply you connect with this story and catch all the little details i sprinkle throughout brings me so much joy. your thoughtful analyses and wild speculations make writing this stupid story so much fun !! :''))

also a massive thank you to @/nanamis-baker who beta reads all these chaotic chapters, listens to my rambling about plot points, and talks me down whenever i'm convinced everything i write is terrible <3

& second quick note about the alcohol consumption in this story: while it's serve the narrative of the story, please remember that alcohol is toxic to the body and brain, with no "safe" amount. please be mindful of your health and wellbeing.

next chapter we'll be back to our regular pov as we deal with the aftermath of... well, all of this. until then, take care of yourselves ! and as always, thank you for joining me on this chaotic journey and being patient with my slow updates <3

ps: if you want to get notifications for future updates, you can join my taglist here !

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© lostfracturess. do not repost, translate, or copy my work.

[dduane]

Invictus

In the dimness he woke and knew it was too late. Morning never came so late unless the world was ending.

Fortunately, he knew what to do about that.

He blinked and ruffled his feathers, looking around. This was his place. Surrounding a patch of grass were two holly trees, a pine, a cypress whose branches all went the wrong way, and much shrubbery, mostly beech and thorn. The shelter was good here, even on nights like last night. And in the holly, food appeared hung up: good food that tasted of fat and meat. It was all his. Later, when it was time for sex, there would be someone else who’d get some of it. But right now, he owned it.

This cold white stuff on the ground did complicate matters. It came and went without warning, and here it was again. Now, others who might have spent the morning scratching around the ground instead of stuffing themselves full up here would be turning up in his territory, eating his food. His feathers ruffled up again, this time with rage at the thought. Bastards. Bastards. Kill them all.

He hopped up onto the branch that had the best view across the patch of grass and into the bushes, and sang. Bastards! Who wants a piece of me? Come and get it! Because this was when it had to be said, no matter how much you might have preferred to sit quiet with your feathers fluffed up, conserving your heat. The dim sky was already paling toward that too-cold blue. It would be a bad day, cold, everybody and his family would turn up here trying to get at the tree food, which was what you needed this time of year if you meant to stay alive until dusk –

And suddenly he heard the harsh dark cawing coming from across the hardened path, across the wall, in the wood full of tall starved pines. He shivered. Not so early, he thought, what are you doing up at this hour? But he knew. That one wanted the tree-food too. It had come for it before. Now, in the silence before the morning wind, he heard the flapping of the wings.

Hastily he turned to the food cage, ate a few mouthfuls, felt the fat melt down his throat like blood, like life. Almost before he finished, the darkness had landed with a noisy thrash of leaves and branches up in the holly. A huge expressionless black eye gazed down at him.

He sang. It was almost all he could do. It’s mine! Stay away, or I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you! But the outcome was hardly so simple. The black-headed, white-backed shape with the axe-like beak bounced down another branch, and another, its eye on that tree food, that meat. It liked meat too. He’d once seen it zoom down onto the pond and simply pick up a baby duck and fly off with it. I’ll kill you if you get any closer! Don’t push me! I will!

It came closer. It was winter, it was death, the shape now only one branch of holly away. He sang as if life depended on it: because it did. If he had enough to eat, the sun came up. If the sun came up, the world was safe. It was as simple as that. Go away! I have to eat the food or the world will end! I’ll kill you to keep that from happening! Monster, go away, don’t make me rip you up — ! He fluttered at the monstrous gaping head, enraged, desperate.

A clacketing, rattling noise from behind. The black eye went wide, the death-pale bulk roused its wings and flapped clumsily out of the holly tree. Desperate with relief, he flung himself at the food-cage again, and ate with frantic speed as the sky paled brighter, toward day-blue: and between mouthfuls, he sang at the top of his lungs, shuddering with relief and triumph. Bastard! I warned you not to mess with me! Victory! Victory!

The sun peered up over the far hill. The shadows fled. He gorged himself as the black bird flew off, and stopped, and shouted again, Victory!

…She stood there with her mug in one hand, looking out across the back yard snow at the dot of red breast deep in among the holly branches, pecking furiously at the suet in its little cage. “Boy,” she said to the husband, back in the kitchen, “listen to that guy. You’d think he’d just won World War Three.”

“Yeah. Where’s the milk?”

The door closed. On the snow, the sun of the shortest day shone.

Victory!

[throneofsapphics]

remember everything that we'd die for

cazriel x reader

summary: Hybern attacks Velaris, you're not where Cassian and Azriel expected you to be.

warnings: injury, death, angst

a/n: the acomaf blurb style rewrite temptation is strong

By all means, it was one of the most beautiful days of the year. Until you were called into work. Not that you minded your job, the bookstore was a peaceful place, but some days you just wanted to rest. Considering both of your mates were busy, it was probably a good thing this happened, saving you from a full day of worrying. 

Fate was tricky, you knew that. Despite all previous signs pointing towards a peaceful life in a city known for its safety, not everyone could escape the scythe of the afterlife hanging over them. Your scythe was looking an awful lot like the soldiers from Hybern Azriel and Cassian had described, blotting out the beautiful sky. 

“Get inside,” you pushed the door open, ushering the panicked people through. “If they break through, go out the back,” you’d firmly instructed your coworker earlier before retrieving the rusted blade you kept under the front desk. Your mates would throw a hissy fit over that. Two knives, gifted to you by them, were tucked into your clothing. 

A little girl pressed her hands against the window, her mother dragged her back. You hoped you conveyed your appreciation in the brief meeting of your eyes, all you saw in hers was gratitude that made you sick to your stomach. You were no savior. You were more likely to be their damnation. Perhaps fate or destiny took you to work that day, you just prayed the people inside the building made it. 

With a store full of people behind you, you tapped into your magic for the first time in years, perhaps decades, and let the wall rise as you stepped beyond it. A golden sheen now covered the building like a second skin. 

You wished you could’ve had one last day with them. Or even just an hour. 

-

As Hybern’s soldiers fell, Azriel took solace in the fact that you were in their home, safely warded. He knew, not far away from him, that Cassian was doing the same thing. Later, he’d question why his shadows had failed him, for the first time. 

-

The first grey scaled being landed in front of you, took one look at the blade in your hand, and laughed before calling out in a language you half understood. Only three others landed. 

Righteous, sweet, anger filled every nook and crevice of your body and mind. Breathing out, you let enough of it fade to keep a clear mind. 

“Losing your head is the fastest way to get killed,” Cassian’s voice echoed in your mind. They may have taught you a few things, but you were no trained warrior. Tears built in the corners of your eyes. Was this really how it would end for you? 

-

As his blade toppled the head of one soldier, his magic crushing another, Cassian counted his lucky stars it was your day off, but he wouldn’t find true peace until he managed to lay eyes on you and confirm you were safe. 

-

Like something out of a story book, you felt rather than saw your magic sneak up the blade, coating it in what must be a golden iridescence. You didn’t dare look, didn’t dare give away that one precious piece of knowledge that might give you some kind of edge. 

Despite the training you’d received from your mates, four versus one was not good odds. Tilting your eyes to the blotted sky in silent prayer to the mother, you waited for your opponents to give something away. Time, you needed to buy time for someone else to get here. 

It took three dead enemy bodies for you to realize help was not coming. Your arms shook as they held the blade, the magic on it already sputtering. 

The first knick hit your shoulder, blood pooling around the cloth of your off white top. 

Dying was absolutely unacceptable. You had too much to live for.

If you died, you doomed the people behind your shield, the ones counting on you to keep them safe. You had a store full of younglings, females, and males all counting on you. 

This couldn’t be your end, you thought as you reached for the knife tucked at your waist, dodging another blow. 

Your aim had always been good, it wouldn’t, couldn’t fail you now. 

The knife flew from your fist as a blow hit your head, hard enough darkness took you. Like a marionette doll, you crumbled to the pavement. As the sky turned a familiar and safe dark, the golden shield behind you faded, and you couldn’t tell if you were a failure. 

-

As Rhys’s magic cleared the city, a black shadow wisped around his ear, whispering one of his greatest fears. 

Hurt, she’s hurt. 

Azriel shot through the sky, a blur of black, aiming right for where Cassian scanned the horizon. He looked up as Azriel slowed just enough to approach, the panic in his eyes must’ve made the message clear. Few things could make him panic. 

“Where. Is. She?” Cassian said, jaw clenched. 

Work, another shadow curled around his ear, work. 

“The store.” 

He clasped Cassian’s forearm, shadows transporting them the short distance to the city proper.

They landed quietly, but their steps were near thunderous as they approached, the crowd clearing for them, words of thanks flying past their ears. 

A few children hid inside the bookstore, he could feel the remains of your magic, a sensation he hadn’t known in years, something you generally kept to yourself, brought to the light by these ancient horrors. 

Azriel kept his head clear enough by focusing on how his shadows said hurt not dead. Why the hell did you have to go to work today of all days? He’d kill whoever called you in. Gladly. Cassian might even help him. 

“Clear out,” a voice shouted, he looked out to see a healer he recognized hovering over your form, looking at him and Cassain. 

The crowd parted before he needed to shove their way through. 

Azriel’s knees hit the pavement on your other side, Cassian right next to him. 

The healer didn’t complain at the shadows now swarming over your body, reporting back to him on every little detail. 

A blow to the side of your head, one on the back of your head, likely from hitting the ground, a wound on your shoulder. Unconscious, no doubt you’d have a concussion, but right now you were still breathing. 

Cassian asked all of the questions to the healer, his restraint at her touch and magic a sign of your century old mating bond. A hundred years ago they would’ve been at her throat. 

Now, he was capable, although not happy about it, of letting her work. 

“She needs lots of rest,” the healer said. “Minimal activity for at least a week.” He’d tie you to the fucking bed if he had to. 

general taglist: @rowaelinsdaughter @bookishbroadwaybish @nestaismommy @erencvlt @book-obsessed124

@callsigns-haze @littlest-w01f

acotar taglist: @lilah-asteria @yeonalie @I-am-a-lost-girl16 

[after-witch]

Points of No Return [Yandere Geto x Reader]

Title: Points of No Return [Yandere Geto x Reader]

Synopsis: You run into someone from your old life and it shakes you into making a decision you might regret. Companion piece to Bait, Fever Pitch and Bus Stop.

Notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, Stockholm syndrome; mentions of physical and mental abuse, mentions of pregnancy

The town is hustling and bustling. It looks a little different every time you visit. New banners, new shops, an endless sea of revolving faces that you barely remember once you’re back home.

Here, in the outdoor market, there is a sense of thrumming aliveness that keeps your thoughts dancing from one step to the next. Should you go to this stall, or that one? Stop for a bite to eat? Check out new wares? A dress for yourself, bracelets for the girls, a book for him–or not? There’s too much. Too many people, too many choices. It makes it hard to concentrate. 

But then a squeeze to one your hands--Nanako and Mimiko on either side of you, the three of you making quite the trio on a trip--brings you back the ground.

“We’ll go look for our gifts,” the girls say, smiling. “You should look for something new to wear to the party.”

You smile and wave them off and turn towards the nearest stalls with fabrics and kimonos hanging up for sale. The outfit should be elegant, but understated. That’s what the girls told you, which means that’s probably what Geto told them.

An outfit appropriate for his birthday party.  

You’ll find something here, that’s certain. With this many stalls, and the amount of money allotted for the trip. 

The city was shocking, the first time you were allowed to visit again. You didn’t stay long–a panic attack took care of that. It was too much in a horribly overwhelming way, and you’d buried yourself against his chest and asked to leave. 

Of course, Geto had been with you then. It took a year for the girls to convince him to let you come only with them–a girls’ trip. And here, now, years down the line, you didn’t even need to beg and plead. It was a matter of fact: the girls were taking you shopping, and you’d go home to Geto, and that was that.

Sure, it’s still overwhelming; but not in a way that leaves you breathless. It does make you long to go home, to sweep into Geto’s private quarters, to relax in that space which has finally become warm and inviting to you. A sanctuary, away from his followers, away from any sense of the greater world out there.

It would be nice, to go home later today. To be with him. To have him hold you and kiss you, to simply sit quietly at his feet while he reads. He was kinder, now. In his own way. Long gone are the days of punishments, of scoldings, of that awful bitterness that kept you from truly feeling alive. 

And–just when did that happen? That sense of normalcy–happiness, even?--with him. With your life.

Your fingers fumble with the fabric you’re holding and there’s a few awful moments where the world wants to spin, but simply stands stationary instead and makes you feel its terrible crushing weight. You want to take it back, those thoughts; want to simply go about your day like everything was normal, and fine, and–

Someone calls your name. Someone close.

It’s not the girls. It’s a man. A man’s voice, but who, and why, and how long has it been since anyone has said your name that hasn’t been Geto or the twins or one of his followers? 

Your name, again. Spoken softer, but breathier. Like he’s shocked. Surprised. But pleased? 

You turn slowly, your brain whirring into action, putting forgotten puzzle pieces back together as it pulls from deep within the foggy recesses of your memories.

The voice. The mole on his cheek, the curve of his jaw. The color of his eyes. It’s yanked from deep within your mind, sticky taffy that barely wants to come up–but it does and he does and you know this man.

“Kenji?”

It tastes sour, this man’s name on your lips–a name that isn’t, for the first time in years, his.

The muted shock within you is like wet sand, being scooped and patted firm by a small hand. 

He says your name again, and takes your hand in his own–your heart begins to beat more rapidly, knowing that this is wrong, that Geto will know, somehow, that another man’s touch has been upon you.

He says more things. Things that barely register. That your family has missed you. Your friends have missed you. He’s missed you. 

It shouldn’t be surprising. He was–after all–your boyfriend. Was. Had been. Once upon a time, when the world was different. 

“What happened to you?” He asks, and you don’t answer. You can’t. Not fully.

“I…” How do you tell him, exactly? Where do you even start? And where would you end? By telling him that gosh, you were just thinking about how you’d like to get back home to the man who kidnapped you years ago. The man who’s held you hostage and hurt you, but the man who–who loves you, too? Who saved you, who is kind when he can be.

“Your parents are going to be so happy,” Kenji says, quietly, filling your silence. They hadn’t been on your mind in some time, and isn’t that awful of you? But it was too hard to think about them. It hurt too much. So you put them away, like old things in a drawer, to be avoided like a painful memory. 

But… they had been hurt, of course, by your disappearance. They missed you. Did others miss you? And had you been missing them, all along? Only for that pain to be glossed over to protect yourself. A selfish sort of trickery. 

Pangs in your heart begin to puncture that heavy shock. Your mother. Your father. Your best friend. Your dog. Neighbors, the friendly woman at the grocery store who always stuck a pack of gum in your bag before you left. And–Kenji. Kenji, too. 

Tears prick at your eyes and you know they’re threatening to spill. Just when had you forgotten all of them? Set them all in that dusty drawer, to avoid the pain, to indulge in the comfort of increasingly familiar days inside Geto’s compound. 

“Listen,” Kenji says, soft, slow. As if you were wrapped in a silver emergency blanket and perched on the end of an ambulance after fighting off a monster. And–have you been? 

Confusion blurs your thoughts, your memories. You haven’t been… unhappy in a long time. Haven’t thought about those unpleasant days, when you fought. When you ran. Instead, you’ve thought about how comfortable you are; how nice it feels when Geto puts aside his duties now and then, and spends more time with you.

When did you stop trying to get away?

Kenji seems to sense your thoughts, somehow; sense your inner turmoil which must surely be written on your face as clear as day. 

“I’ll help you,” he continues, as his words seem to grow louder and louder in your ear. Like a siren–like a wake up call. “Meet me at the park around the corner. Tonight. Whatever’s going on… whatever’s happened, I can help you.” 

I can help you. And you need it, don’t you? Help?

Your mouth opens stupidly, like a fish, but before you can say anything, two familiar presences are by your side. 

Kenji drops your hands, and you find yourself staring down at them. 

“Who is this?” Mimiko asks, a shopping bag tucked over her arm. She takes one of your hands in hers, gives it a firm squeeze.

“Do you know them?” Nanako’s hand is in yours just as swiftly as her sister’s, and this time, you recollect yourself–you give her hand a squeeze first.

“I don’t know,” you lie, the first time you’ve lied to the girls in what seems like forever. “He was just apologizing for running into me.”

The girls look at each other, leaning forward, with you in between. You feel the weight of their stares glancing by you, like they might just brush your cheek. 

But–

“Let’s go home,” is all they say together, and begin to lead you away. You don’t dare answer Kenji, but as they turn you away, you dare it–

You give the smallest of nods.

You’ll meet him.

–

“Did you behave?” Geto murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of your forehead. Every muscle in your body seems to lock in at once, the thought pattering against your skull–He knows he knows he knows he knows–before he pulls away and laughs a little. A melodic sound that pulls you down from your tense height, though it feels like your feet skid the entire way.

“Only a tease,” he says, almost airily, before he looks at the girls. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

Nanako and Mimiko exchange a look, and there, an awful thought–They’ll tell him–before they dutifully pull the sides of their shopping bags closer in near unison to hide their gifts. 

“You’ll find out at the party,” they say in unison, and you can’t help the cold wash of relief that runs through your stomach. They must have believed you, and they know mentioning the man to Geto will only spoil the party they’ve been planning for weeks. 

It will definitely spoil it, you think, once he finds out you’ve run away.

–

You’re not very poetic, as a general rule of thumb. Oh, sometimes you try. You take pen to paper and scribble out lines about your feelings, about the way the trees look in the garden you’re allowed to roam, the way Geto’s empty side of the bed feels in the morning. 

It never amounts to anything satisfying, you can’t quite seem to make the words stick. But here, now, in this moment, maybe you could write something worth remembering.

The moonlight brushes against Geto’s hair as daintily as your fingers, which skim the strands on the pillow, not daring to get anywhere close to his scalp, to the softness of his cheek. He might wake up. He might wake up and realize that he’s let you go in the night, his arms tired and slack, and you’ve slipped out of bed–

But you’re not gone yet, are you? No. Now, you’re leaning next to the bed, watching the way the moonlight through the window makes half his face glow in the darkness. He looks like a sculpture, with only a hint of his chest rising to tell you that he’s a living being, and not some piece of marble in the garden.

And oh, how lovely he looks. How serene. 

Maybe you should stay. Maybe this is an awful idea. Maybe it will simply lead to trouble and upset and you’ll topsy-turvy everything in your world again, and it won’t be worth it.

But then you remember Kenji’s hands squeezing yours and those thoughts, whirling and long repressed, of the world outside. The world you left behind. A world waiting to welcome you again, you’re sure, if you just make that first move to leave.

So you do leave–swiftly and with dread and hope fighting for space in your stomach. 

–

Meeting Kenji in the park is surreal. Being truly alone in some outside place, away from attendants, away from the girls, away from Geto. It is only you and Kenji and the moon above, watching silently. 

You don’t tell him about this out of body feeling; there is an embarrassment that overtakes you all too suddenly at the thought of letting him know everything.

Instead, you tell him about the kidnapping. The training. The ups and downs with Geto, the highs and lows of what has become of your life. The escape attempts, the fights, the slow descent into accepting that you won’t be able to leave.

You don’t tell him what he doesn’t need to know. How it feels when Geto strokes your back on nights you feel lonely, how it makes your stomach flutter when he kisses you with a quiet warmness instead of hunger; how you no longer dread his presence, but normalize it, welcome it–invite it, even.

“We’ll go to the police,” he says, and you feel bad for the barking laugh that pushes its way out of your throat. He didn’t mean to say something stupid. Pointless. You know that.

“He would find me,” you say, quietly. “Find us. He’d kill anyone involved. He’d kill you.” Would he kill me? You wonder, and don’t ask aloud. This should make Kenji give up. Run away, and protect himself. 

But he doesn’t. Instead, he grips your hand again, squeezing it like he’s been the one to hold you all these years. He waits until you turn to look at him, and you can see the glossy tears in his eyes, the way he looks so frazzled–but determined. Hopeful. Kind. 

“Please let me help you.”

These words hurt your chest. 

“Is there a day you can slip away like this again?”

You don’t answer right away. You chew on the words, heart pounding. 

How sick it feels that some part of you wants to say no. Wants to be Cinderella hiking up her ballgown and calling out that she has to get back to her kidnapper’s compound by midnight or she’ll turn into a pumpkin.

But–

It’s not just Kenji that you left behind, is it? It’s your parents, your friends, your family, your neighbors. The world itself. 

And something small inside you, louder and louder, knows you want to get back to that world. 

“The party,” you murmur, almost without thinking. “Tomorrow night. Can you meet me at the gate of the compound?” 

Kenji’s smile breaks your heart and you feel tears slipping down your cheeks. He reaches up to brush them away and you almost flinch from the intimacy.

“Tomorrow night,” he repeats.

Tomorrow night indeed.

The giddiness of it all carries you all the way back to the compound, sneaking through the shadows, stumbling through the gaps in security that the girls taught you one evening so they could take you to see a movie in town. 

It even carries you through the hallways back to Geto’s bedroom, where he should still be sleeping–

Where he is, instead, sitting in his chair and staring right at you as you come through the doorway. He stands, when you enter, and you don’t move as he bridges the gap between you. 

"Where did you go off to?"

A lie passes your lips as easily as air. "I was just helping with the decorations for the party. S-Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you.” 

He pauses, pulls you closer and leans in, kisses your neck. “Ah,” he hums, “And here I was worried you were trying to escape again.” He sighs into your skin, warm and tickling. “You’ve been so good. But I still wonder, now and then…”

It feels impossible for your muscles to lock in so tight, but they do, even as he pulls you back into the bedroom towards your shared bed. 

“No,” he says, almost a murmur. “You’ve been so good to me these past years, haven’t you?” He gestures towards the bed and you climb onto it, no need for instructions, and begin to disrobe. Your chest is tight–everything from your head to toe feels tight–and you’re waiting for something to snap. Him–or you? 

But he doesn’t. And you don’t. Instead, he lets his robe drop to his shoulders, then lower. 

“I think I’d like an early present,” he says, low. And the sound of his voice, the sight of him disrobing, brings a familiar heated flush–a familiar pride. A familiar feeling of usefulness that he has cultivated in you through careful training.

You don’t protest as he climbs onto the bed, as he hovers over you and begins to take what is his–but as your head hits the pillow, you wonder how much emptier the bed will be tomorrow night. –

It’s like you're not in your own body. Can Geto tell? Can the girls? You take another pretend sip of champagne so they think you’re just drunk, high on the alcohol and not the thought of freedom. What an elusive thing, freedom. Something you’d given up on grasping yet here it is, dangling in front of you, held by Kenji’s warm hands.

Geto is too busy for most of the night to stay near you. There are too many people, too many speeches, too many moving parts. It’s glorious, really, for the opportunity it gives you–

Because when he’s crowds-deep into the room, and the girls have run off to start gathering the gifts, you are able to slip away. It feels sickeningly easy. No one pays much attention to you anymore, not like they might have a few years ago, keeping you on a tight and perhaps literal leash.

It wasn’t practical to pack anything, so you try not to regret leaving a few treasured items behind as you shift through the shadows, keeping yourself in the darkness. Though it hardly matters. Most everyone is at the party, desperate for a glimpse of Geto; desperate to please him. Like you are, sometimes. Or were, you think. You’re going to leave all that behind. Aren’t you?

Kenji is standing at the gate like he isn’t seriously risking his life to help you. Like this is a game. He even smiles when you make it, as he pushes open the unlocked door and grips your hand to pull you through.

It makes your heart feel a bit strained–how stupid he is, how little he knows about Geto. How much more you know about him, how cruel he can be–How he looks when he sleeps contentedly by your side, how his smile gets a little higher when you do something he finds cute, how his fingers feel against your cheek.

Your feet skid against the ground. Oh, oh–

Kenji looks back when your gravity pulls against him. 

He says your name, and your chest tightens.  

“What’s wrong? Did you forget something?” A touch of annoyance in his voice. No wonder, he is afraid to get caught, after all. 

“No,” you say, voice cracking, throat dry. But haven’t you left something behind? No, not something. Someone. (Not just him–not just him, but the girls, too.) “It’s just–I just–I don’t know if I…” 

If I can leave him. 

You shouldn’t feel this way. You shouldn’t. But you do, and it keeps you rooted, keeps your shoes digging into the ground even as Kenji gives you a tug.

“Come on,” he says, more of a hiss. “We don’t have much time.” He gives another tug, and this time you actually pull against his grip. 

“I can’t!” 

The shock registers on his face as quickly as it registers in your heart, plucking hard like a taut string. 

Kenji’s surprise turns to something else, an emotion you haven’t seen for some time. Irritation–no. Stronger. Harder. Something meaner mixed with disbelief.

“What the hell–” He says your name in a way that makes it sound like an awful thing. “Don’t tell me–” His lip curls, his eyebrows furrow. “Don’t tell me you love that bastard. Think of what he’s done to you!”

Your tongue snakes out to lick your dry lips and you know what might be said here. What Kenji wants to hear. That you’re just confused, you’re scared, you don’t know what to do. 

But you do know what to do. And what you can’t say. What you don’t want to say to him. 

It doesn’t need to be said, anyway. It’s clear as day on your face, on the way your shoes are planted in the ground. Kenji’s expression turns awful and you can tell he understands that truth of yours; a truth that feels so much uglier when you’re outside the compound. 

You do love Geto. You do, and maybe it’s wrong and fucked up and–

Geto is here–somewhere. You can feel him, although there’s no sign of him anywhere, no sound of approaching footsteps. But it’s something innate in you now, this ability to sense his presence. 

“You have to leave,” you say, quickly, words hopping out of your mouth like a skipping stone. “Before it’s too late. He–he’ll kill you.” And despite the way Kenji looked at you, you don’t want him dead. You just want him gone and out of your life, back to his old world, even if he will no longer be ignorant–happily?--of your whereabouts.

For a moment he keeps a grip on your hand, and you wonder if he’ll plead with you to come with him. Convince you that your life here is terrible and you need to leave. He’ll try to convince you for so long that Geto will come and kill him, and you’ll sob over his dead body.

None of that happens. Instead, he lets go, abruptly, like your hand is electric. 

He says your name and when you look up at him, he merely shakes his head. 

“I don’t know who you are anymore. You’ve… changed.” Changed. Said awfully, like the word was spoiled milk in his mouth. 

“What do you mean?” And you ask this, despite perhaps not wanting the answer. 

It doesn’t matter, because he doesn’t give one.

Instead, he turns, without so much as a goodbye, and leaves you standing alone at the gate in the darkness. 

Alone–and clutching the string of your heart that kept you from leaving in the first place.

–

Everything is wrong. The compound should be lit up, all sound and music, the din of people inside the party. But instead, it’s like the world has been snuffed out–there is only darkness. Not even the familiar glow of candles in hallways or electric lights snug inside the maze of rooms.

There’s only one light and you follow it, moth to flame, all the while a knot in your stomach ties itself tighter and tighter. The world is quiet and dark and you’re going to the only thing you can see–the temple where Geto and his followers meet. 

A temple of light, now.

You don’t see anyone inside as you cross the threshold, but you’re not stupid enough to think that you’re alone.

And you aren’t–you aren’t, and when you sense Geto behind you, it is with the same familiarity as the feeling of someone presenting your winter coat to be put on at the long end of a weary evening.

Only instead of being enveloped in warmth, Geto stands behind you–and his hand shoots out to grip your neck.

It’s nostalgic, in its own way. The press of his fingers against your neck, the slight squeeze. A warning, but this time, you think it will be more than that. A blown last chance, perhaps. He’ll kill you. Or throw you out, and that might just be worse. 

“It was quite stupid of you,” he says, slowly, as if you need time to process his words, “to think that I wouldn’t find out what you were planning.”

How awfully nostalgic, too, when he pushes you against the hard stone of one of the statues in the temple. It connects with your side in a flash of pain, and Geto turns you around with ease. If he notices the way your body has begun to tremble, he doesn’t show it. 

“Humor me,” he murmurs, curling his hand around the front of your neck. “Why didn’t you leave with him?” 

His expression is cold, you think. You’ve gotten so much better at reading him, and yet, you haven’t done anything particularly displeasing in so long that it feels like wading into unfamiliar territory. 

“Not that you would have gotten far,” he adds, a slight sneer in his tone. “Not with that fool.”

A sneer in his tone, yes, but also–is it jealousy? How could Geto be jealous of someone like Kenji? Geto, who is smarter, and stronger; Geto, who always seems to know what you need, even when you don’t. Geto–the man you can’t imagine being without, despite it all.

The thoughts come like dominos, clicking together with precision.

“I didn’t leave because… because…”

Despite his grip on your neck, despite your trembling, despite the fear that he might kill you–

“I love you.”

You reach out and caress his cheek with one hand, and reach forward, his fingers pressing into the soft tissue of your neck, to kiss him softly on the lips. 

The surprise that registers on his face does not meld into disgust like Kenji; instead, it seems to freeze, and you’re keenly aware of the fact that you know he prefers to initiate any intimate contact himself. You forgot, in your haze, in the blurry anxiety of this evening. 

“I’m–” 

Sorry, you were going to say, but you don’t say; because his lips are suddenly on yours, hungry and warm and unrelenting. The hand on your throat grips the back of your hair and keeps you in place as he presses himself closer against you.

And what trembling you had from before is replaced with anew, but from warmth this time, from the buzzing that begins low in your bellybutton and spreads as Geto’s kisses travel from your mouth to your neck; as his fingers begin to work at your clothes.

“I want to hear you say that again–” He bites your neck, lapping at the mark. “And again–” His fingers undo the last belt holding your outfit together, and the fabric drops to the ground. “And again.”

You whimper as he guides you further into the temple, onto the space where he might normally greet his followers. The tatami presses against your bare skin as he begins to undo his own clothes, not bothering to order you to do it for him in his need.

“Until you’re screaming it,” he murmurs, his hair tickling your face as he looms over you. 

And you know his words are nothing short of a promise. 

–

You are sometimes a stupid thing, he thinks. Yet you are undoubtedly still his–stupid, yes, on occasion. But his. 

You proved that to him, on the night you chose not to run away. You wouldn’t have been able to, of course. That moronic monkey that called himself your “boyfriend” had neither the intelligence nor stamina to get you farther than the gate. He didn’t even sense the guards watching him the entire time.

He didn’t sense Geto, either, early the next morning, when he came to kill the fool who thought he’d steal something from a far superior being. 

If he hadn’t been still basking in the bliss of the night before, it might have been more excruciating. Oh, it hurt. Kenji’s eyes had gone wide and he’d choked on blood and tried desperately to get some final words out. But it might have been more entertaining to drag it out for hours–days–perhaps longer.

Ah, the things you make him do, without even realizing it. Unintentional mercy was just another thing to add to the list of things you’ve placed on his shoulders. 

He’d come here to tell you just that; to tell you how Kenji died, and why he died, and how he’s glad you’ll never have to worry about him bothering you again.

Only you’d surprised him. Something you don’t often do, even when you try.

Surprised him with a shy smile and your hands behind your back, holding something apparently quite precious.

It was–it is. 

A positive pregnancy test. No doubt procured by one of the girls. 

The full weight of it doesn’t hit him yet, won’t hit him, he thinks, until much later on. A child–with you. There is much to consider. Legacies and heirs and all that.

But for now, he focuses on you. You, not leaping for joy but smiling at him, an almost nervous sort of expectation on your face. He can see the thoughts dancing inside your head–Is this okay? Is he angry? Will he be happy? And he can never quite describe how it feels, this knowledge that he has so much power over you.

That he can make you smile shyly and look down with a nervous little glance and ask if he’s happy.

It’s endearing, truly. You’re endearing. 

And ah, that unintentional mercy strikes again. It is enough to make him slip Kenji’s bloodied watch into a fold of his robe.

For now–he’ll let you plan on how you’ll share the news with the twins. 

You can learn about the fool’s death another time.

[rainsiide]

NOBODY GETS ME .ᐟ.ᐟ

𓊆ྀི❤︎𓊇ྀི now playing Nobody Gets Me - SZA . 𓊆ྀི❤︎𓊇ྀི

“i don’t wanna see you with anyone but me.”

giselle x reader ⋮ you’ll never let go of each other, nobody gets you but her.

warning you! ⋆ toxic exs,

tonight was another spoiled date. this was your last time responding to someone that had swiped up on your insta story. someone’s quick to take you home, huh?

now you back at your apartment. shoes kicked off, jakcet thrown on one of the couches. the ponytail holder no longer in your hair. scratching every bit of tightness out. the fridge called you, so did bed, and so did giselle. your phone buzzed, then again, and once more.

she knew about the date, you know she viewed your instagram story. you didn’t bother to take it out your pocket. you grabbed some water and went your room, face down on the bed. going into something comfortable and throwing your clothes into a hamper, that probably needed washing.

then the text came again, and again. you switched your phone to silent and then to do not disturb. yet, that didn’t block anything and she only hit notify anyway.

then the call came.

you sighed, why’d you pick it up? because you need her. you needed to see her.

“why aren’t you picking up, i know your home by now. unless you took them home.”

“i— just come over. please, i need you.” you felt so embarrassed for saying that. like a fool, a clown. the red tint on your lips might as well have been smeared and if you smiled in the mirror, you’d pass just as a foolish clown. and you’d proababy laugh too.

not long later a knock came to your door, you knew who it was. you couldn’t look desperate and bolt to the door and break off the hinges. you slowly trudged to the front door, and opened it. a sympathetic face staring back at your unwise one. words were exchanged, just not with your mouth. she pulled you in her arms and shut the door behind her. her arms compressed around you, inescapable. not that you wanted to escape.

“i’m here, it’s okay”

she pulled you over to the couch, gently embracing you. you wish she’d never let you go. pulling back gently and putting her hand as she gently caressed your cheek.

“it’s okay pretty girl, no more tears.” she said, placing a gentle kiss on. “you don’t deserve this, stop looking for other people baby. i’m right here.”

so many things came back to you. when you and giselle got back together for the tenth time. when you and giselle got back together after your friends told you not to. when giselle showed up to one of your dates and took you home. when giselle promised she would change for you because she loved you that much, and she did for a week.

giselle was toxic, but unfortunately nobody got you like her. she knew that, and so did you.

her fingers gently caressed your ring finger. the finger that held her promise ring. you’ve both broke the promise by now but, at this point did you really promise anything?

“you know i love you baby, those other girls aren’t worth your time. you know no one else could love else could love you like i do.”

she was right, you knew that. nobody else could love you like her. she always told you that nobody could replace her in your life. and no matter how many dates you went on, at the end she was always there. no matter how long the road was, your destination was her.

“i know, i love you gigi.” you said, like a fool. yet your heart didn’t beat this way for nobody, but her. it burned, beat, pumped, differently from her. she placed a desperate kiss to your red stained lips. leaving them smeared like a clown.

“you can’t leave me, you know this. i’ll always have you won’t i?” she didn’t mean it as a question. she knew you were to dumb to leave her.

“mhm.” you responded, her hands caressing your waist. her lips finding else where. there never was a end to it

[mymelodylvr]

clingy!jj x reader

jj maybank might be the neediest man you’ve ever met.

at first, you were always the one clinging on to him in the relationship. but the second he got attached to you, the switch completely flipped. for the past week, he’d been following you around like a lost puppy - falling asleep holding you like his life depended on it. you’d have to remind him that you weren’t going anywhere (and that he couldn’t hold you that tight because you couldn’t breathe). but in all honesty, it was cute, and you didn’t mind his semi-weird antics all. but the more he latched on to you, like he was scared that you’d leave him, the more worried you got.

it was a typical sunday night for you and jj. john b was out on one adventure or another with sarah, and dragged pope along with him. kie, not wanting to be a third weel, went with them (can you blame her?). luckily for you, this meant you and j could stay at the chateau without anyone bothering you. you two decided on rewatching some saw-type movie that grossed you out, but he liked it, so who cares.

you’re sitting on jogn b.’s old and lumpy couch, constantly squirming to find a comfortable spot. unfortunately, jj was lying on you

“stop moving, I’m trying to watch”

you hardly ever see him like this - so focused. it was on people dying in the most gruesome ways somebody could think of, but it’s still nice to see him calm.

“jayj, you’ve seen this 50 times, I think you can miss a second while I’m trying to get comfortable on this old, stupid sofa” you say, letting out a yawn.

“you’re cranky.”

“I’m not.”

“you so are.” you could fight him on this, but the way he grinned while looking up at you with those perfect eyes? you couldn’t get mad if you tried. so you place a wet kiss to his forehead and start to wriggle free of his arms, to your dismay, he didn’t budge.

“I gotta go to the bathroom” you laugh out.

“so hold it” he grunted, half-paying attention to the movie, and half paying attention to peppering kisses on your stomach. as you giggle, finally freeing yourself from his grasp, you stand up, and instantly- his focus is completely on you. you don’t see him like this often. you knew that he knew that you were just going to the bathroom. at least logically, he had to know that. but those damn puppydog eyes, you couldn’t pull yourself away from them. this led you to saying one of the weirdest things you had said in that relationship that far.

“um - baby?”

“yeah?”

“do you want to come with me?”

it was almost a look of relief that washed over him, leaving you more confused as he held your hips walking to the bathroom.

“jay, why did you want to come in here with me?” a weird thing to say while flushing. “can’t let you out my sight for a second, pretty, someone’ll, grab you” he jokes. but you’re not sure if it’s a joke. “jayj.. you know I’m not going anywhere right? you need to know that.” again, a weird thing to say while in a bathroom. “yeah, I know, obviously, obviously you aren’t” he forces out a laugh, sniffling too much for you too believe him.

for a split second you debate hugging him, having not washed your hands. why were you having this conversation in a bathroom? and for another second it’s quiet. thats when you hug him.

“I am not going anywhere, maybank, you couldn’t get rid of me if you tried.” you say, giggling at the end. you can tell he wants to cry, or say something, but wont let himself. thats’s okay for now - you know it’ll come sooner or later.

after a few seconds of a warm embrace, you hear a laugh.

“it’s pretty gross that you didn’t wash your hands, ma” your jaw drops, letting out a laugh, before slapping him playfully and going to wash your hands.

“you’re so sassy”

“you love it” he replies quickly, as you turn the sink on and grab the soap,

“maybe I do, what are you going to do about it” you say, smirking to yourself, as you finish what you were doing and turn off the water. his hands find your hips, met with a gasp from you.

“don’t wanna finish the movie?”

“nah, apparently I’ve seen it like fifty times anyways”

A/N: I kind of hate this, but it's cute? obviously very cringe, but it's obx fanfiction, it's hard not to be? idk

[deprivedreality]

𝗜𝗦 𝗧𝗛𝗔𝗧 𝘿𝙔𝙉𝘼𝙈𝙄𝙂𝙃𝙏?!

Word Count: 1.2k

Content contains: pro-hero bakugo being a career man. mentions of katsuki having an s/o! I hope these ideas capture his fiery, no-nonsense personality while also showing how much he’s grown into a reliable and inspiring hero.

prohero!Katsuki Bakugo who when every time someone mispronounces his hero name, he snaps and shouts “It’s DY-NA-MIGHT, not ‘Dynamo’ or whatever crap you just said! Learn how to read, damn it!”

prohero!Katsuki Bakugo who has a rigorous training schedule. Yes, cooking breakfast and cuddle time with his s/o is part of that schedule nevertheless. Even as a pro, Bakugo starts his day with a 5:00 a.m. workout. His mornings include explosive quirk drills, which terrify his neighbors, but he refuses to apologize because, “Heroes don’t take days off, morons.” He does try to keep it down a notch when he heard through his neighbors' kid that they were thinking about moving houses.

prohero!Katsuki Bakugo who insists on being on the frontlines for every mission, no matter the scale. He’s the first to charge in during a disaster and won’t leave until every civilian is accounted for. “If I’m not giving 100%, why the hell am I here?” And you better know that everyone appreciated him for his selfless actions.

Prohero!Katsuki Bakugo who is efficient to a fault. His rescue operations are insanely effective but intimidating. He’ll shout at panicked civilians to “Move your asses, idiot!” but then carry them out of danger with precision and speed. Later, when they thank him, he awkwardly mutters, “Yeah, whatever. That's what I'm here for anyway. Just don’t get stuck again.”

prohero!Katsuki Bakugo who has a signature explosion mark. After saving the day, he always leaves behind a controlled, smoky explosion shaped like his logo—an orange starburst with jagged edges. Kids love it and call it his “hero stamp.” He just did it one time because y/n liked the idea of him having something like a bat-signal, it became like a routine for him.

prohero!Katsuki Bakugo who's surprisingly good with kids. He didn’t expect it either, but kids adore him. When they swarm him for autographs, he grumbles, “You better not smudge this!” but secretly loves the attention. He even kneels down to their level so they can high-five him. It did took him time to warm up to them after some thought, he wanted to be like how All Might was when he was a kid.

prohero!Katsuki Bakugo who is strict with his sidekicks. Bakugo’s sidekicks are the most well-trained in the industry because he pushes them relentlessly. He shouts, “If you can’t handle this, you’re wasting my damn time!” but always ensures they’re prepared for real missions.

prohero!Katsuki Bakugo who still has an unspoken rivalry with Deku, and everyone in general, but now it’s about who saves more people. Bakugo keeps a tally and texts deku, “Took down 8 villains today. What’s your number, nerd?”

prohero!Katsuki Bakugo who personally oversees every modification to his hero costume, from grenade gauntlets to lightweight boots. If the support team messes up, he’ll fix it himself, muttering, “If you can't do it right, I'll do it myself.” This causes his support team to work twice harder next time.

prohero!Katsuki Bakugo who has workaholic tendencies. He rarely takes time off, claiming, “Villains don’t go on vacation, so why should I?” His s/o and his entire agency forces him to relax. Needless to say, his s/o alone can convince him. Even then, he’s still scanning news reports for emergencies.

prohero!Katsuki Bakugo who is an emergency quirk strategist. Bakugo has a knack for coming up with split-second strategies in the middle of chaos. He’ll bark orders to other heroes, and while they’re annoyed at his tone, they follow him because he’s always right. Other heroes learned it the hard way one time when they didn't follow his 'suggestion' and ended up making the situation worse.

prohero!Katsuki Bakugo who gets tons of fan letters and gets flustered reading them. One of his fellow heroes suggested for him to buy a shredder, but you know damn well he flipped them off. He gets tons of fan mail, but he has no idea how to respond. He also did not know what to do with them until his s/o opted to help him with this problem. Sometimes he’ll scribble a quick “Thanks” with a little explosion doodle and hope it’s enough, his s/o would be the one to arrange and mail them.

prohero!Katsuki Bakugo who is devoted to his parents. Bakugo visits his parents regularly, bringing them little gifts like flowers for his mom (which she teases him about) and bunch of snacks and clothing pieces for his dad. He even helps fix things around their house during his rare free time. He makes sure his sidekicks and secretary knows when to remind him to call them during breaks.

prohero!Katsuki Bakugo who has is looked up to by other pros for his emergency evacuation drills. When Bakugo’s agency holds safety drills, his team wins every time. He calls it “real hero training” and will go all-out to make sure everyone’s prepared.

prohero!Katsuki Bakugo who was invited one time to attend a charity by ochako and it became something he does everytime. While he’s not a fan of public speaking, Bakugo attends charity events because he believes in helping beyond hero work. He’ll reluctantly auction off items like “Bakugo’s autographed gauntlet,” secretly donating extra money because “those kids need it more.”

prohero!Katsuki Bakugo who is an incredible loyal team leader. Bakugo might be tough on his team, but he’s fiercely protective of them. He is especially protective of his interns, some of them referring to him as the older brother they never had. If a villain hurts one of his sidekicks, you better know he’ll go all-out to take them down while yelling, “You don’t touch my people!”

prohero!Katsuki Bakugo who built his own agency to be one of the best heor agency headquarter there is. His agency is a sleek, well-organized base equipped with cutting-edge tech and a training ground. The office is always clean because he enforces “No slacking off!” rules, even for janitorial staff. In his hq, he made sure that there is one room dedicated for his s/o.

prohero!Katsuki Bakugo who became an unintentional role model. Despite his rough personality, students and new heroes look up to Bakugo because of his dedication and success. He doesn’t know how to handle compliments and usually responds with, “Stop wasting time and go do your damn job!”

prohero!Katsuki Bakugo who mastered using small, precise explosions for rescues—blasting through rubble without causing harm or creating paths for civilians. It’s become his trademark move, and no one does it better.

prohero!Katsuki Bakugo who's explosive personality makes him a media favorite, but he hates interviews. When forced to participate, he answers in blunt one-liners like, “Villains suck, so don’t do crime.” Although he did receive criticism at the start of hero career because of his brash attitude, but that's all.

prohero!Katsuki Bakugo who knows how to separate his personal life from his career so well that some fans were surprised when he revealed in an interview that he was already married. He proudly showed off his wedding band, telling his interviewer that he was a happy married man.

ᓚᘏᗢ @deprivedreality 2023 | all rights reserved.

[reignpage]

hi reign!!! I hope you’re doing well 🫶

the horniness is back (it never left), what do you think the jjk men are like as virgins? 😈

like their general demeanor and attitude towards sex and the other person (nervous/confident/embarrassed), what their age is (envisioning they’re losing their v card later in life although there really isn’t a set time to lose it ✋😤), anyone cumming early/in their pants? 🤭 plus any details you can think of!

feel free to ignore this ask if you’ve done something like this before or if you don’t want to, you did just finish a literal SAGA with Sukuna 😭

much love reign! 💕💕

Here you go horny

Gojo 

Realistically he likely would have lost it quite young cause he’s an overachiever like that But I think if he’s like in college or college age, he meets an older woman he wants to impress he’ll fluff his feathers like a peacock  Too cocky  Thinks he’ll be naturally good at anything and everything  May not even know where the clit is “I bet I can make you cum within seconds” “Easy peasy lemon squeezy” Deffo jerked off before coming cause he heard that makes you last longer Doesn’t even let you suck him off cause he just wants to be sure “Nah, let’s save that for later, right now it’s about you, baby” Messy eater No technique Just motorboats you  AND SOMEHOW MAKES YOU CUM He’s so fucking smug  “Told ya” And then putting it in he cums immediately lol  And LIES??? “N-no of course -ngh- not” And he’s so embarrassed he goes bright red and tries to fuck you through it  “Fuck! Are you near? N-no reason, j-just asking” Ends up overstimulating himself  Cums twice  And passes out  Meanwhile you’re just laying there like 😑 Then in the morning, he’s all like  “Hey, gorgeous. Last night was something, huh” “Hey! Wait! Where are you going??”

Geto

Canonically more popular with the ladies than Gojo In adulthood, probably loses it around 20 years old too If he meets a girl he’s curious enough to spend the time with  Kind of confident Smoothtalker Takes things very slow Really takes his time and enjoys the moment  It’s very sensual “I could taste you forever” “Go on, pretty girl, make yourself cum on my hand” And you’re just like, you lied for sure cause ain’t no way you’re a virgin He’s really really good Might get a little carried with his kinks tho Chokes you but doesn’t really know how and ends up almost killing you maybe Generally though, I see him as the kind of virgin partner who’s willing to learn to your preferences and adjusts accordingly  He’s not selfish at all “Feeling good? You want more?” Mostly quiet, still unsure of how to approach his own fantasies and desires I imagine he’s a shit one night stand though cause he’ll disappear immediately and never calls 

Choso

Pretty ‘late’ or pretty early, no in-between  Realistically, I think he gets roped in by an older, more experienced woman That sounds kinda sus but I mean, he gets overwhelmed by the attention and doesn’t know what to do so he just leaves it up to you “Y-yes, whatever you want” “Okay, yes, of course! I um I don’t mind” Eager to please Will spend all night eating you out tbh Would be very happy just like that Cums in his pants FOR SURE He grinds against the mattress as he eats you out and cums If you’re straddling him as you make out, and you grind down on him He cums If you jerk him off with one stroke, he cums Cums and cums like everything had been saved up for that moment  “S-sorry, I tried really h-hard to hold it in -ngh- l-like you said” Gets very embarrassed but loves being teased Once he gets inside, bruh only takes one or two strokes and you’re filled with cum, or rather the condom is (lucky condom sigh) What he lacks in discipline and technique, he more than makes up for with enthusiasm 

Toji

Freak from day one Super cocky too Loses it pretty young  But if it was in adulthood, he totally loses it to an older woman I’m talking milf He probably watches a lot of porn So he doesn’t know about foreplay Just tries to shove it inside immediately Then you try to make him slow down and do all the fun stuff And he’ll do it but he’s not really that interested, just wants to get to the good part  You have to teach him not to be selfish  “I don’t fucking get it. What’s the point?” But once he realises or understands Then yeah… He’ll spend all night making you cum on anything and everything that isn’t his cock “Nah, you wanted my tongue, yeah? Well here ya go”  Wouldn’t cum in his pants, or would stop before it could reach that point cause he’s very prideful  “Don’t even try, s’not gonna happen” “I ain’t no fucking teenager” Jackhammers into your pussy and you have to tell him to freaking stop cause it’s insane  “Oh yeah you like that? You like that you fucking slut?” He needs to fix his porn addiction like dude…chill….

Nanami

Oh nanami The sweetest virgin  I feel like he canonically lost it later than most people  Wouldn’t do one night stands Very gentlemanly  Only considers it after the 3rd date Kisses and holds hands first It’s very slow, sensual and respectful Full of love and affection  “God, you look so beautiful right now” Probably researched a lot beforehand Would spend hours trying to make you cum Might even have to reassure you that you’re okay and you can take things slow “It’s alright, take what you want from me” A little clumsy putting it in maybe Finds it a struggle to build up a rhythm because it just feels too good too fast  Would likely cum before you But definitely makes up for it with his tongue “I’m sorry sweetheart, that was so selfish of me”  You could probably make him cum in his pants if you’re the more dominant or experienced one “N-no, sweetheart, please, don’t. I don’t want to make a mess” Most beautiful sight ever He's all flushed, gasping for breath, fingers digging into your hips “You’re trouble, aren’t you?”

Sukuna

I feel like he might have had a lot of fun back in the day Either that or he never did cause he’s too good for humanly urges Until you Wouldn’t do one night stands He needs someone who he feels a connection with, someone he respects He also wants to make sure you’re clean Very snobby like that You also have to teach him Cause he’ll just act on animalistic urges “Here? You want me to touch that? How?” Also you have to teach him to be gentle and to slow down “Is it not better to be hasty so you may reach climax sooner?” One cock only for the first time Don’t try to make him cum in his pants, he’ll kill you out of embarrassment  I’m being so fr He’s surprisingly soft  “My nails are not hurting you? Good, stay still” Kinda scared to hurt you But once you convince him to let go of his worries and just be in the moment Then he’s gonna make you cum Just as a pride thing He refuses to be like mortal men who only care about their own pleasure “Do not mind me, seek your pleasure on my cock, go on”

[devil-in-hiding]

I had this idea last night and it’s been eating away at me since:

Childhood best friend!Simon who left when he joined the military. Cbf!Simon who, after finding his family murdered, disappears again -or so you think. Simon, who spends every night he’s in town at your place while you sleep. Who sees that you kept his old jumper, the one he gave you before he left. He sees how you hold it and cuddle it, holding it to your nose as if hoping it still smelled like him after all these years. He can’t give you a new one, but he can make this one smell like him again. When you’re out buying groceries, so much more often than usual, it seems, he takes the jumper and rubs in against himself; his armpits, the back of his neck, and then, against his cock and balls as the scent of you fills his nose.

You seem to sleep better that night.

Other things start to change too. He now starts to touch you as you sleep. Just brushing his hands against your hair. Feather-light touches that are almost impossible to feel.

He does darker things too. You are, thankfully, single. And he makes sure you stay that way. Your nice lotion gets an extra load of five of protein. Your blind dates mysteriously stop texting you back. You’re getting /frustrated/ which leads to a night with your vibe and dildo (much smaller than his, Simon notes. He’ll have to change that). Your little moans and whines make it almost impossible for him to not barge into your room and take you. But Simon Riley is nothing if not patient. When you finally fall asleep, one hand still clutching your dildo, he sneaks out.

Two weeks later, a mysterious package is at your door from a secret admirer. You don’t even notice the “clone a Willy” printed on the bottom of the silicone toy. What you do notice is how big it is and how much you want it to ruin your holes. You set to work right away, opening yourself up. Getting so frustrated that it doesn’t fully fit. All the while your secret admirer watches from your closet.

And when he does finally lay claim to you? It’s all roses and apologies.

He knocks on your door after a particularly grueling mission, bouquet of your favorite flowers and a teddy bear in hand.

“Simon?” You say, shock coloring your voice. “My Simon?”

“‘Ello, lovie,” he replies. Sheepishly smiling, he holds out the gifts.

“This is real? You’re really here?” You ask grabbing the flowers and teddy.

“‘M here,” he says, scared you might reject him after all this time. Not that it matters, but it would still hurt.

You drop the gifts and he braces for the rejection. What he didn’t plan on, was you wrapping your arms around him and sobbing into his chest. “Si, I missed you so much.” He leads you into your flat, you don’t wonder how he knows where your room is. He sits you on your bed and holds you while you cry.

He’s a perfect gentleman for the first few months of dating and rekindling your friendship. It’s not until you tell him one night after a few drinks too many, “you know, Si? I had the biggest crush on you when we were kids.”

“Did you now, lovie?”

“Still do,” you confess, eyes strangely clear despite the alcohol.

He doesn’t think when he finally kisses you. Falling into bed with you is easier than breathing.

Your breath hitches as you feel that familiar stretch when he enters you. But you don’t think about it. You don’t think what it means when he hits every spot that your secret admirer’s gift reaches.

Now he has you. And now he’s not letting go.

♠️

I’m clawing the fucking floor my scent kink has not recovered jeowkdkfoekskdkrkkwlfk

[zaim8778]

Fenton Crime Family

-Wayne Manor, Gotham-

Stephanie: So no one is gonna ask why Cass has been out so much lately? Alone too.

Duke: Didn't she say she is going out to meet a friend?

Stephanie: Yeah, but no one knows where she goes. We don't know who she goes out with nor do we know where she goes.

Tim: Just say that you are jealous that Cass is going out without you. No will make fun of you.

Jason & Duke: That's a lie.

Tim: Yeah, that's a lie. I would totally make fun of you.

Stephanie: Shut up nerd. Don't pretend you are not jealous when Bernard or Conner says that they are hanging out with someone else.

Tim: Woah there. Jason is the nerd one. If you want to insult me, at least use the correct one.

Jason: I want to be mad but you're not wrong.

Damian: Tt, why should we bother who Cain goes out with? It is her choice who she wishes to be her companion.

Stephanie: But aren't you curious even a little bit? Who is the person? Where do they go? Are they friends or something more? There are so many questions and yet so little answer.

Bruce: We should give Cass some room for herself. Letting her form a relationship outside of this household is also good.

Everyone: *Stares at Bruce*

Jason: I think the old man is being mind controlled. Let me punch him to wake him up.

Dick: Are you sick, B? Do you want to go to Dr. Leslie? I can take over your patrol tonight if you are not feeling well.

Damian: I also agree with Todd. Father might be compromised right now. Let's take him down.

Tim: Wait wait. Do you have anything to say before we jump you Bruce?

Bruce: *Grunts* I went to meet the therapist that Jason recommended to me. Dr. Fenton says that I should give my children room to grow independently so that I can take the first step in treating my paranoia.

Jason: *Gasp* You actually went to meet the therapist. Fuck.

Stephanie: He he he, where is my 50 bucks? I told you he would go if you recommend it.

Jason: *Grumble while handing out 50 bucks*

Duke: So that's where you are going. I thought you were going on a date.

Bruce: I am too old for dating anymore.

Dick: Yeah, right. Tell that to me when you go meet Selina later tonight.

Bruce: *Grunts*

Alfred: *Walks in* I am here to inform that Miss Cassandra has returned.

Dick: She's not gonna eat lunch?

Alfred: Miss Cassandra has informed me that she has eaten outside with her friend.

Jason: Did you see who her friend is? Is it a boy or a girl? Please tell me it's a boy.

Alfred: I'm afraid I cannot tell you anything as per my agreement with Miss Cassandra. What I can tell you though is that she is very happy to meet her friend. I suggest all of you don't disturb her happiness.

Stephanie: What? Boooo. I want answers. Timothy I choose you. Go find the answer using your stalker skills.

Tim: I would rather not anger her after what she did last time. All of my coffee mugs are still stuck on the table.

Duke: *Scoffs* You would probably go behind her back to find this friend anyway. You're just saying it in case Cass heard us.

Tim: I shall not confirm nor deny the accusation.

-Upstairs-

Cass lays on her bed after changing her clothes. It's been so long since she saw Danny. If not for the coincidental encounter at the stores, she wouldn't have known that Danny is in Gotham. After the first encounter, they exchanged phone numbers and talks and even met up often. Today is their first official date as a girlfriend/boyfriend.

Cass takes her phone to text Danny that she has reached home safely when she suddenly remembers something. She opens her gallery and puts the photos of her and Danny in a secure secret folder so that no one can find it.

While doing that, a text comes through.

Danny 💕💓💕

Danny: Hey Cass, are you home yet?

Cass: Yes. I just got home.

Danny: Thanks for the date today

Cass: 💖💖

Cass: Are you home yet?

Danny: Almost

Danny: Sorry gotta go. My sister is calling.

Cass: Get home fast. Love you 😘

Danny: I love you too 💖

Cass puts the phone on the bed and closes her eyes. Soon, she falls asleep and dreams of living in a large house with a lot of children running around.

-The Bowery, Gotham-

A young skinny man with black hair and blue eyes is walking down the quite alley slowly. He looks around him as the people of the Bowery look almost respectful but certainly fearful to him.

He sighs and leaves the sprawled bodies on the ground. They wouldn't die. He makes sure of that. A huge man comes within his proximity when suddenly the man bows down to him.

????: We are sorry, sir. These people are a new gang in the rise from the east. We get the news too late to send people to dispose of them.

Danny: Chill out, Jeff. Just take them to Dani and let her handle it. Also, tell her to return before dinner or else Jazz will come for her.

Jeff: Yes, sir.

The man along with a few of his henchmen pick the bodies and move them to somewhere else. To be honest, Jazz and Danny still don't know how to feel that their little sister is officially a crime lord.

All of them moved last month since Jazz gets her job at Arkham Asylum and Danny gets his internship at Wayne Enterprise. Dani tags along since she has explored all the places she wants to visit and she doesn't know what else to do.

Well that also didn't last long, as the first day they arrived at Gotham, Dani goes to beat up all the gang and goons in The Bowery and round them up into one single group. It's certainly easier that all the rouges are in Arkham right now.

One time the Falcon crime family tried to threaten Dani by taking Danny and Jazz hostage. In the end, Falcon and other crime families agree to stay out of The Bowery after Danny freezes all of their building and Dani strikes them with lightning multiple times.

Danny arrives home and sits on the couch. He scrolls Twitter while waiting for his sisters to return when the news catches his eyes.

Breakout at Arkham Asylum

All the people of Gotham are suggested to stay inside tonight.

Danny looks at the news with concern. Usually a breakout at Arkham happens a lot later in the day. He stands up, picks a leather jacket and a mask and then transforms into Phantom. He wears the mask and the jacket and flies towards Arkham Asylum to check out what happened. Today is Saturday so Jazz isn't working so he doesn't worry that much about Jazz.

On his way to Arkham, he encounters some rouge like The Riddler and Scarecrow. He knocks them out and hangs them on a poll and continues flying towards it. He's not a hero anymore but if the rogues are to enter and cause havoc in The Bowery, neither him, Jazz nor Ellie will be happy.

Suddenly, he sees a clown car speeding through the road at a very fast speed. Danny looks at it and sees the Joker along with his few goons are making a getaway while being chased down by a few cop cars. Danny flies down towards the clown car, and slowly unscrews the tyres of the car.

Danny flies back a little bit to the back and the clown car starts to wiggle and waggle and suddenly all of the tyres come off the car. Danny can hear the clown cursing heavily until finally they crash into a poll.He flies back down and just to make sure he is permanently down or at least down for some time, snap his back bone to incapacitate him.

Danny, still invisible, flies back up and continues on his way to Arkham. He meets a few more escapees like Mr. Freeze, Firefly and Killer Croc. Except for Killer Croc, all the other rouges are beaten up and sent back to Arkham. Killer Croc or Waylon is not thinking of causing trouble. He just wants to return to the sewer cause it is his home. Danny plans to maybe offer Waylon employment in their gang if he feels like Waylon is stable enough to work. Meanwhile, he will go around the city and beat up rogues that he is pretty sure is not going out to have a tea party.

When Danny lands on the roof, he opens his phone to see Cass is warning him to stay at home and not go outside. He smiles wryly since he is already outside and is beating up the rouges. Danny replies with a thumbs up and is about to continue flying when a shadow jumps out from behind him.

Danny: Uh, hello? How are you?

???: *Stares*

Danny: I'm no trouble. Just on the lookout just in case there is a rouge nearby. I see some guy beat up Scarecrow and The Riddler on my way here. They are not so scary when they don't have anything to use you know.

???: Where?

Danny: Errr, I think it is right over there. I was coming from that direction so you would probably see them if you go this way.

???: Thank you.

The shadow then vanishes and Danny is left standing there. The shadow really reminded him of Cass for some reason. Looking up online, apparently that one is called Black Bat.

Danny: Huh, they are out early today then. I guess they can work during the day.

Danny then turns invisible and returns back to the Bowery because most of the notorious rogues have been captured and Danny isn't worried about the rest.

[arsonlookers]

Two Worlds Apart

Pirate Aventurine x admirer Mermaid Reader

With your usual mundane routine, you hide yourself in the darkest parts of the ocean and shadows only to look up at those passing ships leaving by, dreaming of one day meeting him again joining the people up above...

the only thing a mermaid like you can do right now is ADMIRE.

You, as a mermaid always love to explore the ocean, and so does the upper land where dangerous humans reside. In your merman folks always warn you about the danger the human monsters always pose to your kind whenever they are discovered how they will be trapped, devoured, tortured, used, abused, killed, mistreated, and lastly never going to be seen in the depths of their beloved ocean again, forever to be trapped on the living land.

it was never a saying but a warning. knowing that some of your kind did get lost on the shores and will never be seen again roaming in the depths of the sea. Even with the warnings from your kind to be always alert and never trust any human words even if it is the sweetest honey of promises and lies.

You only tend to visit the shore at midnight knowing that people are asleep at this time. You are as careful as not to be seen or discovered by any people on your everyday rendezvous.

except for tonight.

You have been following a young sailor lately, and he catches your attention. he has this otherworldly beauty you have never seen any humans have, and his eyes are so captivating that at first, you thought he was not human at all, maybe he is like you a another being disguising himself to hide his true identity. however he was not.

he is just a human, a cunning, captivating, stunning human you have a little crush on. was it because of his eyes? his voice? or his personality? you don't really know.

and here he is right in front of you looking at you curiously yet still having that smile on his face as he greets you

"oh...sorry for interrupting you dear, I was captivated by a beautiful voice here on the shore" Aventurine scans you up and down knowing your true form he is not scared at all in contrast he walks and approaches closer to where you sit.

"don't be scared, I don't mean no harm" he sits beside you still has this distance he puts in between the two of you "Please...continue your song... it was the most beautiful song I have ever heard in my entire life" he said pleadingly looking at you expectantly wishing for you to sing again

You were cautious and yet relaxed because you dont feel any malicious intent from him, so you continued to sing your song.

After one song you look at him and notice him asleep beside you as the shore is the only noise in the background. you cautiously come closer not daring to disturb his sleep, as you come closer you admire his face and how calm he is when he is asleep, unlike the fake smiles you see whenever you see him.

for a while, you stayed but after you decided to leave for the night.

Aventurine wakes up later as the sun rises on the shore, he was expecting you to be there, to see the beauty from last night. But to his disappointment, you are not there, not even a little trace of your existence he thought it was just a dream after all.

"...a dream?" he goes on his day but in the back of his mind all he can think about is you.

Every night he started this little habits of walking on the shores expecting you to show up and sing to him again.

He was sure it was not a dream, he didnt tell anybody about you. A mermaid on the shore rumors might scare you and got you hunted down that's why he never want to even tell people about what he saw.

One night, luckily he waited. On the full moon you show up again sitting on your spot and starts to sing a different song from last time.

he was yet again captivated and waited for you to finish.

"hi, darling" startled you turn around, and looking at him made you feel relieved?

you tilted your head pretending to not understand him

"I'm Aventurine, if you still remember me from a few moons ago" he cautiously comes closer trying to get close to you. You did let him get close but not close enough.

he introduced himself that night, nothing really happened as you decided to go even before he wanted you to stay for a little while longer.

he sighs in disappointment "I didn't even get to know her name, such beauty..."

Night after night he stayed and waited patiently on the shore for you to show up. you did show up a few times and he did get a little closer to you, that's what he thinks to himself. you talked to him a little he did get your name eventually "y/n? That is a fitting name for a beauty like you" he was smitten, he doesn't understand why but he knows you wants to be with you more, longer, just a little bit longer.

"you need to go? can you please stay? even for a little while? how about until sunrise? " Aventurine pleaded holding your hands firmly trying to convince you. but that didn't work at all

you shake your head "That would be dangerous for me, please let go" you say as you pull your wrist and go back to the ocean.

This little meeting was not supposed to last long, you know that but after a while of secretly meeting him, you also started to feel attached to him. You have never seen this side of him, so vulnerable, pleading, and weak. Every time you looked at him secretly in the morning you know him well enough that he was putting a facade even so it still fascinated and attracted you to a dangerous man such as himself.

however every night there he is with his disheveled blond hair and tired eyes, he looks vulnerable so weak yet even knowing that he is a pirate every time you look at him like that it broke your heart that every time he comes you offers a hug.

You now know his past because he told you the story with his own mouth one night, he was so disturbed by his nightmares that he cried in your arms one night until he fell asleep in one of your songs.

As you gave him your usual hug he melted in your warm embrace every time. As he cared for your hair and held you tight it was a different type of hug as he started to kiss your exposed neck.

you didn't stop him after all he had been doing it for a while now you got used to it, every time you tried to stop him he just gave you a pout and a sad look on his face.

"y/n...y/n...i love you" he looked you in the eye one night, and he confessed every time since that night. it becomes a routine a kiss here and a peck there.

he never crossed a line.

"kakavasha" he told you to call him by his name not the other one who he rarely shows you that other side of his. The cunning aventurine.

"hmm?" continues kissing and giving you a hickey "do you want me to stop?"

for the first time, the way he looks at you makes you feel more heated inside as you make the move and connect your lips to his.

a heated kiss happened as both of your tongues clashed with each other, with the desire of devouring each other in mind. You wrap your arms around his neck and he wraps his hands on your waist sensually massaging the spot.

You cant think straight and so does he.

A night of passion was spent between the two of you, you don't understand why you did it but you were happy to do it.

night after night you spend more and more time with kakavasha the more you too fell deeply inlove with the man.

You know he loves you too, and he wants you too, but he has his missions, his goals.

And you know this was forbidden to do, to love a man. a Human at that. You know the consequences...and the difference between the two of you, you know that your kind live much longer than humans... the idea of you living much longer than the man you love makes you feel despair so what you will do is both for the sake of the two worlds. For his.

like the usual night, you spend it with him you sing a song for him you have sex with him and you express more of yourself to the man you will never going to see in person again. at least he won't be able to see you in person again.

"kakavasha, my love?" you called out to him as he wrapped his arms more tightly around you

"yes, darling? is something the matter?" as he held you closely and pecks your head

"I love you" you said it with a small smile

he was shocked, this was the first time you said it. he was ecstatic, so happy even. he hugs you tight "i love you too darling" he was smiling like crazy

As you lean in closer to his ears, you chant a spell to make him pass out. After he passes out and goes limp on the shore you start to chant your spell to make him forget about you, everything about you, and your every night life. After crying while doing the spell all you san say to his unconscious body in front of you is "Sorry...im so sorry darling, i love you kakavasha"

After that night you erase everything that happened and just leave him to the shore alone as you just stare at him far far away hidden in the waves and the rocks waiting for him to wake up.

The only thing you know you can do from now on is live in hidding.

Aventuirne wakes up confused why he is in the shore, sleeping

"huh?...did i sleep here?...did...miss something?" he sits there confused and tired as if he was loss someone or something, he doesn't understand this feeling of loss??

he looks in the ocean he opens his mouth and is about to call out to... "Huh?? who was i about to call out??" confused by his own action he stood up and starts walking away from the shore

the sun has risen yet he feels like he's missing something while he was asleep, he doesn't understand, he's confused yet he also doesnt know why he is confused

"did I just dream?" he yawns and starts walking away from the shore moving back to his travern

....

...

..

it was sad seeing him forget everything as he moves on. But that was the best you can do...for the both of you.

So you stayed and did what you always do in your mundane night routine, to stare upon his ship like always hiding in the darkest part of the ocean and the shadows of his ship, not wanting to be seen by him or any people. only to dream of one day meeting him again and joining the people up above as the two of you dance your heart out. But for now, all you can do is... ADMIRE from afar....

not noticing a pair of eyes looking at you from above and admiring you from below

A/N : im back yiiieee!! well, can you guess who was spying on her? anyway, it's been a really long time since I wrote something so if there are a lot of mistakes, I'm sorry for it I didn't really proofread it hehe. And I feel kinda rusty when writing again after a really long time:) sorry for the really longtime absence hehe. THANK YOU FOR READING AND ENJOYING ‪‪❤︎‪‪❤︎‪‪❤︎

[heartmix]

baby please come home - CS55

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x fem!reader

Word Count: 1k+

Warning: bit angsty with happy ending of course, sad carlos

Twelve Fics Of Christmas - Christmas (baby please come home)

A/N: based on Christmas (baby please come home) by various artist but my favorite is Micheal Buble, Mariah is a very close second!

F1 Masterlist / Masterlist

The difficult thing about dating an athlete was that he was gone half of the year, what made the relationship more challenging was that you were gone when it was his turn to be home. At first, he didn't mind because that meant you could come with him to a handful of races. He loved showing his job off and more importantly, he loved showing you off. 

In times like this, he wishes he could trade it all. It was Christmas and he was missing you. Christmas was meant to be spent with loved ones, not having them in another country. For weeks you've been away on business, the busiest year for your job. This was the slowest season for his job. Offseason was meant to be spending time with you, but he forgot this is the season you made your money.

He couldn't help but be jealous of his sisters. Each one of them brings their other half home and shows them off to the family, the first time all Sainz siblings were in a relationship at the same time. He wanted to do that with you, he needed to do that with you. It was hard to enjoy the festive activities that his parents had planned, how could he enjoy the most joyful time of year without you here?

'I'm about to go m.i.a for a while but I wanted to be the first to tell you Merry Christmas. I love you!'

That text alone could have had him breaking down. He was envious of everyone who got to kiss their other half Merry Christmas. He wanted to text you to quit your job and that he was going to provide for you, but knew that you would never accept that. So instead he settled for an

'I miss you, Merry Christmas my love' 

It was now nearing midnight and everyone was hanging around watching A Christmas Carol waiting for midnight to strike when everyone would open their presents. Carlos couldn't even get into the movie, his mind was trailing back to you. He was sitting on the single-seater armchair scrolling through pictures of you and him through the year. Might as well call him the scrooge for not wanting to celebrate Christmas. 

"Carlos honey?" A voice pulled him from his thoughts. He looked over at his mom who was calling him.

"Sorry ma. What did you say?" Quickly he tucked his phone away but not before looking at you on his lock screen. 

"It's midnight, Merry Christmas." She smiled sadly at the boy. She and the rest of the family knew he was down in the dumps. He tried to get into the spirit, he really did, but missing you consumed him. 

"Merry Christmas Ma." He smiled back at her before wishing everyone else a Merry Christmas. 

"Let's open presents, shall we?"

Each sibling and their other half sat around as their parents started sorting the gifts. At this, he couldn't help but see the one you left for everyone being passed around. He remembers you giving him clear instructions to make sure it traveled safely in the suitcase. 

One by one everyone opened their presents, which was a lot considering they were all adults at this point. Most were from him because he tended to go all out for his family like he remembers his parents doing for them. When it got to the last round of presents Blanca immediately stood up surprising everyone at the action.

"I left your present in my suitcase Carlos, I'll be right back." She said with a smirk before rushing out of the living room. He gave a confused look to his mom who only shrugged at her daughters out burst. 

It wasn't a moment later that she poked her head into the doorway making him even more suspicious. "Close your eyes, I couldn't exactly wrap it."

"Blanca..." He warned not liking her intentions. After making fun of her for years he wouldn't put it past her for pulling a prank at Christmas. 

"Just do it." She begged making him give in. The faster he followed her order the faster this night would be over.

Once she was satisfied with him, giving him a middle finger just for reassurance, she giggled before pulling his gift into the room. Carlos was ready for anything, mainly for something to be thrown at his head. Knowing his dad, he would let it happen. What he wasn't ready for was for weight on his lap. He swore it was you. He knew what you weighed to a tee from all the times having you in his lap. Opening his eyes he saw you with a smile as you wrapped your arms around his neck. He couldn't believe it it was really you. 

"Amor?" He asked barely above a whisper, he needed you to say something to make it real. 

"Hi baby." You matched his tone.

Before you knew it he picked you up spinning you around in a death grip of a hug. He still couldn't believe you were he, he needed to squeeze you and hear that pretty giggles that emerged from your lips. Soon enough he heard it. It was real, you were here with him on Christmas.

"Baby! You're going to break something!" You shrieked as he still spun you around. 

"You're here! You're actually here!" He chanted over and over. He couldn't help it. 

Seeing as you were getting dizzy, he stopped his movements but still kept you in his arms, making sure you still had your legs wrapped around him. He didn't care if he was in the middle of the room in front of the Christmas tree with his family staring at him. As far as he was concerned, the only people in the room were you and him.

"How?" he breathed out once he got a good look at you. 

"Finished early and I took the next flight home. I knew you were pouty without me." You smirked as you ran yours hands through his hair. 

"Looks like my wish came true." He mumbled out before smashing his lips against you.    

[syndrossi]

There are already so many AU's that I figure no one will notice another one, so I might as well suggest the one is been thinking about. What if Arthur actually was reborn as Daemon's son? He can be a bastard, or an older son of Rhae/Elyse, whichever one you like the most. If he is a bastard, would Daemon even know about him? I'm assuming his mother would have been a prostitute Daemon was fond of, but would she have told him that they had a child together? Would she have told Arthur who his father is? If he's another son of Rhae/Elyse, would he have tried to get into contact with Daemon sooner? If he gets Summerhalled at the same time as Jon and Rhaegar, would it be harder for their relationship to develope, since Arthur and Rhaegar already know each other and Jon would be something of an outsider? There are honestly so many places this AU could go.

It depends on if the setup is meant to be fairly similar (Arthur shows up as a mystery knight to compete for the Princesguard).

If so, aka he's 16ish, what probably makes the most sense is a either a prostitute or a lord's daughter who got swept up in the romance of sleeping with a prince. Perhaps a woman from the Dornish marshes (like Cole) briefly just before he was forced to marry Rhea. That would work best with the timing (Daemon would have been 17 and he's 34 right now).

Since Daemon was in Runestone when the baby was born and now married, she likely knew the king would not look kindly on her bringing scandal on the marriage, so wouldn't have contacted Daemon. There's also the potential issue of not knowing for certain whose child it was (depending on if she was a prostitute or not)--perhaps his eyes were more blue/dark at birth and only settled into purple when he was a year or two old.

It somewhat amuses me to think that Arthur is actually mistaken for a bastard of House Dayne when a member stumbles across him and his mother a few years later. Say, perhaps, by the Lord of Starfall's younger brother who died of summer sickness. In that scenario, he is likely raised in Dornish fashion as a noble son of House Dayne via a paramour and could conceivably still be awarded Dawn and become the Sword of Morning.

I think this path works better than Elys and/or Rhea keeping another child secret from Daemon, which often feels a little too outlandish to me.

Then there are the fun questions of what to do, once everyone takes a look at the mystery "Dornish" knight and is like...anyone else notice that he looks a LOT like Daemon? With Jon's dark hair? Arthur must know his mother's name, which Daemon may or may not recognize. If he does, then shit, that's his son. *grabby hands* No, you are NOT joining the Princesguard, you are a PRINCE once Viserys legitimizes you.

(Meanwhile, Arthur has his first argument with Daemon because of COURSE he's joining the Princesguard, who better than a prince to guard other princes like his precious younger brothers? While Daemon is adamant that he should be allowed to marry and have children and he can still be a knight, and how is he supposed to claim a dragon if he's stuck on guard duty all the time. Which...is something that Arthur never considered because DRAGONS. HIM. WHAT.)

In fairness, Arthur has only known Rhaegar for a few months (I have him joining the Kingsguard roughly six months before Rhaegar gets summerhalled), so about the same length of time Jon and Rhaegar have known one another! So I don't think it hampers him bonding with Jon too much, especially given how starry-eyed Jon will be about the Sword of Morning being their BROTHER, how cool. (Rhaegar shaking his head because Jon saved the world and doesn't realize that HE'S the coolest.)

I get the sense that Arthur and Daemon would clash heads a lot, too. Arthur doesn't really have any childhood trauma in his original life, so it's not like he's seeking a father figure, and his pre-summerhall version here had a happy childhood in Starfall. Daemon is, as far as he's concerned, the sperm donor.

What ultimately wins him over some with regard to Daemon is probably how sweet he is with the twins, and how badly they want him to be their brother. But Arthur probably always consider Daemon more of an ally than his father-father, despite Daemon's best efforts.

[felassan]

Some more DA:TV and related snippets from Sylvia Feketekuty, Part 2. rest of post under a cut due to length and spoilers. [Post One, Post Three]

The dev team really wanted to deliver on Emmrich's romance [source]

Sylvia Feketekuty has now left BioWare so there are likely some things she can't answer now "just because I can't look them up with certainty anymore" [source]

When Emmrich is first introduced, he has a skull helmet. Why does it never ever appear for the next 40-100 hours? "The helmet does indeed look wicked! I believe it actually shows up on his shelf in the Lighthouse eventually. (If I had been a smarter writer I would've asked if we could have it appear again, that one's on me.)" [source]

User: "In another post you mentioned shops in Nevarra City near the Necropolis. How far IS Nevarra City itself is from the Necropolis? Do only senior MWs get to go?" / Sylvia: "I'm reluctant to say what the distance is since I never defined it in game so it's Unknown™. But I imagine they can either walk or take a carriage, depending. Also I never imagined junior MWers are forbidden from going into town or such. It could be they have set hours and times where they're allowed. But got to get all those chores done first..." [source, two]

On the DA:I goat scene ([link]) - "The GOAT! God bless them, that was a delight." [source]

Brian J. Audette, on [this thread] - ""Better late than never" addendum to this thread. I just noticed that Isle of the Gods' writer Sylvia is on here now and I'd be remiss not to tag her in this thread. I can't say enough wonderful things about having worked with Sylvia on this mission." [source] / Sylvia: "Thanks Brian! You tackled an absolutely jam-packed mission with aplomb." [source]

Jo Berry: "Thank you for everything and everything else, on both Veilguard and Inquisition. Sunlight on your road, wherever it goes." [source] / Sylvia: "Thank YOU for all your writing Jo. Seriously, you were a godsend on Veilguard and DAI both." [source]

Trick Weekes: "It's been fantastic working with you, Sylvia, and I know you're going to crush it with whatever you do next. Thank you for finally letting me make you "the person who has to do journals so Trick doesn't" on one of our projects." [source] / Sylvia: "Thank you Trick! I'll miss working with you. It was an honour to finally be given the awesome responsibility of the journal system that still haunts my dreams." [source]

John Epler: "sylvia did you see i told the world Emmrich sleeps standing up like a horse" [source] / Sylvia: "It's days later but: yes. Yes I did." [source]

User: "As someone who also has a truly debilitating fear of death, Emmrich is so special to me. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen it represented in such a clear and concise way." / Sylvia: "Thanks, definitely felt that fear myself. I really wanted to express it clearly and was hoping would resonate with others." [source]

User: "Do you have any thoughts or opinions on what nickname Emmrich might have gotten from Varric if he'd ever gotten one?" / Sylvia: "Oh man that's a good question, but ultimately since I didn't write Varric, that must remain a mystery. Nicknames can only be bestowed. ("Bones" like someone suggested below is funny though.)" [source]

User: "If Emmrich's hobby is alchemy/plants, Vorgoth's is art, and Audric's is architecture... what's Myrna's? (Next to Emmrich, she's my favorite Watcher - sorry Vorgoth!)" / Sylvia: "Myrna has a one off line, you may not have heard it yet, where she talks to Vorgoth about getting tickets to the Sword of Drakon.* She enjoys a night out at the theater, whether it's a play or an opera. *(I think that's the play I named, I hope I'm recalling my own line haha.) It's a bit indulgent of me, but I chose Sword of Drakon because it was one of the plays I made up for a series of codices in DAI about Orlesian theater. I had a lot of fun with these and wanted to give them life once more. [link]" [source, two]

User: "During Rook’s disappearance in the prison, how did Emmrich react? Considering their intense romance, did he fall into depression, or did he show a more vulnerable side? Could his fear of death have influenced the situation? In the immortal romance💀, Emmrich promises that nothing will separate them, not in this world or any other. How likely is that? Would he go to great lengths for Rook, even crossing boundaries? Or, at some point, would he accept Rook's death?" / Sylvia: "1) Very strongly! I think it's a bit more interesting if I leave details to your imaginations, but Emmrich feels things deeply and probably had some sleepless nights. 2) So this I can't say much on even though it's a juicy topic. The truth is, I wouldn't even know unless I was actually sitting down to write it. Again, Emmrich feels things very passionately, but this is the kind of scenario where I might want the player's choices to have an effect." [source, two]

User: "Any chance that color scheme [of Emmrich's coat] was based off the corpse flower?" / Sylvia: "I couldn't find anything on the colour scheme and the corpse flower. Afraid this one's a mystery to me." [source]

User: "I'm really curious if there's a Nevarrese language? We have Orlesian, Antivan, Tevene, Qunlat..." / Sylvia: "I wondered that myself, especially given its ancient ties with Tevinter and also Orlais which would certainly have affected the languages of power and influence. Could also have roots with the Planasene. We never talked about one though, as far as I know, so the answer remains...unknown. 💀 (I did introduce tomb-script, the language you see etched into stone in the Necropolis, but I thought of it as more of a specialist's language for occult and magical things specifically.) (If we did define a Nevarran language in some corner of the lore, now I'm going to feel embarrassed, but I don't BELIEVE we did.)" [source, two, three]

User: "I wanted to ask if you have anything you can share about MW grave dowry jewellery - is it the sort of thing they keep on at all times? Also, would Emmrich like jewellery gifts or give them to Rook?" / Sylvia: "I figured it would be something they wear most of the time, or at least in public. You don't want to be without your grave-gold if you pass away! Emmrich would love to get jewellery, especially if it marked a special occasion like his other pieces do! He'd also probably like to gift Rook a piece of grave gold himself, though he knows a non-MW Rook might look at that part askance." [source, two]

User: "Question: how much if anything can you tell us about the circumstances surrounding the emergence of Emmrich's magic and him going to the Mourn Watch? In my mind, his parents' death could certainly be a catalyst for the emergence of mage powers, but I'm so curious why the butcher's boy goes to what seems the equivalent of Nevarran Harvard instead of a regular Circle unless he immediately demonstrated outstanding ability?" / Sylvia: So timeline wise, I think his magic manifested after he was taken in. This part isn't canon, so much as a background thought I had that maybe the spirits of the Necropolis nudged the MW to scoop up this future corpse-whisperer. It seems like a kind of place ripe for that sort of omen. That said, it could've also been a kindhearted Watcher who saw how shattered and alone this young boy was, and thought an upbringing in the Grand Necropolis would be the better place to deal with his grief. It's the kind of thing I want to leave open unless someone goes back one day to fill it out!" [source, two]

User: "what’s the overall Mourn Watch opinion on the whole Weekend at King Markus’s the other Mortalitasi are pulling? I can’t blame Emmrich for not wanting to be involved with that political mess!" / Sylvia: "No clue what you're talking about. King Markus is in the finest of health!!!!! ahahahahaha (To my mind Emmrich's response indicates a tension between the orders, but that they're going along with the polite fiction to avoid a mess. I can't say what the future holds though.)" [source]

User: "Ah, one last note: whoever decided “DA liches are immortal protectors and not always evil?” Chef’s kiss. It’s all I’ve ever wanted!" / Sylvia: "Thanks again! It was in Emmrich's first draft. The other writers and editors gave me good feeback on lichdom and the philosophy behind it especially" [source]

User: "I'm an ICU nurse, and that is imagined to confer a comfort with mortality. Suffice to say Emmrich has been a huge comfort to see." / Sylvia: "Thanks so much. I really wanted him to struggle with it while also engaging with it, because it's something I find hard as well. And I hoped it would find purchase with players." [source]

User: "If you’re willing, can you share a bit about the other orders within the Mortalitasi? Is there a rivalry with the Tevinter Imperium?" / Sylvia: I'm afraid I don't have much, sorry. I left the other Mortalitasi orders a big open canvas in case we wanted to invent more some day. (We've mentioned the palace Mortalitasi are separate from the Mourn Watch, so there's one. As you probably caught, Emmrich's not a fan of theirs.) Is there a rivalry with the Tevinter Imperium? I can't really point to anything in the game talking about that, so I hesitate to call it canon. But to my mind it would be very natural and also very funny. So if that ever manifests, I approve." [source, two]

User: "was any of Emmrich's design or personality modeled on British actor David Niven? I think there is resemblance just wondering if that was intentional." / Sylvia: "Oh I love David Niven. But the more direct actor influence for me was Peter Cushing in a few old Hammer Horror films." [source]

User: "just wanted to say thank you for creating the character of Josephine in Inq!! Helped me learn some stuff about myself when I was younger and meant a lot." / Sylvia: "Thank you so much on all counts! I'm glad the lovely Lady Montilyet was there for you (and enormous credit to her actor, Allegra Clark. She absolutely nailed Josephine, straight away.)" [source]

User, on Emmrich: "He mentions he thought he would marry - is that permitted for Mortalitasi when it wasn't for regular Circle mages? Can they now raise their own children?" / Sylvia: Mortalitasi have a lot of power. I imagine the Nevarran Chantry might grant them permission to marry outside the Circle more regularly than in places where mages are given less respect. (Mages can also marry within Circles, so no permission needed in those cases.) The same might be true for mages raising mage-born children in Nevarra, but I say that with less certainty. I think that's a topic I would've wanted to discuss with the rest of the narrative team." [source, two]

User: "is there a particular reason why emmrich is always wearing a glove on one hand?" / Sylvia: "I like to think it's mostly because he works a lot with his hands. The glove seems useful if he has to, say, grip a rough outcrop of rock when traversing the Necropolis, or deal with a bitey corpse." [source]

User, on Emmrich: "On my 1st run I played a trans Rook and romanced him. It felt incredible how he was so accepting of Rook's identity, and in return she could support him as he did a transition of his own as well. Beautiful mirroring!" / Sylvia: "Thanks very much! If those scenes worked, it's thanks to some people at work who kindly gave feedback that helped get the tone right." [source]

User: "I've been wanting to thank you for writing Luck in the Gardens for 4 years. Hollix was the first time I ever saw a non-binary character given a real voice." / Sylvia: "I loved writing Hollix in that story, they were a treat, and I'm glad they meant a lot to you. (And a shout out to a nb friend who gave me some good feedback on the character, I don't think the story would've been as clear without their help.)" [source]

User: "I was curious about Audric from TN, and if he originally was planned to have an appearance in veilguard, and what he's up to now" / Sylvia: "Love Audric, but I never planned to bring him into VG. I'm not AGAINST it, but I didn't want the short stories to feel like required reading for the game, and I liked where his arc ended in DatDM. That said, I dropped in a few references to Audric to let people know he's around and well. And I imagine he's doing what he loves: being a force of order, in the library. (And reading books during the more quiet hours below.)" [source, two]

User: "As a consumer of (and probably future creator of) so called "erotic" fanficfion, I'm wondering how you feel about the fact that fans make it about a character you created?" / Sylvia: "No issues with it whatsoever. We put sex and romance into the game itself, after all. I think people use fan art and fanfiction to extend their time with a story they've grown fond of, or to figure things out. So it feels like a natural extension of that." [source]

User: "Maybe one day my rook will join the mw!" / Sylvia: "Well, the Grand Necropolis is always eager for more company...🪦👻" [source]

User: "did the flame eternal (short story) come first or the flame eternal (quest)? i’ve been wondering if the quest was named after the story or vice versa" / Sylvia: "I wrote the scene first, the short story came after. But I named the quest AFTER the short story had come out, so I'd say the quest is named for the story because I liked the callback." [source]

User: "1.I know John answered already that Emmrich sleeps like a horse but is there really no bed for this man? 2.How would he react to a bouquet made for him?" / Sylvia: "1. Unknown. Perhaps he brings out pillows and a blanket for the slab in his room (after scrubbing it, of course!) Perhaps he goes home to an elaborate silk-covered bed in his Necropolis apartments. Or the horse thing. (TBH: I never decided myself, so I've leaned into impish mystery). 2. Emmrich would be absolutely delighted and flattered by being presented with a flower bouquet." [source, two]

User: "I hope it's okay to pop here but it might interest you to know a lot of us have been headcanoning that he has a secret bedroom behind one of his bookshelves! It seemed to line up with his sensibilities somewhat." / Sylvia: "That would honestly be great. Pull out the right book and snooze time." [source]

User, on the cemetery date: "This makes me feel like Mourn Watchers include the dead in important personal milestones/events and, if so, I love that so much. Like they want to share these events and the joy/love/excitement/etc. with those who have passed (and perhaps linger.)" / Sylvia: "That's absolutely how I thought of it too." [source]

User: "was there any game/book/show/film that inspired the Mourn Watch and Emmrich? When I saw them in the preview content, I got reminded of the Locked Tomb series by Tamsyn Muir and playing through the game cemented those vibes." / Sylvia: "I hadn't read any Locked Tomb when writing Emmrich, I think we must both just have impeccable taste. (I actually tried to stay away from contemporary stuff on necromancy when writing him, out of a superstitious fear I'd be unduly influenced. I do want to talk about influences later though!)" [source]

User, on Josie: "Do you think she’s open to having kids/adopting with the Inquisitor? Lord Ontranto and Yvette are so ahead!" / Sylvia: "I think that falls firmly within the category of what you imagine she and your Inquisitor's romance looks like, which means: absolutely, if that's where you imagine life would take them." [source]

User: "Emmrich, his story & everything surrounding him absolutely played a huge part in helping to lift me up & connecting me with new friends online" / Sylvia: "Thank you! And I'm very glad to hear Emmrich and his fellow Watchers helped you out when you needed it. He'd be pleased to know so himself." [source]

User: "Was it ever considered for him to appear in the game?" / Sylvia: "(short answer is no, but I wanted to let people know Audric's doing well.)" [source]

User: "I enjoyed your short stories in Tevinter Nights. Emmrich mentioned working out in the morning. What does his morning routine look like, and what kind of exercise does he do?" / Sylvia: "Thanks so much! Those stories have a special place in my heart, so that's especially nice to hear. On exercise: He likes a brisk stroll, and does morning stretches, and for something more strenuous, he likes to go swimming. Why? It's a workout where you don't have to worry about sweating. That just seemed to align with his fastidiousness in a funny way to me. (I also imagine exploring the Necropolis keeps him active, climbing all those stairs and crumbling ledges and the outsized walls of hallowed tombs, etc.)" [source, two]

User: "Harding will turn to a MW Rook who's been talking nerdy necro shop with Emmrich, and goes (paraphrasing), "You're so different when you're talking about this stuff than you are when you hang out with us!" and I loved that" / Sylvia: "Yes indeed! And thanks. I really wanted a beat where you realize MW Rook has learned to swap between being a fancy nerd and talking a bit more like "regular" people in Thedas. It seemed like a fun trait for that background." [source]

Sylvia, on how she came to BioWare: "No formal training. The closest to practice I had was running tabletop RPGs for friends, which actually helped me a lot with understanding the different kind of RPG players out there and what people want out of a story. And honestly: I just kept applying, over and over. That was my main virtue. I was rejected the first couple times I applied to BW. And rightly, I think, I wasn't ready and practicing in between really helped me become a stronger writer." [source, two]

Some more on this topic ^ from Sylvia: "To be honest: mostly luck, some perseverance, and then writing skills, in that order. I was rejected at least twice from BW before I got in, and I think they were right to do so. I wasn't ready yet. The third round someone I knew passed on my sample to a writer there, I did two more rounds of samples while taking feedback and revising over the next month. And then I was lucky enough they liked it enough to interview me. I wish I had better advice than perseverance. I think having a small, completed game, even something text based or a mod, isn't bad either. Even if it's short, it shows you finished it. But: my entry was over 15 years ago now, and to be honest I'm not sure what BW's applicant process are anymore. I don't want to be discouraging though. I would say keep applying, and make friends with like minded people who also want to make games, and best of luck." [source, two, three, four]

User: "I've been wondering something about Mourn Watch Rook's background - their bio says they were found as a baby + raised by the MW, and they reference it in-game, but then they also say they were a street kid and left their old life behind to join the MW to Taash. I'm just curious how one - being raised by the MW - lead to the other - street kid era. I just hc'd it as a euphemism for my Rook's party girl phase lol but it did leave me a little confused." / Sylvia: "This is a case of the background changing slightly over time, and me not squaring it in time with dialogue. In my mind: MW IS found by the Mourn Watch, raised by them, and work for them. But MW Rook also had period(s?) growing up where they explored Nevarra city, to explain why they're more. street savvy and worldly than your typical Watchers who never leave the city. I've seen people noting some discrepancies, and in a perfect world I would've caught those lines in time to smooth them out to encompass the whole story. But perhaps your Rook gives slightly different answers to different people for their own, mysterious reasons! (Or, in reality, it's writer error.)" [source, two, three] "Anyhow, I encourage any head canons that help square these discrepancies" [source]

User: "I romanced him on a Rook that I perceived as about 42ish and my running interpretation of the lines acknowledging her being young were either Emmrich not realizing how old she is, a running bit between them, or some cute form of flattery to not remind her of her own age haha" / Sylvia: "That's adorable, I love it" [source]

User: "1. What would Josie's ideal date be? 2. Could adopted kids be heir of the Montilyet estate or would it go to Yvette? 3. What does Josie think of the Crows?" / Sylvia: "1. I think she'd try to structure something, but the Inquisitor taking her away from her strictly scheduled routine to relax would actually be better for her. A picnic in a garden, a stroll around a lake followed by a meal in a quiet little restaurant. Something with a soft evening. 2. I don't think I ever said so in the game, but to my mind Josephine had some nieces and nephews in line to be heir. If she adopted a child and thought they'd be a better candidate, they could absolutely inherit the estate. (And of course, she could bequeath money or personal effects as she liked.) 3. She thinks of them as a necessity in Antiva, and that it's important to appease them. There's probably highly placed Crows she would get along with. But she'd never be comfortable with them. At the end of the day they're contract killers, and she's no lover of violence. (If I actually DID mention who Josephine had lined up to inherit the estate after her, but just forgot, I will ask for mercy because the game came out over 10 years ago.)" [source, two, three, four]

User: "Would you ever consider making a playlist on spotify of the sort of music you could picture Emmerich listening to? Or perhaps sharing any of the music you listened to while writing Emmrich?" / Sylvia: "I actually have an itunes playlist of what I listened to when writing Emmrich on my old computer. If I dig it out, I'll post a screenshot! (A lot of ambient stuff, probably unsurprisingly)" [source]

User: "I utterly, completely adore the way Josephine was written, she's such a wonderful and complex character. Her history as a bard, her ruthlessness, her kindness and sweet nature and how CUTE her romance is." / Sylvia: "Lady Montilyet herself would be flattered to hear you liked it." [source]

User, on Sylvia's comment about Peter Cushing being a go-to for what Emmrich would be like: "This makes me so unbelievably happy given my love for Peter Cushing 😭 my love for Emmrich was inevitable." / Sylvia: "I want to talk a little more about it later but Cushing was such a wonderful actor. Wish we'd had him around even longer." [source]

User, on death and working in death care: "In the end, it’s always about memory." / Sylvia: "That's so true. We want to be remembered, or to have something that lets people know even a little about who we are. (It's why I'm glad newspapers still print obituaries, you can read about the most amazing lives.)" [source]

User: "I was starting to think the game was reading my mind and tailoring to me once he said his favorite color was lilac, and I was given the option to say darker purple." / Sylvia: "I'm glad you enjoyed Emmrich and his romance. And that the bit about colours worked for you, I was trying to think of what would be something fun there, and purple is one of my favorites too. (Fine taste!)" [source]

User: "“Down Among the Dead Men” is one of my favorite chapters from Tevinter Nights. I loved Audric and I was so happy when Myrna mentioned him in Veilguard! Was there any chance he might’ve appeared in game?" / Sylvia: "basically I didn't plan it, but I wanted to let TN readers know Audric is living well" [source]

User: "If Hezenkoss was also you ALL of that was a sheer stroke of brilliance!" / Sylvia: "Thank you! Hezenkoss was me, so glad you liked her. She was a blast to write. Oh my god, I meant to write Hezenkoss was one of my favorites not "me". (I think I snipped out something and consequentially sound like a maniac in that post above. SORRY. She is not me, I wish I had that kind of confidence.)" [source, two]

User, on behalf of their friend: "Well, spontaneously I'd be interested if she can say any more about Emmrich's past romances. Was there someone really serious among them, or all just fun and casual? I'm also curious how the whole mage training works in Nevarra. Are some trained from the start by the Mourn Watch or does everyone go to the Mortalitasi equivalent of a Circle first?" / Sylvia: "1. I think there was probably a mix of more serious romances and more casual ones over Emmrich's life. The serious ones just never panned out. (Until Rook, if you're romancing him.) 2. I pictured the MW taking in promising members from other circles, but I left their selection criteria vague on purpose, in case we needed to define it later. Of course, there's also exceptions. We've seen they take in some orphans or foundlings (MW Rook and Emmrich, for example) when fate, chance, or pity allows it. (I had an idea spirits might sometimes nudge MWers to take in someone, but that's not in the game, so it remains, I suppose now, my own head canon.)" [source, two, three, four]

User: "Emmrich is every bit the warm and kind academic that I looked up to in my undergrad/postgrad days, and I have taken time in the game just to wander the Grand Necropolis and take everything in." / Sylvia: "My pleasure, and thanks very much for saying so. (Props to all my teammates, it took a lot of people to bring those characters and places to life, and they were all so enthusiastic about our weird gothy corner of Thedas.)" [source]

User, on Emmrich's dream: "One of few cases where writers don't go for "actually immortality is lame" lesson to appease the audience for whom immortality is unattainable. Refreshing to have a character who wants to live forever, can do it, and it isn't treated as a mistake. One of the boldest bits of writing in the game." / Sylvia: "Thanks Mary - that was one of my aims, because so many times in stories, immortality is a fool's errand. I wanted it to have its rules, and its price, but not something disastrous or out of reach." [source]

User: "The MW as a whole was beautifully done and the way they handle life and death was deeply healing and aided tremendously in my own personal journey with grief." / Sylvia: "I'm very glad meeting Emmrich and the Watchers helped even a little, that means a lot to hear." [source]

User: "Amazing work in veilguard and inquisition honestly and the flame eternal was such a fun read! Unless it’s been answered before my query is where do the Mourn watchers live/sleep? Is it a case of they live in the higher parts of the Necropolis or do they live in the city and commute?" / Sylvia: "Flame Eternal was a fun one, hadn't written a story that short before but I enjoyed introducing Johanna and Emmrich's dynamic back in their good old days... As to your question, there's one line of banter between Emmrich and Neve that talks about this (so, very easy to miss.) The Mourn Watchers live and sleep in the upper (safer) levels of the Necropolis." [source, two]

User: "does mortal!Emmrich return to the Necropolis or spend more time in the world first? He plays detective with Neve & camps in Ferelden with Harding feels like he’d want to experience more of the world before returning home." / Sylvia: "Impossible for me to say what the future will hold with certainty, but I think Emmrich's enjoying exploring the world too much to go back to living in the Necropolis full time just yet. He'd certainly want to keep visiting regularly, but there's so much more to see." [source]

Sylvia: "The Watchers have a special place in my heart." [source]

User: "I just wanted to say how much I love Emmrich" / Sylvia: "Thank you very much! I'm so glad to hear you enjoyed getting to know him." [source]

at this point tumblr stopped letting me add to this post !

[backwards360]

tell me about your headcanons about the cultural differences between layers plss

- your favourite sister ever

takes a deep deep deep breath. hello niki. my beloved sister. my favoritest sister ever.

the noob layer (before the evil champion)

very very community oriented

block parties (get it) are really popular!!

a lot of sharing and stuff going on

music!! music is a really big thing!!

accent sounds a bit like theyre singing, almost like theyre dancing with words!! they dont pronounce their vowels fully!!

the noob layer (after the evil champion)

community??? no chance, everyone dies before you get to even know their name (which is why evbo never bothers asking anyone)

really the only sharing they do is when someone is sick or theres a child and occasionally family units share food

cannibalism. yeah. its normal for people to go insane, the noobs probably refer to it as some kind of curse or something bc thats fun

the pro layer (before the evil champion)

everyones neighbors!! less community oriented than the noob layer

more focused on helping each other get better!! regularly helping each other learn fun new parkour things

their accent is kinda like. how do i explain this. their voices tend to be softer and tbh i wanna say they sound like a weird mix of southern and british. dont ask questions.

i dont have much for the pro layer if yall have fun things hand 'em over

the pro layer (after the evil champion)

music is HUGE here between moral boosting events and also playing songs for parkour !!

community oriented but more in the way where family units stick together and everyone else is like. a coworker. like you might be friends and occasionally you might get close with someone but like. ehhhhh

mostly just like. yeah i work in the same general area as this guy

the fighter later (before they were banished)

this layer has the most people because its so hard to rank up so its the one with the most stuff going on!!

libraries!! this is the layer of scholars and shit!!

theres so many people here that the masters come down and hang out here a lot too!!

this is where everyone learns things, theres no schools on the other layers because everyone has the chance to rank up !!

this ones just fun, its got a mix of everything because its the most populated \o/

they have a fun accent i think, tbh i wanna say its similar to new york? idk

the fighter layer (after the banishment)

devoid of basically everything that made it what it was

the most sparsely populated now

everyone is hostile as fuck, by the point we see it in canon everything's been combed over tens of hundreds of times so if someone sees someone else its safe to assume one of them is getting mugged

unless its a seawatt situation but whatever

some bonds still remain and theyre as strong as ever now

everyone either has fashioned masks out of their clothes or just has the most fucked up throat from the frequent sandstorms.

the master layer (before the evil champion)

not much going on up here!! they normally hang out on the fighter layer

huuuuuge showoffs but like in a fun way!! performances!!! wow!!!

theyve got a bit of twang in their voice i think bc yes.

the master layer (after the evil champion)

showoffs but in a bad way

big on spreading rumors

really reclusive, never visit lower levels or each other

battling is common for any reason, the more people youve defeated in a battle the higher up you are on the social ladder

ok heres some!! i hope u like it it took me like 45 minutes to write all this bc i kept getting distracted

[knivestothroats]

The Professionals - Overdraft Fee

(Because it comes after Withdrawals) The Pros Masterlist || ITWS Masterlist || Pro/Vic Masterlist CW: drug addiction/withdrawls, vomiting, hallucinations

Fletcher eased the door open and peered in at Tommy. He was pale and sweaty, squirming in discomfort on top of the bedsheets.

“Hey,” Fletcher shut the door behind them. “How are you doing?”

Tommy’s eyes snapped open to glare at Fletcher, but he held his tongue.

“Drink more water,” Fletcher said, nodding to the still mostly full bottle on his bedside table. “You don't need to ration it. It’ll help with the aches.”

“It’ll help with the aches?” Tommy repeated scornfully. “I can think of something that would help more.”

Fletcher put their hands on their hips. “Okay, I understand that you’re going through it right now, so-”

“You don't understand what I’m going through!” Tommy snapped. Some of the anger dissipated from his features under Fletcher’s cold stare, replaced by fear and misery. He pressed his hands over his eyes. “I’m sorry, just… I can be useful to you if I’m not sick. Please, just… give me something.”

“Look, I can get you methadone tomorrow - probably. You just have to make it ‘til then.”

“I don’t believe that you don’t have anything.”

“Why would I withhold that?”

“No, drugs!” Tommy snapped again. “You have to have something!”

“I never said that I don’t have any painkillers,” Fletcher responded evenly. “I don’t keep recreational drugs in the house, though. So no coke. And no antidepressants, either, although we can… figure that out later if we need to.”

Tommy scoffed. “Maybe you should.”

Fletcher stepped closer. “What?”

Tommy scowled and looked away. “Nothing,” he muttered.

“No, what did you mean?”

Tommy looked at them now, hate burning in his eyes.

“Maybe you should be medicated. Or at least take something that makes you fun to be around, instead of being some sad asshole who lives in the woods out of-”

Fletcher slapped him hard enough to make his head spin. Before Tommy could curl up in a defensive position, Fletcher grabbed his face and brought it close to theirs.

“Out of what?” they hissed.

Tommy averted his eyes and gritted out, “Sorry,” despite still looking pissed.

“No,” Fletcher gave his head a little shake. “Out of what? Tell me what you were gonna say.”

Tommy wasn’t out of his head enough to finish his sentence. He knew it was better to keep his mouth shut. But they were digging their fingers into his cheeks and demanding a response and they weren’t even letting him beg or bargain for pain relief and….

Tommy began to cry, still caught in Fletcher’s grip. He didn’t mean to, but his head was pounding and his body ached and he was hot and cold at the same time and he never stopped feeling like he was on the verge of throwing up and Fletcher wouldn’t even let him do anything to get drugs. They wouldn’t give him anything at all. 

Fletcher made a noise of disgust and released him.

“Give me a shout if you think you’re gonna die,” they said over their shoulder as they stormed out of the room, leaving Tommy alone again.

I just have to get through the break, Tommy kept telling himself. This fever - the withdrawals - they had to break at some point, right? 

God, he missed the internet. WebMD, save me now. He wasn’t sure what would happen, or how long it would take. Would he really die? 

The idea of Fletcher letting him die, purely out of spite, just because they wouldn’t give him drugs, was a funny thought. Funny enough that he laughed about it. It felt like a real possibility, real and close to happening, and he was just snorting and giggling about it on his sweat-soaked sheets. 

Maybe they’ll do it. It might as well happen. He’d had his fun, got to play for a few hours thinking maybe this new life could be okay, could be better. Only to have it snatched away, the dwindling drugs leaving him dying here would be a poignant last kiss goodbye from Caius. He stopped laughing. He laid there in silence and wished things were different. That maybe he could have been someone else.

He hated Caius. He hated Fletcher. To his surprise, Caius visited first. 

Tommy didn’t hear him come in. There was a hand on his face, cradling his chin, another pushing the hair back from his sweaty forehead. He smelled like clean cotton and sandalwood. He was put together as always, beautiful as he was the first day they met. He was wearing that soft linen shirt Tommy liked, that he would rub his cheek on when he pulled it out of the laundry just because it felt nice. So few things in Caius’s home made him feel nice. 

There were no eyes past his clear rimmed glasses, replaced with glowing circles, just like spots in his vision when he’d stared at the sun for too long. The hands on his face were hot, too close, his skin felt unbearably sensitive to his touch - but Caius had come back for him, he wouldn’t let Fletcher leave him to die.

“Caius,” he breathed, and a sob of relief bubbled in his chest. “You - you came back for me.”

“You look awful. Is this any way to behave for one of my friends?” His tone was deceptively gentle, the way it always was, chastising him softly.

“Nooo,” Tommy wheezed, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry-”

“They’re sending you home with me. They don’t want you, either.”

Tommy whimpered, sneaking a peek back at the window, at the sunlight streaming in. He felt a pang of remorse for snapping at Fletcher, after all they’d done for him. Caius’s hands pulled his face back, forcing him to stare back into those hollow eyes.

“It’s okay now Tommy, I can make it stop.”

Tommy clutched at his wrists, needed to feel he was real.

“You can?” The whole room was swimming, and all he could do was drown. 

“Please, please, make it stop, please, I’m so sorry,” he begged. He could go home with him happily if he would just stop the pain.

“What are you sorry for?”

Caius’s voice turned cold. So did his hands, suddenly freezing against his skin. He feared they might stick, like a tongue to a frozen pole. He couldn’t speak. He was frozen, too.

“For ruining everything we had? How about that, Tommy, is that it?”

“Yes,” Tommy gasped, as Caius’s nails grew into talons sharp against his face. “Yes, Caius, I’m so sorry, I-”

“Look at me,” Caius snarled, and he gripped the sides of Tommy’s face, looming in closer. Those fingernails burrowed into his scalp. Tommy couldn’t look away, staring into the blinding suns of Caius’s eyes. It burned a searing pain, his eyes were on fire, but he was paralyzed with fear. Caius pressed his thumbs under Tommy’s eyes, pulling the lower lids down as if to peel them from his face. His fingers were long and needle-like now, the sharp tips hovering only a hair’s breadth away from Tommy’s eyes. 

“I’m going to make sure you never see the sun again,” Caius hissed, and he plunged his armored thumbs into his eyes, turning the whole world black in an explosion of pain. 

Tommy screamed and thrashed. A shadow moved in Caius’s eyes and suddenly he wasn’t there. Forming in his place was Fletcher leaning over him, blocking the harsh glow of his ceiling light.

“Hey, hey.”

The hands on his face were human again. He reached up and grabbed onto Fletcher’s wrists. They felt more real.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he wailed. “I’m sorry for what I said. I don’t want to go back, I don’t want to go back in the dark…”

“Alright, alright, calm down,” Fletcher assured him. “You’re not going anywhere, okay?”

Caius peered down at him from over Fletcher’s shoulder.

“I can make the pain stop if you come home with me,” he promised.

Tommy wanted the pain to stop. He wanted it more than anything. But he knew going back with Caius meant being locked back in the dark, cold basement. He knew he would be trading this pain now for more pain in the future. He had made Caius so angry… but still…

“How could you get rid of me?” Tommy sobbed. “How could you… how could you not even say goodbye… after everything… after everything you did to me…”

Fletcher’s brows knit together as they watched Tommy babble to no one, eyes unfocused and drifting. His body jerked suddenly and he rolled over to throw up into the garbage. 

At least he had the wherewithal not to asphyxiate. Fletcher pushed his hair off his face as he heaved again. He was hot to the touch.

The door opened and Williams poked his head in.

“What’s going on in here?”

“Do you need something?” Fletcher asked impatiently. 

“I heard screaming; are you torturing him or something?”

“Willy, you thought I was torturing him in here and you just walked in?”

Williams bristled. “It’s Billy.”

“What do you want?” Fletcher repeated.

Williams nodded towards Tommy. “What’s the matter with him?”

“He’s going through withdrawals.”

Williams blanched slightly. “Oh, yeah? What, uh, kind of stuff was he on?”

Fletcher sighed and shook their head, watching Tommy spit into the can. “I don’t know. Opioids mostly.”

“Methadone helps with that.”

Fletcher sighed louder. “If I had methadone, I would be using it. I have a hook up, but I can’t get it until tomorrow.”

Williams studied Tommy for a moment. “You buy this guy on the black market or something?”

“…Something like that,” Fletcher conceded. “Last time I’m going to ask you if you need something, otherwise leave.”

Williams put up his hands in surrender and left, closing the door once more. 

Fletcher turned their attention to Tommy again. He seemed to be done retching, and at least wasn’t begging to empty air anymore. 

“Okay, try to stand up.”

Fletcher took Tommy’s arms and gently pulled him up. They put an arm around his waist to guide him onto his feet. Tommy grabbed onto their shirt to steady himself, leaning against them as he wobbled through the first few steps across the room.

“Easy, Model-T,” Fletcher cooed. They kept him steady as they led him to the bathroom and shut the door behind them. 

“Alright, get out of your clothes.”

Numbly, Tommy disrobed, refusing to look at Fletcher. He was sweating and shivering at the same time, too empty to retch again. He was distinctly aware that he was not impressing Fletcher. 

Fletcher looked him over with a clinical eye. They’d noticed the new scar on his face, and some uneven marbling of his skin, but they had assumed them to be more scars, or a skin condition. Whatever it was, it was brought to stark relief with him nude in the bathroom light. He was dappled all over in patchy white marks, so bleached they looked almost translucent. His ribs jutted out, clearly underfed and malnourished from years of neglect. Whatever the hell they had done to him, his body had taken a severe toll. But now was not the time to interrogate him.

“Okay, get in the tub. You can sit if you need to.”

Fletcher turned the water on as they gave the instructions, putting their hand in the stream to check the temperature. 

Tommy teetered as he lifted each leg to step into the tub, and kept a hand on the tiled wall as he lowered himself down. 

“Okay, it’s gonna be cold,” Fletcher warned before pulling the diverter and switching the stream of water to the shower head. 

Tommy flinched as the water hit him. It wasn’t hard, and it wasn’t freezing, but it was a shock against his feverish skin. After a moment, it became a relief, grounding him. 

Tommy leaned against the wall, resting his temple on the tiles. He pulled his legs up and wrapped his arms under his knees.

“‘M sorry,” he murmured.

“You don’t have to keep saying that,” Fletcher responded, sitting on the closed toilet. “I don’t even think you know what you’re apologizing for.”

“No… I’m sorry you have to do all this for me. I’m sure this isn’t what you wanted… when you bought me.”

Fletcher said nothing.

“I, um,” Tommy swallowed. “I’ll make it up to you. When I’m better.”

Fletcher sighed. “Alright. I’m sure you’ll be cussing me out for not giving you drugs in like ten minutes.”

They both sat in silence for a moment, the only sound the rush of the falling water.

“Are you going to send me back?” Tommy asked in a small voice.

“No.” Fletcher didn’t hesitate.

All things considered - at least until the next wave of pain and nausea hit and the cravings took over his system - Tommy hoped they were telling the truth.

Fletcher stopped the shower before Tommy got too cold. They let him towel off and returned with clean clothes before leading him back to his room. 

“Try to get some sleep. I’ll be back around.”

Sleep wasn’t on the table for Tommy. Not in this state. He tossed and turned, unable to get comfortable.

When the door opened again, it wasn’t Fletcher - it was Williams.

He slipped carefully into Tommy’s room, shutting the door quietly behind him.

“What were you on before?” he asked. “Percs, oxy?”

“I don’t know,” Tommy groaned, turning his head away. “Probably.”

Williams leaned down close. He took hold of Tommy’s chin with two fingers, turning it towards himself and guiding it down. Tommy dutifully opened without much thought. Williams placed something on his tongue.

Tommy’s eyes widened.

It was a pill.

“Don’t say I never did nothin’ for ya.”

Tommy grabbed his water and drank down the pill as Williams slipped out again.

Maybe it was foolish not to spit it out and check what it was. He wasn’t sure if he’d even be able to tell. But at this point, he didn’t really care. He just wanted to feel good enough to return to his chores. 

Whatever happened, he couldn’t lose the light again.

@suspicious-whumping-egg @whumpyourdamnpears @generic-whumperz @lonesome--hunter

@whumplr-reader @theelvishcowgirl @sunshiline-writes @dont-be-gentle-please @galesgallery

@2in1whump @sparrowsage @apokolyps @whumpinggrounds

@morning-star-whump @leviiio @alexmundaythrufriday

@defire @jumpywhumpywriter @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees

@light-me-on-pyre @slightlydisturbedbeans @dislexiher @paperprinxe @desert-dyke

@just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @burtlederp @whatwasmyprevioususername @cursedandtired

@whump-only @misspelledwitch @redstainedsocks @thehopelessopus @im-just-here-for-the-whump

@thatsthewhump @utopian819 @pretty-face-breaker @thesuffererrrr @victimeyez